“This way,” she said and started down a path. Her stomach rumbled and she caught herself hoping there would be hot dogs and s’mores waiting for them.
There was little conversation as the four of them made their careful way on the worn wooden planks toward the scent of smoke. Small solar lights in the ground illuminated their way, but it was still eerie walking under the bright and wild stars. It had been a long time since Lucy had lived anywhere without light pollution. Out here on Clock Island, the stars seemed so close she could imagine lifting her hand to the sky and running her fingertips through them like a slow-flowing river.
The path led them to a sandy patch of beach. Benches and seats made from a tree trunk ringed a firepit. A woman in a white apron pointed them toward a picnic table laden with food and drinks. There were, in fact, s’mores. S’mores galore. And hot dogs and chips. And bottled water and Gatorade. No beer or wine, Lucy noticed, as if they were all still children in Jack’s mind.
The night was cool, but the wind had died down at last, and the fire was bright and warm inside the ring of benches. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Everyone was comfortably chatting with one another. Melanie was telling Lucy about her children’s bookstore in New Brunswick. Dustin seemed to be trying to shock Andre with horror stories from the ER.
The woman in the apron snuck away down the path as if following a secret summons. Just the four of them now. The four of them and a shadow. A shadow of a man outside the ring of benches where the light from the fire couldn’t quite reach.
Lucy gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
“Lucy?” Melanie said. “What’s wrong?”
Lucy pointed at the figure in the darkness.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
The four of them went silent and turned and waited…
From the darkness, a voice—solemn yet laughing, stern yet playful, old but young—spoke and said:
“What has hands but cannot hold? What has a face but cannot smile?”
And Lucy answered, “A clock!”
Out of the shadows stepped Jack Masterson.
* * *
—
To Lucy, Jack Masterson looked now just as he had back then—he smiled benevolently, like a kindly king. An old and courteous king in a brown cable-knit sweater and corduroy trousers. Lucy had last seen him in person thirteen years ago when his hair had still been mostly brown. Now it was all white, his beard too.
“Tick-tock,” he said. “Welcome to the Clock. Or should I say, Welcome back to the Clock?”
They were all silent, all of them, as the man who’d changed their lives spoke.
“I’m not the Mastermind, just his creator,” Jack Masterson began, “but I do share one of his powers—I can read minds. I know you are all asking yourselves this one question: Why have I brought you all here?” He went on, “I’ll tell you why you’re here. Once upon a time, I wrote a book called The House on Clock Island. And once upon a time, you read a book called The House on Clock Island. Writing that book changed my life. Reading it changed yours. And all of us, I think, are hoping one of my books will change our lives again. The stories write us, you see. We read something that moves us, touches us, speaks to us and it…it changes us.”
He waved his hand, gesturing at each of them. “You kids are proof of that. Four kids came here because they read a book that inspired them to be brave enough to ask for help. There is nothing braver than a child asking for help. And bravery like that deserves rewarding.”
One by one he looked them in their eyes.
He pointed at Andre. “I remember Andre, who wanted to be like my character Daniel, who came to Clock Island to prove his school bullies wrong. I remember Melanie”—he waved his hand at smiling Melanie—“who adored Rowan, the girl who came to Clock Island hoping to stop her parents’ divorce. And Dustin, dear boy, wanted to be just like young Will, who ran away to Clock Island, fleeing a cruel father. And Lucy…” He grinned at her and Lucy smiled back. “She wanted to be my Astrid, my original heroine. Wanted to be her so much she dressed like her for Halloween. Did you know, Lucy, Astrid lives here? And Rowan? And Will? And Daniel? They’re all here if you look hard enough. I’m looking. I can see them now.”
With his hand over his heart, Jack said with a voice full of genuine tenderness, “It’s good to have my kids back.”
“Dammit, Jack,” Andre said with real emotion in his voice. “It’s good to be back.”
Melanie was the first to go to him, almost running. He gave her a quick but tender hug and patted her back like an embarrassed but proud father. Andre went next. Jack beamed at him, told him how proud he was of the pro bono legal work he was doing for children in Atlanta. Dustin was next, and he hugged Jack as if he were reuniting with his long-lost grandfather. Lucy remembered Dustin saying the Clock Island books helped save his life, giving him an escape during a childhood filled with hiding and fear.
Then it was Lucy’s turn.
“There’s my last sidekick,” he said as he gently took her hand in both his hands. He did look older, tired, careworn. As a child, she’d dreamed of having Jack Masterson for a father. Now he looked like he could be her grandfather.
“Lucy, Lucy.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe she’d grown up so much. He smiled, and it seemed he wished to say something but wouldn’t let himself. “How was your flight?” he asked instead.
“It landed, so I can’t complain.” She was beyond flustered. The most famous living author of children’s fiction was holding her hand.
“And your drive? Who brought you in?”
“Mikey. Nice guy. Gave me some good gossip.”
“Yes, a good man, our Mikey, even if he can’t shut up to save his life.” He smiled intently, searching her face. “And how are you doing, Lucy Hart?” He had this way of looking at her, as if seeing her as no one else did. Or maybe she imagined that because the Mastermind character in his books did that sort of thing. He could look into your eyes and see the deepest wish in your heart.
“Better,” she said. “Much better than the last time we met.”
“I knew it would come out all right for you.” He squeezed her hands and released them. He turned to face them all. “I knew you’d all be all right. And I see you are. My brave kids. Now brave adults. Ah, I wish we had nothing but time together, but alas”—Lucy decided Jack Masterson was the only man who could get away with using the word alas in conversation—“the clock is, as always, ticking.”