“I’m not even fostering him yet. Even if I were, I can’t take him out of the state. It’ll take months—” She could hardly think, hardly breathe. Was this really happening?
“Oh, I can help with that. Luckily, I have more money than I know what to do with.”
“You can’t…This is too generous, Jack. I can’t accept—”
“You can, Lucy. You can accept help. And if you can’t, Christopher can.” He took a bundle of papers out of the other pocket of his cardigan and handed it to her.
Lucy unfolded the papers. In Christopher’s sweet, shaky, lopsided crayon-colored handwriting, he’d written, My wish is Lucy can adop me.
She flipped through the stack and found half a dozen letters from Christopher to Master Mastermind. Apparently, he and Jack had been writing to each other for several months. Christopher, with a thousand misspellings, had told Jack—in his guise of the Mastermind—his dreams of being Lucy’s son, the death of his parents, his fear of phones. In the last letter, Christopher promised that the next time Lucy tried to call him on the phone, he would answer it.
“You helped Christopher get over his fear of phones,” she said, looking up at him. “Not the books. You did.”
“If anyone knows anything about fear, it’s me.”
“You…” She pressed the letters against her heart. Her throat had closed up. Jack had quietly and secretly and without fanfare helped a little boy on the other side of the country find his courage. “That stinker didn’t tell me a thing.”
“He wanted to surprise you. He did, didn’t he?”
Tears fell from her eyes. Jack took her gently by the shoulders, looked intently at her face.
“Lucy Hart, thirteen years ago, you wished to be my sidekick. Wish granted,” he said. “If you want it to be an honorary title, it can be. Or you really can move in and live with me and help me try to start living my life again. And Christopher’s wish was that you could adopt him. Wish granted.” He smiled fiendishly. “I’ve already asked my attorney to start the process for you. She thinks she can get all the ducks in a row in a few months’ time.”
“I know I can.”
Lucy spun around. Ms. Hyde stood in the doorway.
“You?” She couldn’t believe her eyes.
“When you have a moment, Lucy, I’ll need you to sign some paperwork for me. I’ll be in the library.”
“Wait…Don’t you work for Jack’s publisher?”
She didn’t smile, just raised her chin. “I take the Fifth.”
When Ms. Hyde was gone, Lucy turned to Jack.
“I…I’m in shock.”
“If you can’t say yes for me, say yes for Christopher.”
“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 free will. 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 Mastermind had 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.
“While we’re waiting, I meant to tell you,” Hugo said. “Got a strange email from Dr. Dustin Gardner. He wanted me to make sure you saw his thank-you card.”
“I did, yes.”
“Thank you for what? Kicking him off the island?”
“No reason.” Jack wore a look of purest innocence that Hugo didn’t buy for one second.
Hugo stared at Jack, though Jack would not meet his eyes. “You paid off his student loans, didn’t you?”
“No comment. But,” he said, “if I did such a thing, the gift would come with the condition to get anger management therapy.”
“What about Andre and Melanie?”