The Wishing Game(63)
“Tomorrow is only Wednesday, all right? You have time. When the storm is over in the morning, and we know for certain that we can get you a flight home”—Hugo pointed in the direction of the mainland—“I will take you to the airport myself. You can be back in Redwood by tomorrow night. Safely. If you try to leave now, you won’t get home. Ever.”
She pursed her lips at him. “You’re being a little melodramatic.”
“Pot, meet Kettle.”
She snorted another laugh. “You’re also being a little sarcastic.”
“Sarcasm is my native tongue. Now, will you promise me you’re done with this foolishness, or do I have to tie you to the dock with a boat rope? I know the clove knot and the pile hitch, and trust me, neither of them will feel very good around your waist.”
“Fine,” she said, waving her hand. “But only if you swear you really will take me to the airport when the storm is over.”
He took a deep breath. “I promise that if you still want to leave when the storm is over, I will take you to any airport in a two-hundred-mile radius. Deal?”
Her urge to bolt was still so strong. She turned back, looked past him to the door. Could she trust him? He’s given her no reason not to…
“Lucy,” Hugo said softly. “Please. Jack’s lost one of his kids already. Losing another would kill him. Believe me when I say yours would not be the first girl’s body to wash up on Clock Island.”
Two men on an island, and both blame the water…
Lucy turned around. He was giving her a tenuous smile.
“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll stay until morning.”
Hugo put his hands together, said, “Thank you,” with obvious relief. “I’d recommend waiting for a break in the storm before heading back to the house. Have a seat?” He took her—his—coat and hung it on the coatrack. She slipped off her shoes—which were the shoes he’d given her—and set them by the door. He invited her into the living room. He’d started a fire in the fireplace, and it danced red, orange, and blue and sent earthy warmth into her chilled skin. She stood with her back to it while Hugo disappeared through a door.
Alone, she got out her phone and sent Theresa a reply to her text.
Tell Christopher I’ll be home as soon as I can. It’s storming here, but I should be able to get on a plane tomorrow morning.
Theresa must have been waiting for her text because she replied immediately.
You don’t have to come home. I’ll make sure you get to see him this weekend. Stay and finish the game. That’s what he would want.
Lucy stared at the screen, not knowing what to reply, so she just put her phone back in her pocket.
Hugo came back, carrying a pile of towels.
“Here.” He handed her one. She rubbed it on her hair and her face. She didn’t want to think about how she looked. Probably insane.
“Who was she?” Lucy asked. She wrapped a dry towel around her shoulders. “Or am I not supposed to know?”
He sat on the coffee table in front of her while she pressed close to the fireplace, trying to dry herself.
“You figured out the riddle?”
“It says the two men lost ‘a’ wife and ‘a’ daughter. Not ‘his’ wife or ‘his’ daughter. Could be anyone’s wife, anyone’s daughter they lost.”
Hugo nodded. “You’re clever.”
“I’m a teacher. That’s all. Who was the lost girl?”
“Her name was Autumn Hillard,” Hugo said, saying the girl’s name as if it were covered in dust, a hidden name no longer spoken. “NDAs were signed, and the family couldn’t go to the media with their story, so there’s nothing online about it.”
Lucy’s stomach clenched. A nondisclosure agreement.
“There was a lawsuit? Against Jack?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Jack is Jack, you know. It’s why he’s so easy to love. Also why he’s so maddening.”
She was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know. “What happened?”
“The day I met him, Jack told me the number one rule of Clock Island—Never break the spell.”
“The spell?”
He shrugged. “Kids believed Jack was the Mastermind. They thought Clock Island was real. They thought if they told him their wish, he’d grant it. Seven years ago, Autumn wrote Jack a fan letter. She told him her wish, that her father would stop coming into her bedroom at night.”
“Oh my God.” Lucy covered her mouth with her hand.
“You don’t want to know how many letters he gets like that.”
“No, I probably don’t.” She lowered her hand. “What happened?”
“She lived in Portland, so he thought he might be able to help her. Really help her. Not just do the usual—write back and encourage her to tell a trusted grown-up what was happening. All those letters were turned over to the authorities, but it’s hard to get the police to investigate an accusation made in a piece of fan mail.” Hugo rubbed the back of his neck. It was apparent this was a story he didn’t want to tell. “He called her.”
“He called her?”
“She put her number in the letter. Jack called her. And this is where it all went off the rails. He just can’t help himself, you know. His own father was an absolute tyrant. Our Jack’s a teddy bear until you show him a child in trouble, and then you’ll see a teddy bear turn into a grizzly.” Hugo smiled. Then the smile was gone. “At some point during their conversation, he told her something like, ‘If I had one wish, it would be to bring you to Clock Island, where you’d be safe with me forever.’”