Hugo had disappeared into the kitchen, Apollo trailing after him, whining lowly. Wallace wanted to follow after them but found himself frozen in place, his thoughts racing.
She heard me. She heard me. That was what Alan had said.
And he’d been right. Wallace had seen it with his own eyes.
He didn’t know what to do with that information, if anything at all.
Did it even matter?
He hated how much he focused on it, how hopeful it almost made him feel. Mei had told him Nancy was a bit like her, though nowhere near as strong. He didn’t know if it had to do with the passing of her daughter—her grief manifesting itself into something extraordinary—or if she’d always been this way. Some dark part of him wondered if he could use that, somehow, use it to be seen and heard and—
He cut himself off, horrified.
No.
He wasn’t … he could never do something like that. He wasn’t like Alan. Not anymore.
Right?
He turned toward the kitchen.
Mei watched every step he took while ringing up a young couple, their faces flushed as the man smiled at his lady friend. “It’s our second date,” the man said, and he sounded so awed by it.
“Our third,” the woman said, bumping his shoulder. “That time at the grocery store counted.”
“Oh,” the man said, and he smiled. “Our third, then.”
Wallace walked through the double doors to an empty kitchen.
He frowned. Where had they gone? He hadn’t heard the scooter start up, so he didn’t think Hugo had left, and it wasn’t as if Apollo could follow him even if he did. They had to be around here somewhere.
Wallace went to the door, looking out onto the back deck. The spring air still had a bite to it, though the tea plants and forest behind the shop were more vibrant than they’d ever been since Wallace arrived. What did this place look like in the throes of summer? Green, he expected, so green that he’d be able to taste it, something he hadn’t known until this moment that he desperately wanted to see. The world outside Charon’s Crossing marched ever on.
There, sitting against the railing, was Hugo.
Apollo sat at his feet, paws folded over each other. His ears were perked and twitching, head raised as he blinked slowly at Hugo.
Hugo, who looked slick with sweat, his breathing ragged.
Alarmed, Wallace hurried through the door.
Hugo didn’t open his eyes as Wallace approached slowly, keeping his distance. He looked as if he was trying to get himself under control, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth. His bandana—purple today, with little yellow stars—sat crooked on his head.
Apollo turned his head, looking at Wallace. He whined again.
“It’s all right,” Wallace told him. “Everything is fine.”
He kept his distance, stopping in the middle of the deck. He left the chairs alone, deciding to sit where he stood.
He waited.
It took a long time, but Wallace didn’t push. He wouldn’t. Not when Hugo was like this. It wouldn’t help. So he sat there, head bowed, tapping his finger on the boards beneath him, a tiny sound to let Hugo know he was there. Tap. Tap. Tap. Quiet, soft, but a connection, a reminder. Tap, tap, tap. You’re not alone. I’m here. Breathe. Breathe. He knew what this was. He’d seen it before.
Hugo sucked in ragged breaths, his chest heaving, face scrunched up, eyes unfocused, dazed. And Wallace didn’t move, didn’t try to talk to him. He kept on tapping on the deck, keeping the beat, like a metronome.
Wallace must have tapped his finger a hundred times before Hugo spoke. “I’m fine,” he said, voice hoarse.
“Okay,” Wallace said easily. “But it’s all right if you’re not, too.” He hesitated. “Panic attacks are no joke.”
Hugo opened his eyes, glassy and wet. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning quietly. “That’s an understatement. How did you know to…” He waved his hand at Wallace and the distance between them.
“Naomi had them when she was younger.”
“Your wife?”
“Ex-wife,” Wallace said automatically. “She … I didn’t understand them, or what could trigger them. She explained it to me, but I don’t know that I listened very well. They were few and far between, but when they hit, they were savage. I tried to help her, tried to tell her just to breathe through it, and she…” He shook his head. “She told me that it was as if a dozen hands were clawing at her, choking her. Squeezing her lungs. They were irrational, she said. Chaotic. Like her body was fighting her. And yet I still thought she could power through them if she really wanted to.”
“If only that’s how it worked.”
“I know,” Wallace said simply. Then, “Apollo helps.”
Apollo thumped his tail at the sound of his name.
“He does,” Hugo said. He looked exhausted. “Even though he flunked out of the service dog training, he still knows. It was worse for me, after … well. After everything. I didn’t know how to stop them. I didn’t know how to fight them. I couldn’t even find the words to explain what they felt like. Chaotic is pretty close, I think. Anxiety is … a betrayal, my brain and body working against me.” He smiled weakly. “Apollo’s a good boy. He knows just what to do.”
“I can go back inside,” Wallace said. “If you want to be left alone. Some do, but Naomi liked having me near. Not touching her, but near so she knew she wasn’t alone. I’d tap against the wall or the floor, just to let her know I was still there without speaking. It seemed to help her, so I took a chance it’d be the same with you.”
“I appreciate that.” Hugo closed his eyes again. “It’s hard.”
“What?”
Hugo shrugged. “This. Everything.”
“That’s…”
“Vague?”
“I was going to say all-encompassing.”
Hugo snorted. “I suppose.”
“I didn’t know that it affected you this much,” Wallace admitted.
“It’s death, Wallace. Of course it does.”
“No, I know. I didn’t mean it like that.” He paused, considering. “I guess I thought you were used to it.”
Hugo opened his eyes again. They were clearer than they’d been before. “I don’t know that I ever will be.” He grunted as he shifted to a more comfortable position. “I don’t want it to affect me as it does, but I can’t always stop it. I know what I’m supposed to be doing, I know my job is important. But what I want and what my body does are sometimes two different things.”
“You’re human,” Wallace whispered.
“I am,” Hugo agreed. “And everything that comes with it. Just because I’m a ferryman doesn’t mean all the other parts of me won’t still be there, warts and all.” Then, “What do you want?”
Wallace blinked. “To make sure you’re—”
Hugo shook his head. “Not that. What do you want, Wallace? Out of your time here. Out of me. This place.”
“I … don’t know?” His own words confused him. There were many, many things he wanted, but each sounded more trivial than the last. And that was the rub, wasn’t it? A life built upon inconsequential things made important simply because he desired them to be.