“But…Hugo? What about Hugo? Are you trying to replace him with me? He’ll be—”
“Fine,” Jack said. “He’ll be more than fine when he knows someone is with me. Then he can stay of his own free will or move of his own freewill. No more worry. No more guilt. And don’t worry. I’m giving you the house on Clock Island when I pass. But he gets the island.” He sat down in the chair by the bed, met her eyes. Lucy looked at him. He’d aged in the thirteen years since she’d seen him, faded. But he was still the Mastermind, still wrapped in shadows, still strange and mysterious and weird and good.
“I’ve waited long enough to be happy. Don’t make me wait any longer.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “What do you say?”
What could she say to that?
Lucy smiled and said, “I win.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Of course, the Mastermindhad let Lucy win.[*]
Skip Notes
*Jack Masterson,The Secret of Clock Island,2005. Remember, always cite your sources.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Three Months Later
“Nervous?” Jack asked.
“Do I look nervous?” Hugo glanced around the airport baggage claim area, watching for double takes and knowing looks. So far, nobody had recognized Jack. One of the perks of being a writer: even the most famous ones could be anonymous in public. Although every now and then, a child or a teenager would give Jack a second or third look, as if they knew they’d seen him somewhere before and couldn’t quite place him.
“You look excited. I look nervous,” Jack said with a sigh.
“Don’t blame you there, old man. Not every day you meet your grandson for the first time.”
Jack looked at him, raised an eyebrow. “Grandson?”
“If Lucy’s your honorary daughter now, doesn’t that make Christopher your honorary grandson?”
Jack seemed to mull that over. “Did you know that in the state of Maine, you can legally adopt another adult?”
“Just don’t adopt me and Lucy both, please.”
“No kissing your sister.”
“Exactly,” Hugo said.
“After she sees Christopher’s room, she’ll probably marry you.”
“Let me kiss her first before I marry her.”
Jack scoffed. “If you want to be old-fashioned.”
Hugo didn’t know what he was more excited about—seeing Lucy again or seeing Lucy see Christopher’s bedroom. He’d spent the entire month preparing Christopher’s bedroom for him based on what Lucy had told him he liked. He’d painted the ceiling like a cloud-wild blue sky. The walls were ocean scenes—boats being skippered by sharks in captains’ hats, octopi knitting fishing nets that caught letters, the letters spelling out Christopher’s name. It was some of the best work he’d done. Who knew happiness was the best muse of all?
“Next time a child asks me if the Mastermind is real,” Hugo said, “I’m telling them yes.”
“I had no idea you would take to Lucy like you did,” Jack said with a soft chuckle. “Don’t lay that one at my feet. That was all you.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” Hugo glanced at the arrivals board. Soon. Very soon…
Jack smiled his Mona Lisa smile. He had the mind of an author, always seeing ten, twenty, a hundred pages ahead of the rest of the world. “I am sorry for keeping you in the dark about the contest. I really am. But I was afraid you’d talk me out of it, and it wasn’t the time for second-guessing. I’d been a coward too long. It was time to take my own advice and be a little bit brave. Or stupid. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
Jack checked his watch. They were both counting the seconds.
