Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
The first was called There’s a Moose Loose in Central Park and the cover illustration was in gorgeously saturated greens and browns. The trees of what Simon could only assume was Central Park had movement to them like a breeze was ruffling their leaves. Peeking from between two trees was the familiar velvet of a large moose’s antlers.
“Wow,” Simon breathed.
He opened the book and was lost in Jack’s illustrations. The story was cute—a moose that had traveled from Wyoming and made its way to Central Park made friends with a little girl who wandered away from her parents. When the horse-mounted police officers found them both, the girl was asleep on the moose’s back and the horses made friends with the moose.
But the illustrations were glorious.
Jack had a hand with color that Simon could recognize instantly. He might be a graphic designer and not an artist, but he could see that much. And his work had a tenderness to it, from the cant of the little girl’s head where she rested on the moose to the expression on the moose’s face, as if it loved the child. Simon could see why the book had been successful. It was sweet and magical and amusing.
He flipped through the second book, There’s a Bear in Times Square, and the third, There’s a Bison Stuck in Brooklyn.
When he got to the end, and the bison was being safely led across the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun set, Statue of Liberty silhouetted in the background, Simon was nearly in tears.
“I can’t believe you,” he said.
“Um, in a good way?” Jack’s voice was utterly sincere.
“Yes, in a good way, you idiot!” Simon heard himself say.
Jack’s eyes went wide and Simon clapped a hand over his mouth.
“No, don’t,” Jack said. “Tell me.”
“Tell you you’re an idiot?” Simon mumbled.
Jack grinned. There was a tiny space between his two front teeth that Simon hadn’t noticed before.
“Yeah.”
The sound that bubbled out of Simon could only be described as a giggle.
“You’re so t-talented.”
“Yeah?”
Jack drew closer and ran a hand over the book Simon held, crutch caught under his arm. Simon had a moment of disconnect, imagining Jack’s huge hands producing such detailed, tender illustrations. Then Jack gently traced the bison’s hump with one thick finger and Simon realized there was no disconnect at all.
“It’s like a combination of us. Wyoming and New York. Rural and urban. Davis said kids like animals, so.” He shrugged. “Oh, look.”
Jack touched Simon’s shoulder lightly and pointed out the window. Two elk emerged from the tree line that must have been a hundred yards from the back of the cabin. One larger and one smaller, they bent their noble heads to munch on fresh grass.
Simon had lived in Wyoming his entire life, but every time he saw one of the beautiful creatures he shared the land with it felt like a blessing. A moment when two points in time—past and present—snapped together, coexisting in a harmony that made his heart race joyfully.
“These two come around a lot,” Jack said softly, as if he didn’t want to run the risk of disturbing them, even from inside.
“Wow” was all Simon could say.
They watched the elk nibble for a while, nosing around in what looked like it might once have been a large garden but was now overgrown, then wander back into the woods, heads held high.
Jack was standing close enough that Simon could feel his heat. He could also smell the intoxicating combination of coffee, fresh laundry, and some kind of earthy shampoo that made him want to lean into Jack and press his cheek to Jack’s chest.
To prevent himself from doing that and probably getting shoved across the room, Simon looked at the other book on the drawing table.
It was a graphic novel called Two Moons Over by Corbin Wale, and the style was like nothing Simon had seen before. It looked almost scratchy, but the figures seemed to glow impossibly. The cover showed a large Victorian house that appeared to have had pieces added to it willy-nilly. In the garden were huge pumpkins, unnaturally large squash blossoms, and flowers that wound up every surface. Dogs—or were they wolves?—prowled the tree line protectively. And in the sky hung two crescent moons. Between them was a boy. Was he flying? Falling? Simon couldn’t tell, but it also didn’t matter because it was clear he belonged there. From the windows of the impossible house light glowed welcomingly. When he peered closer he could see two women’s faces in a high window, their watchful eyes fixed on the boy.
Simon flipped the book open to the dedication page: For the Aunts & for Alex.
“It’s my favorite,” Jack said softly. “He’s amazing. The stuff he does that’s real but not real. It’s... I love it.”
Jack took the book out of Simon’s hand as if he couldn’t speak of it and not be holding it.