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“Like Claire’s in the mall?” Dani asked.
“Yes, Claire’s, Target, who knows?” The lies slid so easily off her tongue now. Dani’s kicks to the back of Maire’s seat slowed as she mulled this over.
“I’m sorry,” Maire said. “I know it’s hard.” Her voice broke on the last word. Hard wasn’t anywhere close to how things had been for the last year. Terrifying, humiliating, devastating, soul-crushing were more like it.
Bobby had never been much of a husband or father, but his health insurance had been a lifeline for Dani. When he lost his job at a local grain elevator and then took off with the nineteen-year-old waitress from the Sunshine Café, gone was the health insurance and any hope of child support. When the first $3,000 notice for Dani’s nebulizer treatments came in, Maire ran to the bathroom and vomited. It was impossible. Too much.
Between the implosion of her marriage, the impact it had on the kids, her bank account that was dangerously low, the unpaid medical bills, the jewelry she made for her Etsy shop, and the search for a job that provided decent health insurance, Maire was exhausted.
Things couldn’t go on this way. “It will get better,” she promised.
Maire glanced over at Keely and caught her accusatory glare. Out of all of them, the divorce hit Keely the hardest. Despite his drawbacks, Keely was a daddy’s girl, and she was suffering in his absence.
The worry never ended. At the top of the list was Dani’s health. Her cystic fibrosis was stable for the moment, but she was fragile. Her last infection required a two-week hospital stay, a PICC line with multiple antibiotic infusions, therapies, and nebulizer treatments. It was so much that Maire had to put together a binder for Shar filled with in-depth directions for Dani’s care, and she hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake by leaving. A lung infection that may be mild for most children could be deadly for Dani. And poor Keely. Quiet, shy Keely was getting lost in the shuffle, becoming more removed, isolated from them. Another thing to worry about.
A month ago, when she got the email about the show, she almost deleted it. Maire had been online, scanning articles about the newest cystic fibrosis research, when she heard the ping. Grateful for an excuse to tear her eyes away from words like Fibrinogen-like 2 proteins and cryogenic electron microscopy, she tapped the email icon on her phone.
CONGRATULATIONS—YOU’VE BEEN NOMINATED, the subject line called out to her. She scanned the rest of the email. Trip of a lifetime, groundbreaking new reality show, ten million dollars. Scam, Maire thought and went back to reading about clinical trials and RNA therapy. But an hour later, she was still thinking about the ten million dollars. She opened the email again to read it more closely.
Congratulations, you’ve been nominated to take part in the groundbreaking new reality competition show One Lucky Winner! Set in the heart of wine country, you, along with the other contestants, will battle for ten million dollars through a series of challenges that will test you physically, mentally, and emotionally. Competitors will spend fourteen days at the exclusive Diletta Resort and Spa in beautiful Napa Valley. When not competing, spend your time in your lavishly appointed private cottage, swimming laps in the 130-foot pool, or head to the spa for our one-of-a-kind vinotherapy-based
treatments—massages, wraps, and scrubs made from grapes grown in the Bella Luce vineyard. As a special treat, each contestant will receive a case of Bella Luce’s world-famous cabernet sauvignon with an exclusively designed label just for you!
Maire snorted. It had to be a joke. A rip-off. She closed the email, even sent it to her trash folder, but an hour later, she pulled it up again. Ten million dollars. Maire was one month away from not being able to pay the mortgage on the house, from not being able to make the car payment, from not being able to put money in the kids’ school lunch accounts, from not being able to pay for one dose of Dani’s medication.
She should probably just sell the house, take the loss, start over, but this was her home, the kids’ home. There was no way she was giving it up without a fight. She didn’t need anywhere near ten million dollars to save the house, but that was what it was worth to her, and that kind of money would change her life, all their lives.
Who would have nominated her? And how did that actually work? Hey, I know of someone who could use ten million dollars. The entire thing had to be fake. The email was signed by someone named Fern Espa, whose title read Production Assistant, One Lucky Winner.
Anyone could send an email. Maire trashed the message again.
Then, over the next three days, the car started leaking oil, Kryngle ate a sock and had to have emergency surgery, and Dani’s hospital bill came in. Her credit cards were maxed out and she’d given up on any help from her ex. Maire needed money, fast. Burying her humiliation, she called her parents and asked for a loan. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Maire hung up and went to the garage, sitting in her leaky car so that the kids wouldn’t hear her crying.
Maybe this was the email she was waiting for. The sign she needed to finally take control of her life. Maire wasn’t a fool though. She did her due diligence. While sitting in the waiting room at the vet’s office, she looked up One Lucky Winner and found a website and an IMDb entry—both short on details—but it clearly was a real show. She searched for the name Fern Espa and found a LinkedIn entry that looked legit. And the Diletta Resort looked amazing.
And now, under the guise of a work trip, here she was, dropping her kids off at her former mother-in-law’s house for two weeks, hopping on a plane to Napa to take part in some Survivor-type reality show for the off chance she might win ten million dollars. It was ridiculous, over the top, maybe even irresponsible, but it ignited a spark of hope that she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You’ll be okay,” Maire said to the kids as she turned onto the cracked concrete of Shar’s street. Shar was waiting for them, standing on her rickety front porch, a cigarette dangling from her knobby fingers. With hail-pocked, dirty white aluminum siding and a crabgrass-choked yard in need of mowing, the home her ex-husband grew up in was grim and depressing. But Shar was a sweet woman who loved her grandchildren. Maire scanned the street. Every house was in the same state of disarray and neglect. A jolt of fear shot through her. If she didn’t turn things around, they would end up living in a place like this, or worse.
Jesus, Maire thought. I’m making a huge mistake. She fought the urge to drive right on by. Instead, she gave the girls her bravest smile. “It’s okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
Ten million dollars would make everything okay.
TWO
THE ASSISTANT
Fern Espa leaned against the wrought iron railing and looked down at the great hall below. The gleaming white marble floors winked up at her, the scent of furniture polish and flowers filled the air. Every marble statue was in its place, every piece of furniture dusted, every window washed.
Everything was perfect. Her boss expected nothing less. Well, almost everything was perfect. She tried not to look at the section of the great hall where towering scaffolding climbed to the cathedral-like ceiling. The hope was to have the repairs to the dome finished along with the restoration of the fresco, but despite her boss’s ranting and raving, the planned restoration was nowhere near complete. Fern could have told her that there was no way a multimillion-dollar restoration could be completed in less than a year, but Catalina James could not be deterred. She screamed at contractors, threw more money at the problem, threatened litigation, all to no avail.
But still, the estate was gorgeous. The contestants would barely notice the cracked ceilings or the faded frescoes. The incomplete, unrenovated rooms were behind locked doors. It wouldn’t do to have any of their guests get hurt because of rotting floorboards or crumbling stone walls. And, of course, all the unsightly spots would be kept out of the camera’s field of vision.
The production crew moved efficiently through the space, checking cameras, microphones, and lighting. The director, Alfonso Solomon, was reading through his notes from Cat. He was a pro in the reality show business, having won an Emmy and a Golden Globe.
“Fern,” Alfonso called out, peering out at her from behind his reading glasses. “Have you seen Cat? I have a few questions for her.”
