“No, I didn’t know that about you. Why—”
“Oh, you know why. Even now, it’s hard for a single man, especially a single gay man, to adopt children. Imagine how impossible it seemed thirty years ago when I was young enough to do something so brave and stupid as try to be a father on my own.”
“It wouldn’t have been stupid. Brave, maybe, but not stupid.”
“My writing career was just getting started,” he said. “I used that as an excuse to put it off. Then I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back. That old song and dance. After that I was famous, and I used that as another excuse to put it off. Fact is, I was worried the truth about me would get out, and schools would ban my books. And if you think I’m being paranoid, let me remind you that a cute little book about two male penguins raising a chick is still one of the most banned books in America, Land of the Free.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. You would have made an incredible father. Better than mine. Not that that’s saying much, but I…God, I wanted you to be my father so bad when I was a kid. You know that.”
He gave her a wan smile. “Hugo tells me you know about Autumn?”
She paused before replying. “He told me, but you could have told us. We would have understood.”
“I’ve always believed that children should never have to worry about adults, that something’s gone very wrong when they do.”
“I believe that too,” Lucy said. “But we’re not kids anymore.”
“You are to me.” He smiled at her. “And Autumn…after that phone call with her, I contacted my attorney. I wanted a police investigation of her father. I would pay for it myself if I had to. Stupid old man…I thought I could save her, bring her here, adopt her. In my heart, she was already my daughter. And then she was dead all because of me and the promises I couldn’t keep. What kind of father…”
“You aren’t the one who made her want to run away in the first place. You just gave her somewhere to go, somewhere she knew she would be safe, if she could only get there. I mean, that’s what Clock Island is to kids. Even the kids who’ll never ever come here, they can go to Clock Island in their imaginations. When things got too bad in my real life, I came here in my dreams. It helped.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, but I admit that for years I’ve wished Clock Island had never existed—on the pages of my books or under my own two feet. She might still be alive.”
“Don’t wish Clock Island away,” she said. “Too many of us need it. I started reading the books to Christopher the first night he came to stay with me. He’d found his parents dead that morning, and he was…lost. In shock. A zombie. Then I got out the books and started reading. Got to the end of chapter one, and I asked him if he wanted me to stop. He shook his head, and I kept reading. The next day, he asked me to read him another Clock Island book. The stories brought him out of the bad place he was stuck in. And me. And Andre. And Melanie. And Dustin. And Hugo.”
“Hugo,” Jack repeated. “I’ll tell you a secret, kiddo. I think I dallied so long pulling myself together after Autumn’s death because I knew the minute I was back at work, Hugo would leave. I would lose the closest thing I ever had to a child of my own.”
“You could still adopt,” Lucy said. “It’s never too late.”
“Ah, but I’m too scared,” he said with a smile. Then the smile was gone. “People think I put myself into my own books, that I’m the Mastermind. I’m not. Not really. I’m always the child, forever the child, scared but hopeful, dreaming someone will be able to grant my wish someday.” He met her eyes. “Sometimes the thing we want most in the world is the thing we’re most afraid of. And the thing we’re most afraid of is often the thing we most want. What do you want most in the world?”
“Christopher, of course. You know that.”
“And what are you most afraid of? I think we both know, don’t we?”
Lucy looked away, blinked, and the tears fell.
“What if I can’t do it on my own? I don’t know how to be a mother,” she finally said. “Christopher’s already been through hell and back. I can’t fail him. It’ll kill me to fail him. Sometimes, deep down…I think maybe he would be better off with someone else.”
She remembered what Mrs. Costa had said, that once Lucy told Christopher she would never be his mother…it would be a relief. What if she was right?
Jack looked at her. His eyes were gentle and kind.
“We tell people,” he said, “to follow their dreams. We tell them that they won’t be complete until they do, that they’ll be miserable until they start reaching for that brass ring. They never tell you how good it feels to give up on a dream. That it’s a…”
“Relief?” Lucy said.
“A relief, exactly,” Jack said, nodding. “I decided one day that kids weren’t ever going to happen for me, that I was going to be single and childless and that was that. And I awoke the next morning and the sun was dancing on the water and the coffee tasted better than it ever had. It tasted like one less thing to worry about. One less promise to keep. One less fight to fight. One less heart to break. And it was sweet. Almost as sweet as victory. The sweetness of giving up.”
Lucy stared out at the sunlight dancing on the water for her. “Last night at Hugo’s…” she began, not believing she was saying this but knowing Jack—if only Jack—would understand. “I had this thought. What if I gave up? On me and Christopher, I mean? What if I never did become his mother? Maybe I could be somebody’s girlfriend instead, let someone else drive the car. Let someone else, you know, drive my life. Obviously, I shouldn’t be at the wheel, right?” She gave a sad little laugh. Jack only looked at her with compassion. “Like you said—one less thing to worry about.”
“He likes you. Our Hugo. I bet if you went down to the house right now and told him you wanted him to kiss you, he would. If you told him you had decided you didn’t want to finish the game, didn’t want to talk to your sister, he’d understand.”
“Maybe so.”
“So why don’t you? It’s either talk to Angie or quit the game.”
Lucy pictured herself giving up, giving in—one less thing to worry about, as Jack said—and it was a nice picture. Walking down the stony path to Hugo’s little house, knocking on the door, telling him what happened, that Jack had sprung her sister on her, the sister who’d hurt her unforgivably. Hugo would be sympathetic. He’d hold her. He’d kiss her if she told him to. She’d cry to him. He’d comfort her. They’d go for a walk on the beach…the first of many walks on the beach together. I can’t do it anymore, she’d tell him. How can I take care of Christopher when I can’t take care of myself?
And maybe he would say, It’s all right. I’ll take care of you.
And someone else out there could take care of Christopher. And he’d be fine. Eventually.
A nice dream.
Tempting.
Lucy stood up and went to the big picture window in Jack’s office. She gazed down the path to Hugo’s, then at the sunlight dancing on the water.