Wallace grumbled under his breath as he followed Hugo down the hall.
* * *
They went outside again to the back deck overlooking the tea garden. Hugo turned on the strings of lights wrapped around the railings of the deck, white and twinkling.
Before Hugo closed the door to the house behind them, he reached in and switched off the deck light. The trees swayed in the darkness.
“Good talk with Grandad?” he asked, coming to stand next to Wallace near the steps.
“I guess.”
“He can be a little … pushy,” Hugo said. “Don’t feel like you have to do whatever he says.” He frowned. “Especially if it sounds like it’d be illegal.”
“Not like that matters now, does it?”
“No,” Hugo said. “I don’t suppose it does. Still, humor me. For my own peace of mind.” He reached up and smoothed out his pink bandana. “Your first full day here. How’d it go?”
“I stayed in the kitchen the whole time.”
“Saw that.” He leaned against the railing. “You don’t have to.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I don’t know. Does it?”
“You know, for someone who said they aren’t qualified to be a therapist, you really know how to act like one.”
Hugo chuckled. “I’ve been doing this for a bit.”
“Part of the gig,” Wallace said.
Hugo seemed pleased that he remembered. Wallace wasn’t sure why that felt important to him. He scratched at his chest, the hook tugging gently. “Exactly.”
“What did you want to show me?”
“Look up.”
Wallace did.
“What do you see?”
“The sky.”
“What else?”
It was like it’d been the night before, walking down a dirt road with a strange woman at his side. The stars were bright. Once, when he’d been a kid, he’d gotten it in his head that he needed to count them all. Each night, he’d stared out the window of his bedroom, counting them one by one. He never made it very far before falling asleep, waking the next morning more determined to try again.
“Stars,” Wallace whispered, even as he struggled to remember the last time he’d turned his face toward the sky before arriving at the tea shop. “All those stars.” It wasn’t like this in the city. The light pollution made sure of that, leaving only the barest hints of what hung in the sky at night. “There are so many of them.” He felt very small.
“It’s like that here,” Hugo said. “Away from everything else. I can’t imagine what it must be like where you’re from. I don’t know much else aside from this place.”
Wallace looked at him. “Why? Don’t you ever leave?”
“Can’t really do that,” Hugo said. “Never know when someone like you is going to come here. I always need to be ready.”
“You’re trapped here?” Wallace asked, sounding horrified. “Why the hell would you ever agree to that?”
“Not trapped,” Hugo said. “That implies I don’t—or didn’t—have a choice. I did. I wasn’t forced into being a ferryman. I chose to be. And it’s not like I can’t ever leave. I go into town all the time. I have my scooter, and sometimes, I go for a ride just to clear my head and breathe.”
“Your scooter,” Wallace repeated. “You ride that.”
Hugo arched an eyebrow. “I do. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wallace said, throwing up his hands. “Maybe because if you crash, you’ll die?”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t crash it.” His lips quirked. “I’m careful, Wallace, but I appreciate your concern. Thank you for worrying about me.” He sounded delighted, and Wallace refused to be charmed by it.
He failed miserably. “Someone has to,” he muttered, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he wished desperately he could take them back. He plowed ahead, deflecting awkwardly. “This place is still a prison.”
“It is? Why? I don’t need much. I never have. I’ve got everything I want right here.”
“But … that’s…” Wallace didn’t know what that was. Odd, surely. He’d never met someone so settled into their own skin. “Doesn’t it get to you? All this death, all the time.”
Hugo shook his head. “I don’t think of it that way, though I get what you’re trying to say. I think…” He paused as if choosing his words carefully. “Death isn’t always something to be feared. It’s not the be-all and end-all.”
Wallace remembered what Mei had told him. “An ending. Leading to a new beginning.”
“That’s right,” Hugo said. “You’re learning. It can be beautiful, if you let it, though I can see why you wouldn’t think so.” He looked up at the stars. “The best way to describe it is the sense of relief most people feel when they’re ready to go through the door. It may take them time to get to that point, but it’s always the same.” He hesitated. “I could tell you what it’s like, what I’ve seen. The look on their faces the moment the door opens, the moment they hear the sounds coming from the other side. But I don’t know that I can do it justice, because no matter what I say, it barely begins to scratch the surface. It changes you, Wallace, changes you in ways you don’t expect. At least it did me. Call it faith, call it proof, whatever you like. But I know that I’m doing that right thing because I’ve seen the looks on their faces, filled with awe and wonder. I may not be able to hear what they hear, but I choose to believe it’s everything they could’ve wanted.”
“It doesn’t bother you that you can’t hear it?”
Hugo shook his head. “I’ll find out one day. And until then, I’ll do what I’m here for, preparing you to find out for yourself.”
Wallace wished he could believe him. But the very thought of the door he had yet to lay eyes on terrified him. It made his skin crawl, and he deflected in the only way he knew how. “How did you become a ferryman?”
“Oof,” Hugo said, though Wallace thought he wasn’t fooled. “Just going for it, huh?”
“Might as well.”
“Might as well,” Hugo echoed. “It was by accident, if you can believe that.”
He couldn’t. At all. “You accidentally became the person who helps ghosts cross to … wherever.”
“Well, when you say it like that, I can see how it could sound ridiculous.”
“That’s how you said it!”
Hugo looked at him. Wallace forced himself not to turn away. It was easier than he expected. “My parents died.”
“I’m sorry,” Wallace said, cognizant of the fact that apologies seemed to come easier now.
Hugo waved him away. “Thanks, but you don’t need to apologize for it.”
“It’s what you’re supposed to say.”
“It is, isn’t it? I wonder why. Did you mean it?”
“I … think so?”
Hugo nodded. “Good enough. Still lived at home. I grew up a few miles away from here. You probably passed by the house on your little adventure last night.”