And now, in a tea shop so far from everything he’d known, he felt a great wave of sadness for all that he’d had, and all that he’d lost. A chair. It was just a chair, and yet he couldn’t even do that right. It was no surprise he’d failed Naomi.
“Would you look at that,” he heard Nelson say quietly.
He opened his eyes.
He was holding the chair in his hands. He could feel the grain of the wood against his fingers. He was so surprised, he dropped it. It clattered against the floor but didn’t fall over. He looked at Nelson with wide eyes. “I did it!”
Nelson grinned, flashing his remaining teeth. “See? Just needed a little patience. Try again.”
He did.
Only this time, when he reached for the chair, there was a strange crackling the moment before he could grab onto it. The sconces on the walls flared briefly, and the chair rocketed across the room, smashing into the far wall. It fell on its side on the floor, one of the legs broken.
Wallace gaped after it. “I … didn’t mean to do that?”
Even Nelson seemed shocked. “What the hell?”
Apollo started barking as the ceiling above them creaked. A moment later, Hugo and Mei came rushing down the stairs, both of them looking around wildly. Mei was in shorts and an old shirt, the collar stretched out over her shoulder, her hair a mess around her face.
Hugo was in a pair of sleep shorts and nothing else. There were miles of deep brown skin on display, and Wallace found something very interesting to stare at in the opposite direction that was not a thin chest and thick stomach.
“What happened?” Mei demanded. “Are we under attack? Is someone trying to break in? I am going to kick so much ass, you don’t even know.”
“Wallace threw a chair,” Nelson said mildly.
Mei and Hugo stared at Wallace.
“Traitor,” Wallace mumbled. Then, “I didn’t throw it. I just … tossed it across the room with the power of positive thinking?” He frowned. “Maybe.”
Mei went over to the chair, hunkering down beside it, poking the broken leg with her finger. “Huh,” she said.
Hugo wasn’t looking at the chair.
He was still staring at Wallace.
“What?” Wallace asked, trying to make himself smaller.
Hugo shook his head slowly. “Multitudes.” As if that explained anything at all. He glanced at Nelson. “Maybe don’t teach people to destroy my chairs.”
“Bah,” Nelson said, waving his hand. “A chair is a chair is a chair. He barely even touched it, Hugo. It took me weeks to even be able to feel it.” He sounded oddly proud, and it was all Wallace could do to keep from puffing out his chest. “He’s taking to this whole ghost thing pretty well, if you ask me.”
“By murdering my furniture,” Hugo said wryly. “Whatever you’re planning, you get it out of your head right now.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nelson said. “I’m not planning anything at all.”
Even Wallace didn’t believe him. He didn’t want to know what was going through Nelson’s head to cause the expression of utter deviousness he wore.
Mei picked up the chair. The leg fell off onto the floor. “He’s kind of got a point, Hugo. Have you ever seen someone do this only after a few days?”
Hugo shook his head, still looking at Wallace. “No. I don’t suppose I have. Curious, isn’t it?” Then, “How did you do it?”
“I … remembered something. From when I was younger. A memory.”
He waited for Hugo to ask what memory it was. Instead, he said, “Was it a good one?”
It was. For all that came later, for all the mistakes he made, pulling out Naomi’s chair was something he hadn’t thought about in years, but apparently hadn’t forgotten. “I think so.”
Hugo smiled. “Try to keep my chairs in one piece, if you can.”
“No promises,” Nelson said. “I can’t wait to see what else he can do. If we have to sacrifice a few chairs in the process, then so be it. Don’t you dare think about stifling us, Hugo. I won’t have it.”
Hugo sighed. “Of course not.”
* * *
They all fell into a schedule of sorts. Or, rather, they added Wallace to the one they already followed. Mei and Hugo were up before the sun, blinking blearily as they yawned and came down the stairs, ready to start another day at Charon’s Crossing Tea and Treats. At first, Wallace wasn’t sure how they did it, as the tea shop never had a day off, even on the weekend, and there were no other employees. Mei and Hugo ran everything, Mei mostly in charge of the kitchen during the day while Hugo ran the register and made the tea. They were a team, moving around each other like they were dancing, and he felt the hook tugging gently in his chest at the sight of it.
Those first days, Wallace stayed in the kitchen, listening to Mei’s terrible music, watching Hugo through the portholes. Hugo greeted most everyone by name, asking after their friends and families and jobs while he punched the ancient keys of the register. He laughed with them, patiently nodding along with even the most long-winded of customers. Every now and then, he’d glance back at the kitchen doors, seeing Wallace looking out. He’d give a small smile before turning back to greet the next person in line.
It was on his eighth day in the tea shop that Wallace came to a decision. He’d spent a good portion of the morning working up the nerve, unsure of why it was taking him so long. The people in the tea shop wouldn’t be able to see him. They’d never know he was even there.
Mei was telling him about how she’d tried to make tea but somehow had ended up almost burning down the kitchen, and therefore was never allowed to touch even the smallest of tea leaves again. “Hugo was horrified,” she said, leaning over to look at a batch of cookies in the oven. “You would’ve thought I’d stabbed him in the back. I think these are burning. Or maybe they’re supposed to look like that.”
“Uh-huh,” Wallace said, distracted. “I’m going out.”
“Right? I mean, it wasn’t that bad. Just smoke damage, but … wait. What?”
“I’m going out,” he said again. And then he went through the doors and out into the tea shop, not waiting for a response.
Part of him still expected everyone to stop midsentence and turn slowly to stare at him. While he’d been able to move a chair （only breaking two more, though one did leave gouges in the ceiling when Wallace accidentally kicked it as hard as he could）， he still hadn’t figured out how to change his clothes. His flip-flops snapped against the floor, and he felt oddly vulnerable in his old shirt and sweats.
But no one paid him any mind. They continued on as if he weren’t there at all.
He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.
Before he could make up his mind, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the counter. A tiny older woman prattled on about how there could be no nuts in her muffin, it couldn’t even touch a nut of any kind or her throat would constrict and she’d die a terrible death, Hugo, I know I’ve told you this before, but it’s serious.
“Of course,” Hugo said, but he wasn’t looking at her.