He didn’t know what else he had to lose. “Fine. Ask your question.”
“Did you have a good life?”
Wallace jerked his head up. “What?”
“Your life,” Hugo said. “Was it good?”
“Define good.”
“You’re hedging.”
He was, and he hated how easily Hugo saw that. It made his skin itch. He felt on display, showing things he didn’t think he’d ever be ready to show. He wasn’t obfuscating; he genuinely had never thought about it that way. He woke up. He went to work. He stayed at work. He did his job, and he did his job well. Sometimes he lost. Most times he didn’t. There was a reason the firm had been as successful as it was. What else was there to life aside from success? Nothing, really.
Sure, he’d had no friends. No family. He had no partner, no one to grieve over him as he’d lain in an expensive coffin in the front of a ridiculous church, but that shouldn’t be the only measure of a life well-lived. It was all about perspective. He’d done important things, and in the end, no one could have asked any more of him.
He said, “I lived.”
“You did,” Hugo said, still holding onto the teacup. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Wallace scowled. “You’re not my therapist.”
“So you’ve said.” He lifted the cup and poured the tea out into the sink. It looked as if it pained him to do so. The dark liquid splattered against the sink before Hugo turned on the faucet and washed away the dregs.
“Is this … is this how you are with the others?”
Hugo switched off the faucet and set the teacup gently in the sink. “Everyone’s different, Wallace. There’s no one way to go about this, no uniform rules in place that can be applied to every single person like you who comes through my doors. That wouldn’t make sense because you’re not like everyone else, just as they’re not you.” He looked out the window above the sink. “I don’t know who or what you are yet. But I’m learning. I know you’re scared, and you have every right to be.”
“Damn right I am,” Wallace said. “How could I not be?”
Hugo smiled quietly as he turned toward Wallace. “That might be the most honest thing you’ve said since you got here. Would you look at that? You’re making progress. That’s great.”
The praise shouldn’t have warmed him as much as it did. It felt unearned, especially when he didn’t want it. “Mei said you had another Reaper before her.”
Hugo’s smile faded as his expression hardened. “I did. But that discussion is off-limits. It has nothing to do with you.”
Wallace took a step back, and for the first time since he could remember, he wanted to apologize. It was strange, this, made worse by how hard it seemed to get the words out. He frowned and pushed through it. “I’m … sorry?”
Hugo sagged, hands on the counter in front of the sink. “If I’m going to ask you questions, you should be able to do the same. There are some things I don’t like to talk about, at least not yet.”
“Then you can understand if I’m the same way.”
Hugo looked up in surprise. The smile returned. “I … yeah. Okay. I can see that. That’s only fair.”
And with that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Wallace to stare after him.
CHAPTER
9
Charon’s Crossing stayed relatively busy for most of the day. There was a lull mid-afternoon before more people came as the blue sky started to shift toward the encroaching dark. Wallace stayed in the kitchen, feeling voyeuristic as he watched the customers filter in and out.
He was surprised （Mei be damned） to see that not a single person tried to boot up a laptop or spend any time on their phones. Even those who came alone seemed happy enough to just sit in their chairs, taking in the noise of the tea shop. He was slightly amused （and more than a little horrified） when he tried to figure out what day it was, only to realize he had no idea. It took him a moment to count back the days. He’d died on a Sunday. His funeral had been Wednesday.
Which meant today was Thursday, though it felt like weeks had passed. If he were still alive, he’d be in the office, his day hours from being over. He always kept himself busy to the point of exhaustion, so much so that he’d usually collapse by the time he got home, falling face-first onto his bed until his alarm blared bright and early the next morning to begin all over again.
It was illuminating.
All that work, all that he’d done, the life he’d built. Had it mattered? What had been the point of anything?
He didn’t know. It hurt to think about.
With these thoughts thundering around his head, he played the part of the voyeur as he had nothing else to do.
Mei was in and out of the kitchen, telling Wallace she preferred to stay in the back if at all possible. “Hugo’s the people person,” she told him. “He likes to talk to everyone. I don’t.”
“You’re in the wrong line of work if that’s the case.”
She shrugged. “I like the dead more than the living. Dead people usually don’t care about the little annoyances of life.”
He hadn’t thought about it that way. He’d give anything for those annoyances again. Hindsight was a bitch of a thing.
Nelson stayed, for the most part, in his chair in front of the fireplace. Other times, he wandered between the tables, nodding along with conversations he could take no part in.
Apollo was in and out of the house. Wallace heard him barking ferociously at a squirrel, incensed that the squirrel ignored him completely.
But it was Hugo who Wallace watched the most.
Hugo, who seemed to have all the time in the world for anyone who asked for his attention. A gaggle of older women came in the early afternoon, fawning and cooing over him, pinching his cheeks and giggling when he blushed. He knew them all by name, and they clearly adored him. They all left with smiles on their faces, paper cups of tea steaming in their hands.
It wasn’t just the older women. It was everyone. Kids demanded he lift them up and he did, but not with his hands. They held onto his thinly muscled biceps as he raised his arms, their feet kicking into nothing, their laughter bright and loud. Younger women flirted, batting their eyes at him. Men shook his hand furiously, their grips looking strong as their arms pumped up and down. They called him by his first name. They all seemed delighted to see him.
By the time Hugo turned the sign on the window to CLOSED and locked the door, Wallace was wrung out. He didn’t know how Hugo and Mei could do this day in and day out. He wondered if it ever felt too big for them, facing the clear evidence of life, knowing what waited for everyone after.
Speaking of.
“Why aren’t there other people here?” he asked as Mei lugged in a wash bin full of dirty dishes. Through the swinging door, he could see Hugo had picked up a broom and was sweeping the floor as he overturned the chairs.
She grunted as she set the bin on the counter next to the sink. “What?”
“Other people,” Wallace repeated. Then, “Ghosts. Or whatever.”
“Why would there be?” Mei asked, beginning to load the dishwasher for the sixth time that day.