Christopher glanced shyly at Lucy.
It was Lucy who introduced Christopher to the Clock Island books. When the social worker picked him up from the hospital after his parents were declared DOA, she asked him if there were any grown-ups he wanted to stay with for a little while since they couldn’t locate any relatives.
He told her, “Miss Lucy.”
That was how, for one week, Lucy got to be Christopher’s mother. It was summer when she received the call during an evening shift at the bar where she worked while school was out. A co-worker drove her to the police station and then drove them to Lucy’s house. Christopher, still in shock, said nothing in the car.
The bar manager was nice enough to give her paid time off while she stayed with the frightened and traumatized little boy around the clock. She’d put down a sleeping bag on the floor by her bed, and given him every extra blanket she could borrow from her roommates—who, for once in their lives, kept the noise down in the house. Desperate to get Christopher talking, she pulled a box from under her bed. When she left Maine for California, she had taken an airplane. She had two suitcases with her. One full of clothes. One full of books. The Clock Island books were the only ones that made the cut. She told him to pick a book, and she would read it to him. He chose The Moonlight Carnival, Clock Island Book Thirty-Eight. Why? Probably because the cover caught his eye—the floating Ferris wheel, the winged roller coaster, and the little boy dressed like a circus ringmaster. It was one of her favorite covers too. She tucked Christopher into bed with her, and he rested his head on her arm while she read page after page of the book, waiting for him to say something. When they got to the middle, it was bedtime. When he asked if she would read one more chapter to him, those were the first words he’d said since she’d brought him to her house. And it was the moment she knew she’d do anything for him, anything to make him happy, to keep him safe, to give him a life full of love.
The day the social worker came to collect him to take him to his first foster home, Christopher didn’t want to let her go. He clung to her neck and sobbed. That day she promised him she would get him back someday. As soon as she could, they would be a family.
As they pulled up to airport departures, she wanted to tuck him into her carry-on bag and take him with her.
Theresa got out of the car and pulled Lucy’s suitcase from the trunk.
“I got you something,” Lucy told Christopher.
“What?”
She took the bag from The Purple Turtle out of her carry-on and gave it to him. He opened the wrapped box with wide eyes and found not one, not two, but three sharks.
“Oh, cool…” He looked at them in amazement. “I can keep them all?”
“All of them. Which one is your favorite?”
“This one.” He cradled the hammerhead shark the way other kids might cradle a kitten.
“Smile!” Lucy took a picture of him holding up his shark like it was flying. Then he threw his arms around her neck and clung to her tightly. She hugged him back, just as hard. He smelled like No More Tears baby shampoo, her favorite scent in the world.
“I gotta go,” she whispered.
Christopher pulled away and smiled bravely. “Good luck.”
“I’ll need it.” She held his face in her hands, met his eyes. “I’ll text Mrs. Bailey when I can, and she can give you messages from me. Okay?”
“Okay.” He nodded. Then he said softly, “I’ll try to answer if you call me.”
“You will? You don’t have to do that. I can send messages. And I’ll definitely bring you Mr. Masterson’s autograph.”
“And the book?”
Now it was her turn to smile bravely. “You know, there’s a chance I may not win it. Four people are competing.”
“I wished for you to win it.”
“That should do it then.” She gave him a last hug, told him she loved him, and then as if ripping off a Band-Aid fast, she got out of the car, hugged Theresa, and took her suitcase.
“Knock ’em dead,” Theresa said. “Don’t let anyone intimidate you. You’re a kindergarten TA. You can handle that? You can handle anything.”
Lucy blew Christopher one last kiss. He waved out the window the entire time the car was in view.
She took a deep breath and headed into the airport. It had been several years since she’d taken a trip by plane, or any trips at all. She was really going back to Clock Island. She still couldn’t quite believe it.
By the time she got through security and reached her gate, it was nearly time to start boarding. She anxiously paced, trying to get her nervous energy out before she had to sit for six straight hours. At first, she didn’t feel her phone vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans. It stopped and then started again. She pulled it out and saw someone was calling from Maine, an unknown number.
This past week she’d answered every call she’d gotten from an unknown number in case it was Jack Masterson’s people calling.
Trying to sound adult, detached, and professional, she said, “This is Lucy Hart.”
There was a brief pause before the person on the other end spoke.
“Hey, Goose.”
Lucy knew that voice. She knew that voice and hated that voice. Her blood went cold.
“Sean? What…Why are you calling me?”
“Heard a rumor you were coming back to Portland for a few days. Congrats, by the way. On this contest thing, I mean. What’s that all about anyway?”
She took a deep breath. “You can google it,” she said.
Her ex-boyfriend was the last person on the planet she wanted to talk to right now. Actually, no. He was the second-to-last person in the world she wanted to talk to. Her sister, Angie, would be first, but Sean was a close second.
“Why don’t you tell me? Sounds fun.” Once upon a time, she thought this man hung the moon in the sky just for her. Now she knew he hung the moon in the sky because he wanted her to see how handsome he looked in the moonlight.
“I’m about to board. What do you want, Sean? Seriously.”
“Come on, Goose. Don’t be like that. I know things ended badly between us. Mostly my fault, but we’re both grown-ups. Let’s act like it and let it go.”
Mostly his fault? Mostly?
There was no point getting angry at him. Anger was a form of attention, and he fed off attention like plants on sunlight.
“What can I do for you, Sean?” she said as calmly as she could, though her eyes kept darting to the gate agent, praying they would start boarding soon.
“Let’s get coffee when you’re in town.”
“I can’t. I’ll be on the island the whole time.”
“Island. Nice. Playing in the big leagues again,” he said, and she pictured a smug grin on his face. “Good for you.”
She didn’t say anything to that. She knew better.
“So hey, congrats again. I know you loved those little Clock books. Never understood them myself, but I never really read children’s fiction, even as a child. Too simplistic, you know?”