“That went well,” Nelson murmured when Wallace put his hand on the back of his chair.
Wallace sighed. “I don’t know if I had the right to say any of that to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just … he’s me.” The words were easier than he expected. “In a way I don’t like to look at because it shows me for who I was. Hell, who I am. I don’t know. It’s all jumbled up in my head. How can I tell him he can’t be an asshole about all of this when I acted exactly the same way?”
“You did,” Nelson said evenly.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Wallace whispered, ashamed. “I was scared, more than I’d ever been in my life, but that doesn’t excuse the way I treated all of you.” He shook his head. “Mei said something the first night she brought me here. That I needed to think about what I was saying. I didn’t do that.” Humbled, he looked at Nelson. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but regardless, it’s something I needed to say.”
Nelson watched him for a long moment. Though Wallace wanted to look away, he didn’t. Eventually, Nelson said, “Okay. I appreciate that. Mei’s right. She usually is, but with this, she hit the nail on the head. And if there’s hope for you, the same could be said about Alan.”
“I don’t know if it’ll be enough,” he admitted.
“Perhaps. But maybe it will be. Hugo will do the best he can. That’s all anyone can ask for. I’m glad you’re here, though. And I know I’m not the only one.”
Wallace glanced at Hugo. He was handing a customer a mug filled with tea, that same fixed smile on his face.
But he seemed to only have eyes for Wallace.
* * *
The rest of the day was quieter than it’d begun. Alan stayed by the window, ignoring everyone else. His shoulders were stiff, and every now and then, he’d reach up and touch his stomach or his chest or his throat. Wallace wondered if there was a sort of phantom pain there. He hoped not. He couldn’t imagine how that would feel.
When the last customer had left for the day, Hugo closed the door behind them, switching the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED. Mei was cleaning in the kitchen, her terrible music blasting loudly.
“Wallace,” Hugo said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Wallace looked warily at Alan, still standing by the window.
“It’s fine,” Nelson said. “I can handle him if need be. I may look old, but I can kick ass and take names with the best of them.”
Wallace believed him.
He followed Hugo down the hall toward the back door. He thought they were going out to the deck like they did most nights, but Hugo stopped near the end of the hall. He leaned against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. His bandana—bright orange today—sat askew on his head. Wallace wished he could fix it for him. He suddenly found himself wishing for many impossible things.
Hugo spoke first. “It’s going to be a little different for the next few days.” He sounded apologetic.
“What do you mean?”
“Alan. I need to help him. Get him to try to talk, if I can.” He sighed. “Which means we won’t be able to talk like we normally do at night, unless we can do it after—”
“Oh, hey, no,” Wallace said, even as a little flicker of jealousy flared within him. “I get it. He’s … You have to do what you do. Don’t worry about me. I know what’s important here.”
Hugo looked frustrated. “You are. Just as much as he is.”
Wallace blinked. “Thank you?”
Hugo nodded furiously, looking down at the floor between them. “I don’t want you thinking you’re not. I … like it when we talk. It’s one of my favorite parts of the day.”
“Oh,” Wallace said. His face felt warm. He cleared his throat. “I, uh. I like it when we talk too.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Good,” Wallace said. He didn’t know what else to say.
Hugo gnawed on his bottom lip. “I act like I know what I’m doing. And I like to think I’m good at it, even when I’m out of my depth. It’s … different. Each person is different. It’s difficult, but death always will be. Sometimes we get people like you, and other times…”
“You get an Alan.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding relieved. “And I have to work harder at it, but it’s worth it if I can get through to them. I don’t want anyone who comes here to turn around and do what Cameron did. To think that there’s no hope. That they have nothing left.”
“He’s…” What? Wallace wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. It felt too big. He pushed through it to the truth. “He took his own life.”
Hugo blinked. “What? How did you know that?”
They hadn’t had time to talk about what’d happened in the tea garden. All that he’d seen. All that he’d felt. All that Cameron had shown him. “I saw it when Cameron touched me. These stars, these pieces of him. Flashes. Memories. I felt his happiness and his sorrow and everything in between. And there was part of him that knew I could see it.”
Hugo sagged against the wall as if his legs had given out. “Oh god. That’s not … the Manager said…” He hung his head. “He … lied to me?”
“I don’t know,” Wallace said quickly. “I don’t know why he said the things he did to you, but…” He struggled to find the right words. “But what if they’re not as gone as you think? What if part of them still exists?”
“Then that would mean—I don’t know what that would mean.” Hugo lifted his head, eyes sad, mouth tugging down. “I tried so damn hard to get through to him, to make him see that he wasn’t defined by his ending. That even though he saw no other choice, it was over now, and he couldn’t be hurt again.”
“He lost someone,” Wallace whispered. The sunshine man.
“I know. And no matter what I said, I couldn’t convince him that they’d find each other again.” He looked toward the door that led to the garden.
“Has anyone ever come back from being a Husk?”
Hugo shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. They’re rare.” His mouth took on a bitter twist. “At least that’s what the Manager told me.”
“Okay,” Wallace said. “But even if that’s the case, why aren’t there hundreds of them? Thousands? He can’t be the first. Why didn’t I see any in the city after I died?”
“I don’t know,” Hugo said. “The Manager said that … it doesn’t matter what he said, not now. Not if … Wallace. Do you know what this means?” He pushed himself off the wall.
“Uh. No?”
“I need to think about this. I can’t … my head is too full right now. But thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being who you are.”
“It’s not much,” Wallace said, suddenly uncomfortable. “I wasn’t that great to begin with, as you know.”