If there’s one thing he learned from his youth, it’s that time can’t be rushed.
His patience paid off. And in fact, it happened on that very day. Past, present, and future looped together, tying themselves into a golden knot on that very sidewalk.
Someone accidentally jostled Adam as he stood in line. He did a double take as the person who had bumped him walked past. The dripping raincoat seemed awfully familiar.
Abruptly, Adam chased after the man. “Hey!”
The man turned and looked at Adam blankly. “Hello. May I help you?”
J.C. Walsh looked exactly the same as he had that first time he came into the Biscuit Basket twenty years ago. Adam stood still, at a loss for words. It’s him. It’s really him.
The older man lifted the sleeve of his raincoat to glance at his watch. “Er, if you don’t mind,” he said after some hesitation, “I have to get back to work.”
Adam snapped back to his senses. With a flourish, he placed the package in the man’s hand. “Listen carefully. There’s a boy, a boy named Adam Lee Tripp, who needs your help.”
“Excuse me?”
“His mouse, Speedy, is dying, and he’s afraid of a lot of things. You will find him in a time where your present self isn’t supposed to exist yet. He lives above a bakery—the Biscuit Basket, with velvet cakes and buttercream frosting. You’ll tell him to go to the attic, where great, fantastic adventures await him.” Adam nodded at the package. “And when you do, you’ll be carrying a snow globe. This snow globe.”
J.C. Walsh glanced around the street skeptically, as if checking to see whether this was a setup.
“Look, if this is some prank…” he began.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said with a reassuring smile. “This will make sense in due time. It will happen, because it has already happened. The boy is the one who will receive your music box—in which all is foretold.”
“In which all is foretold,” repeated J.C. Walsh with a confused look. The phrase sounded familiar, one he might have heard a long time ago.
The man scratched his gray-blond hair, a habit he’d acquired from his childhood due to constant itchiness from wearing his favorite aviator helmet. As he did, in the back of his mind, Jack saw his father sitting on the living room sofa, lighting the eleven striped candles on Jack’s birthday cake, made with the family’s special homemade buttercream frosting.
“Your grandfather always said candles are extraordinary things,” Jack’s father had commented. “Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the first candle will not be shortened.”
He then handed over a handsomely carved music box. “Happy eleventh birthday, Jack Charles Walsh,” he’d told Jack. “This is a special gift passed down from your grandfather. He made a promise to a close friend to always keep this safe. He also made me promise to pass on this note he wrote.”
There had been a small yellow card tucked in the crease of the lid. On it was written,
One in which all is foretold,
One in which lie gifts of gold,
One in which past days unfold.
Life goes round and round like a clock, dear Jack. Enjoy it while you can.
“Grandpa Elbert always said only the second one can be controlled, and is worth pursuing,” his father had said, chuckling. “Don’t know what he meant by that. He was an odd fellow, always too cryptic for my taste. But a good man all the same. Take good care of this, you hear?”
Jack had kept the music box, right up to the day he had to leave his house behind.
After remembering all this, a look of stunned realization dawned on J.C. Walsh’s face. He stared at Adam. “You’re…” he whispered.
Adam smiled. “Good to see you too, friend.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a village to produce a book. None of this would have been possible without the following people.
A big thank-you to the wonderful team at Holiday House. An especially warm thank-you to my brilliant editor, Kelly Loughman, whose sharp eyes and attention to detail have improved this book tenfold. A thank-you to copyeditor Sue Wilkins, who caught inconsistencies the rest of us missed, and a thank-you to Gilbert Ford, for designing such an amazing cover.
Thank you, Adria Goetz, for taking a chance on an unknown author and for championing this book so enthusiastically.
A thank-you to the critique partners who helped improve this manuscript in its early stages, especially Mary and Christyne. I also want to thank my sister, Emily, for encouraging me after reading the very first draft. Thanks also to my mom and dad, who cheered me on in pursuing my dreams.
Last but not least, I want to thank my husband, Hayden, who supported me through ups and downs, who read multiple drafts, who calmed me down in times of anxiety. I am forever grateful to have you in my life.
