“Never. Stole it all from Jack’s kitchen.” He picked up his own mug off the floor and stood up. “I’m the world’s worst houseguest. Hair dryer work?”
“All dry.” She playfully flipped her hair. “Thank you for lending me your, um, paintings’ hair dryer?”
“You can repay me by helping me here.” He gestured at the stacks of canvases leaning against the wall and piled on a cart. “Long story short,my ex-girlfriend works at a gallery, and she wants some Clock Island covers. Help me pick. I need five.”
“You want me to help you pick out paintings for an exhibit?”
“Nobody likes the ones I like, so I need a neutral opinion.”
Flattered, Lucy set her mug down and walked over to Hugo. “I don’t know how neutral I can be because I love all your work equally.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll send her this one.”
He held up a painting for the cover forA Dark Night on Clock Island.
“Not that one.” She waved her hand at the black-and-white painting. “Too dark.”
Hugo laughed and stepped back. “See what you can do then.”
Lucy knelt on the drop cloth. Luckily the paint was long dry. Slowly she flipped through the paintings, every one of them a book, every one of them a memory.
The Pirates of Mars Versus Clock Island
Goblin Night on Clock Island
Skulls & Skullduggery
The Clockwork Raven
The Keeper of Clock Island
She loved them all, and every kid who loved Clock Island would be thrilled to see the covers like these—painted on large canvases so you could see all the little details.
“Can I ask a personal question?” Lucy said while flipping through another stack of paintings.
“You can ask. No promise I’ll answer.”
“Is this ex-girlfriend who works at the gallery the original owner of the hiking boots you gave me?”
“Piper,” he said. “Here she is.”
He plucked a small portrait off the wall—a painting of a beautiful black-haired woman. She looked like a silver screen siren, like Elizabeth Taylor. Lucy wished she hadn’t asked. She felt like a plain Jane in comparison.
“Two men on an island,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I know about thedeath of a daughter. I guess she was the wife you lost? If she’s someone else’s wife, she must have gotten married.”
Hugo hung the small canvas back on the wall. “I wanted her to be my wife. Back then. She works at one of my favorite galleries in New York. That’s where we met. When I moved here to keep an eye on Jack, she came with me.” He paused. “I don’t think either of us realized how long it would take for Jack to come out of his depression. And island life isn’t for everyone. She managed six whole months out here before she couldn’t stomach it anymore. Hated being so isolated. Between her and Jack, I had to pick Jack.” He took the painting off the wall again and put it on a floor stack, as if he were done with looking at it every day. “She’s now happily married to a veterinary surgeon and has a gorgeous little girl. And I am very happy for her.”
“More sarcasm?”
He didn’t answer at first. Then, “No. I saw her not long ago, and it was gone. The anger. The love, the lust, all of it—gone. I was happy for her.” He sighed. “It’s too bad. I do much better work when I’m miserable. But I’m moving to New York. That should take care of that.”
“And what’s the rent here again?”
The smile on his face rendered him so painfully handsome that Lucy pretended to look through the stacks of paintings again, hoping he wouldn’t see her red face.
“Find anything you like?” Hugo asked.
You,she thought but kept that to herself. “Um…I like all of them. Just trying to findThe Princess of Clock Island. That one’s my favorite.”
