Page 86 of Your Every Wish
“So, what you’re saying is we need the book to get our message,” Liam says.
“You need the book. Without it, you’ve got nothing.”
“That’s impossible,” I say. “We have no way of getting back in the house. By now it’s been auctioned off in an asset forfeiture sale.”
“Let me see the picture again.”
I once again bring up the photo of the note with the numbers.
“Not that one. The one with the book.”
I tap on my photo gallery and bring up the one with the book.The Sports Gambling Bible.
Azriel flips open a laptop, taps a few keys, and the next thing I know, I’m looking at the book on Amazon. Duh.
“Make sure before you buy it that it’s the same edition and the same publishing date. Different editions might use different page numbers.”
“Thank you, Azriel. This is amazing.”
Liam and I take the long way back to his trailer. Both of us need air after sitting in Azriel’s stuffy double-wide. And truthfully, I think we’re both sort of bowled over by how quickly Azriel unraveled the mystery of the numbers. It seems simple now but without him, none of us would’ve ever guessed it in a million years.
Without even thinking about it, I slip my hand into Liam’s, threading my fingers through his. And we walk like that the rest of the way home. We are that much closer to discovering the golf bag, the money, and everything we ever wanted, including Dex.
So why is it that I’m suddenly having buyer’s remorse?
Kennedy
The book came today, delivered right to our front door by UPS. We’ve printed multiple sheets of the numbers and have set up our living room like a command center, all hands on deck. Even Misty is here for the big reveal. At least I hope it’s a big reveal and not another bust.
“Ready?” Liam asks.
Like every man I’ve ever known, he has appointed himself the designated leader of the operation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. He’s been so incredibly helpful and doesn’t seem to want anything in return. Except Emma, of course. Poor sod.
“Ready.” Emma reads off the first number, waits for Liam to find the page in the book, then calls off the next number.
It goes page, paragraph, and when Liam comes to the word, I write it down.
Misty puts herself in charge of refreshments. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and homemade biscotti for everyone. Who could’ve envisioned that this would turn out to be a party?
I just want to get on with it, though a part of me is scared. What if the Mossad dude is wrong and when I string together all the words it turns out to be gibberish? What if this is a dirty trick and Willy’s looking down on us (or more than likely up) and laughing his ass off?
But what if Misty was right all along and the message tells us exactly where to find the money and it’s like hitting an oil geyser and we become rich beyond belief? I could pay off Brock Sterling and get him off my back for once and for all. And I’d never have to worry about money again.
Still, I am cautious. Optimistically cautious but cautious just the same.
As Madge the great philosopher once said, “If it seems too good to be true it probably is.” Kind of the story of Mom’s and my life. Like the time we won a raffle for a dinner for two at one of Las Vegas’s swankiest restaurants just for going through a new development of tract homes at an open house. Sometimes we did that on Sundays for fun, fantasizing what it would be like to live in all that newness and luxury.
In any event, we got all dressed up to go to the restaurant, excited because we could never afford a fancy place like this on Mom’s salary, only to find that the dinner was actually at the swanky restaurant’s sister restaurant, which turned out to be a sandwich bar (I guess we should’ve read the fine print). Unfortunately, we were a day late, because the sandwich bar was closed. For good.
For this reason, I’m trying to keep my expectations low. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say excitement is running through me like an electrical current.
We have four words so far. Though it’s not a full sentence yet, they seem to make sense together. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but it feels a little likeWheel of Fortune.
Emma is calling off the numbers faster now as Liam is moving at a steady clip matching numbers to pages, paragraphs, and words. It’s like we’re in a bingo hall.
I’ve stopped trying to read as I go, too afraid that it’ll turn out to be something ridiculous, like a note to the FBI, telling them to go to hell. Or a manifesto on gambling. Who can predict with Willy?
But if he comes through this one time, I might be inclined to forgive him for his past. Or not. The jury is still out on that one. You can’t erase a lifetime of shitty fatherhood with a huge buyout, even I know that. But it would go a long way toward making amends.
