Sometimes Jack was in the mood to talk at night. Sometimes Hugo could ask a thousand questions and get zero answers. What would it be tonight? Hugo decided to spin the wheel and take his chances.
“I’ve been attempting to work up a cover for this book of yours, butI’m not having much luck, as I have no clue what it’s about.” Hugo spun his pencil between his fingers, then pointed it at Jack. “Why is that?”
Jack waved a hand, dismissing Hugo’s concern. “You wouldn’t be the first cover artist to create a cover without reading the book.”
“True, but could I at least get a hint?”
“Do something like, oh…The Keeper of Clock Island. That was always my favorite of your covers.” Jack gave him a wink for seemingly no reason, though surely there was one.
“This new book does exist, yes? This isn’t like my fan art contest, where I was supposed to win five hundred dollars? I’m still waiting on that check.”
Jack was setting the time on anAlice in Wonderlandclock that ran backward. “Would you rather have had the five hundred bucks or the job of illustrating my books?”
“Wouldn’t say no to both.”
Jack chuckled. “The book exists. And there is only one copy of it in the world. I typed it up and hid it away.”
“And you’re seriously going to entrust it to some stranger?”
“No, but I shall whimsically entrust it to some stranger.”
“The sharks are already circling. Rare books collectors, billionaires, social media influencers…” He shuddered dramatically in mock horror at the wordinfluencer.But it was true. Collectors had even called him, told him to name his price if he could get his hands on Jack’s new book.
“So be it,” Jack said. “I trust the kids will make the right choice.”
“Don’t know about the others, but Lucy Hart seems decent enough,” Hugo said. “She’s the only one who apologized for jeopardizing your career by showing up at your front door.”
“Is that a new scarf?” Jack asked. “Doesn’t Lucy knit scarves like that? Do you always wear scarves indoors, or is this a new fashion statement?”
Hugo glared at him. “You are deliberately trying to change the subject.”
“What is the subject?”
“The book. This miraculous out-of-nowhere book. You aren’t dying, are you?” Hugo asked. “Just tell me you aren’t dying.”
“Hmm…The Nowhere Bookmight be a good title.”
“Jack.”
Smiling, Jack plucked a singing bird clock off the wall. With his sleeve, he dusted the face of it.
“I am not dying,” Jack said. “I’ve simply come to the realization that the amount of sand in the top of my hourglass is far less than the sand in the bottom. I want to keep my promises before it runs out entirely. Especially my promise to you.”
Jack glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, then returned to his clocks. “What promise to me?”
“The promise I made when I told you I would be all right if and when you finally left the island and moved on with your life.”
Hugo tensed. “You know?”
“I know. I know you’ve had one foot out the door for years. And I know,” he said as he placed the clock back on its nail, “the only reason you stayed.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“Because I’m like a father to you. You know how I know that?” He straightened the clock on its hook.
“Because I’ve said it?”
“Because you resent me. Just like a son would.”
