“Absolutely. I’ll go and fetch my sketchbook. Besides, I was going to keep the red scarf anyway.”
He started for the door, then stopped, turned around. “That kid loves the hell out of you, Lucy. He answered the phone because it was you calling him. Because it was his mum calling him.”
She smiled. “As terrible as this day went…I’m still happy. Even after he moves into his new foster home, at least now we can talk to each other on the phone until I buy a car and visit him in person. It’s so funny. He says the Mastermind helped him answer the phone? I guess reading books about kids being brave got to him?”
“He was incredibly brave,” Hugo said.
She shrugged. “Too bad he didn’t get his wish.”
“He’s got you in his life,” Hugo said. “He’s a lucky kid.” She felt her face growing hot. Hugo smiled back. “Don’t go anywhere. Back in a tick.”
Lucy breathed deeply through her hands when he was gone. Okay, so she’d lost the game. It hurt. It sucked. She wanted to cry again, wanted to scream…but here she was—still standing, still breathing, and tomorrow she would see Christopher. That’s all that mattered.
She got out her phone to check for messages. Nothing important. They hadn’t released the news to the press yet about the contest. Jack had warned them that tomorrow they would be inundated. Lucyconsidered calling Angie. Jack had given her Angie’s phone number. Even after all these years, all the neglect and loneliness and cruelty, she still wished she had one person in her family she could call when her heart was breaking.
She put her phone away. She just wasn’t ready to get hurt again, not when she was already hurting so much.
“Knock, knock?”
Lucy composed her face. Jack stood in the open doorway to her bedroom. He was still wearing his usual uniform of rumpled trousers, a light blue button-down shirt with a coffee stain on it, and a baggy cardigan starting to unravel at the seams. He had a paperback stuffed in one of the cardigan pockets, and she wondered if that was why he wore such huge sweaters—book-sized pockets.
“Jack,” she said. “You’re not in bed?”
“No, no, finishing up some paperwork in my office. May I?”
“Sure, come in.”
He shuffled into the room. “I hope you’re not too upset about not winning.”
“Hanging in there. I’m glad the book is going to be published. I’m kind of glad I got to see Angie. I’m very glad I got to see you again.”
“And Hugo?”
She blushed bright red. “And Hugo. But not for the reasons you think. He’s my favorite artist.”
“I don’t blush when I talk about Paul Klee.”
“You should,” she said. “I’m sure he was very handsome.”
Jack laughed. It was good to see him laughing. He looked just like he did the day she met him when she was thirteen. The years melted away along with the pain.
“Where is our Hugo anyway? Wasn’t he just here?”
“He’s getting his sketchbook to draw something for Christopher.”
“Ah, well, before he gets back, I wanted to give you a little something.” He pulled the book from his cardigan pocket. “I’d like you to haveThe House on Clock Island.”
She looked down. It was a well-worn copy of Book One in the Clock Island series.
“Ah, thank you,” she said. “Is it signed, I hope? Can you make sure it’s signed to Christopher?”
“The book isn’t your gift. Or Christopher’s.”
She furrowed her brow. “What?”
“The book isn’t your gift. I don’t want you to haveThe House on Clock Island,” he said. “I want you to have thehouse…on Clock Island.”
He opened the book. A key was lying in the center of it. A house key.
