“I know,” Hugo whispered. “But I swear we’ll run together again one day. I won’t forget it or you. Go, Apollo. Go with Grandad.”
Apollo stood. He looked between Hugo and Nelson as if unsure. For a moment, Wallace thought he’d ignore Hugo’s order and stay right where he was.
He didn’t.
He barked at Hugo, a low woof before he turned toward Nelson. Apollo circled Nelson, sniffing at his legs before pressing his snout against Nelson’s hand. Nelson smiled down at him. “You ready, Apollo? I think we’re going on an adventure. I wonder what we’ll see?”
Apollo licked his fingers.
Hugo rose from his crouch. He moved until he stood in front of his grandfather. Wallace thought he’d hesitate, if only for a moment. He didn’t. He raised his hand toward Nelson’s chest, and the moment his fingers closed around the hook only he and Nelson could see, Nelson said, “Hugo?”
Hugo looked at him.
Nelson said, “I’ll be seeing you, okay?”
Hugo grinned brilliantly. “Damn right you will.” And then he pulled the hook free. He turned and did the same to Apollo, the dog yipping once.
Hugo stood upright, taking a deep breath as he raised his hand above his head toward the doorknob. His fingers covered the leaf, and with a twist of his wrist, the door opened.
White light spilled out, the song of life and death like a symphony.
“Oh,” Nelson said, voice hushed in reverence. “I never … I never thought … All this light. All these colors. I think … yes. Yes, I hear you. I see you, oh my god, I see you.” He laughed wildly as his feet left the floor, Apollo looking comically surprised as his did the same. “Hugo!” Nelson cried. “Hugo, it’s real. All of it is real. It’s life. It’s life.”
Blinking against the blinding light, Wallace saw the outline of Nelson and Apollo as they rose through the air. Apollo looked around, tongue hanging out. It almost looked as if he were grinning.
And then they both crossed through the doorway.
Before the door closed, Wallace heard Nelson’s voice one last time as Apollo barked happily.
He said, “I’m home.”
The door slammed shut.
The light faded.
Nelson and Apollo were gone.
Silence settled like a blanket over the fourth floor of the tea shop.
“What do you think he saw?” Mei finally asked as she wiped her eyes.
Hugo stared up at the door. Though his face was wet, he smiled. “I don’t know. And isn’t that the point? We don’t know until it’s our time. Can you give me a moment? I want … I’ll be down shortly.”
Wallace touched the back of his hand before following Mei down the stairs. He thought he heard Hugo speaking quietly, almost like a prayer.
* * *
That night, Wallace found Hugo on the back deck. Mei was in the kitchen, her terrible music blaring loudly, causing the bones of the house to shake. He shook his head as he closed the back door behind him.
Hugo glanced back at him. “Hello.”
“Hello, Hugo,” Wallace said. “You all right?” He winced as he joined Hugo at the railing. “Stupid question.”
“No,” Hugo said as he lay his head on Wallace’s shoulder. “I don’t think it is. And honestly? I don’t know if I’m all right. It’s strange. Did you hear his voice at the end?”
“I did,” Wallace said.
“He sounded…”
“Free.”
Wallace felt Hugo nod against him. He wrapped an arm around Hugo’s waist. “I can’t even begin to imagine the relief he must have felt. I…” He hesitated. Then, “Are you angry with him?”
“No,” Hugo said. “How could I be? He’s watched over me for long enough, and helped to teach me how to be a good person. And besides, he knew I was in good hands.”
“Are you?”
Hugo laughed. “I think so. You are pretty good with your—”
Wallace groaned. “I’m trying to have a moment here.”
Hugo turned his head so he could kiss the underside of Wallace’s jaw with a loud smack. Wallace grinned against his hair. “I am,” Hugo whispered. “In good hands. The best, really. And he’s right: this isn’t goodbye. We’ll see each other again. All of us. But before then, we still have work to do. And we’ll do it together.”
“We will,” Wallace agreed. “I think—”
The back door opened.
Light spilled out.
They turned.
Mei stood in the doorway. “Stop being all gross and lovey and blech. A new file appeared.”
Hugo stepped away from the railing. “Tell me.”
Mei began to recite the contents of the file from memory. Hugo didn’t interject, listening as Mei rattled off facts about their new guest.
Wallace glanced back at the tea plants.
Their leaves fluttered in the warm breeze. They were strong, firmly rooted in the soil. Hugo had seen to that.
“Wallace,” Hugo called from the doorway. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Wallace said, turning away from the garden. “Let’s do this. Who’s our new guest going to be?”
When he reached the door, Wallace took Hugo’s outstretched hand without hesitation. The door closed behind them. A moment later, the light on the back deck switched off, the tea garden bathed only in moonlight.
If they’d looked back one last time, they would’ve seen move ment in the forest. At the tree line, there, in the dark, a great stag lowered its head toward the earth in veneration, flowers dangling from its antlers. Before long, it moved back amongst the trees, petals trailing in its wake.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Under the Whispering Door is a deeply personal story to me; therefore, it was very hard to write. It took a lot out of me to finish, as it forced me to explore my own grief over losing someone I loved very much, more than I ever had before—outside of therapy, at least. There is a catharsis to grief, though we don’t usually see that in the midst of it. I won’t say writing this book helped heal me, because that would be a lie. Instead, I’ll say that it left me feeling a bit more hopeful than I had before, bittersweetly so. If you live long enough to learn to love someone, you’ll know grief at one point or another. That’s just how the world works.
Some amazing people helped bring this book to you, so I’d like to thank them now.
First is Deidre Knight, my agent, who fiercely champions my books and believes in them, perhaps more than anyone else. She is the best agent an author could ask for. Thanks to Deidre and the team at The Knight Agency, including Elaine Spencer, who handles all the foreign rights to my books. She’s the reason The House in the Cerulean Sea and Under the Whispering Door are being translated into so many different languages.
Ali Fisher, my editor, gave me the absolute best writing advice I’ve ever gotten. While we were in the middle of edits for this book, she told me one word that changed how I looked at Wallace’s story: decentralize. That won’t mean much to you, but believe me when I say that it was like the sun bursting through the clouds for the first time in weeks, and it allowed me to put the focus where it should’ve been in the first place. This story is as good as it is because of her. Thanks, Ali.