“No?” Hugo said. Or asked. Wallace wasn’t sure.

  Wallace threw up his hands in exasperation. “Who sends it? Where does it come from? Who writes it? Are they objective, or is it filled with nothing but opinionated drivel meant to defame? That’s libel. There are laws against it. I demand you tell me what was said about me.”

  “Oof,” Nelson said. “I’m too old and too dead for this.” He shuffled away from the counter toward his chair. “Let me know when our new guest arrives. I’ll put on my Sunday best.”

  Wallace glared after him. “You were wearing pajamas when I got here.”

  “Your observational skills are unparalleled. Good for you.”

  Wallace considered throwing a chair at him. In the end, he decided against it. He wouldn’t want it going into a file.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” Hugo said, chiding him gently. “There’s no list of pros and cons, or of every action someone has taken, either good or bad. It’s just … notes.”

  Wallace ground his teeth together. “What did my notes say?”

  Hugo squinted at him. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if someone has written something about me, I’d like to know.”

  Hugo grinned. “Did you look up reviews of your firm when you were alive?”

  Every Tuesday morning at nine. “No,” Wallace said. Then, “Unless that was written in my file. And if it was, I had a very good reason. I pissed off a lot of people, and everyone knows if you want to complain about something, you write it on the internet, even if you’re a liar who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  Wallace scowled at him.

  “Or not,” Hugo said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You sure you want to know?”

  Wallace balked. “Is it … bad? Like really bad? Lies! It’s all lies! I was a mostly competent person.” He cringed inwardly. Once, he might have fought tooth and nail to upsell himself, but now, he couldn’t do it. It felt … well. Ridiculous was probably the best way to put it. Ridiculous and pointless.

  Nelson snorted from his chair. “You shoot for those stars.”

  Wallace ignored him. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. You just stand there acting smug like you always do.”

  “You wound me,” Hugo said.

  Wallace sniffed. “I highly doubt that. I don’t even care. Look. Look at how much I don’t care.” And with that, Wallace turned on his heels, going back to the task at hand. He managed to take down two more chairs before he caved. Hugo was amused as he stalked back to the counter. “Shut up,” Wallace muttered. “Just tell me.”

  “You lasted a whole minute,” Hugo said. “Longer than I thought you would. I’m impressed.”

  “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

  Hugo shrugged. “Gotta get my kicks from somewhere, right, Grandad?”

  “Precisely,” Nelson said as Wallace rolled his eyes.

  Hugo glanced at Wallace. “But it’s not like you’re thinking. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s not meant to be a slight against you. Think of it more as a … an outline.”

  That certainly didn’t make him feel better. “Written by whom? And don’t say some esoteric bullshit like the universe or whatever.”

  “The Manager,” Hugo said.

  That stopped Wallace cold. “The Manager. The being you’re all scared of who makes decisions on a cosmic level.”

  “I’m not scared of—”

  “How does he know about me?” Wallace asked. “Was he spying on me?” He looked around wildly as he dropped his voice. “Is he listening to everything I’m saying right now?”

  “Probably,” Nelson said. “He’s kind of a voyeur like that.”

  Hugo sighed. “Grandad.”

  “What? Man’s gotta right to know that a higher being watched him poop or drop food on the floor and then pick it up and eat it.” Nelson peered around his chair. “Did you pick your nose? He saw that too. Nothing wrong with it, I suppose. Humans are gross that way. It’s in our nature.”

  “He didn’t,” Hugo said loudly. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Fine,” Wallace said. “Then I’ll just see for myself.” He was surprised when Hugo didn’t try to stop him from picking up the folder. Surprised, that is, until he discovered that he couldn’t pick it up. His hand passed right through the folder to the counter underneath. He jerked his hand back before trying again. And again. And again.

  “Let me know when you’re done,” Hugo said. “Especially since I’m the only one who can pick it up and see what’s inside.”

  “Of course you are,” Wallace muttered. He sagged, hands flat against the counter.

  Hugo reached for him again. It was happening more and more, as if he kept forgetting that he and Wallace couldn’t actually touch each other. He paused, one hand above Wallace’s. Wallace wondered what his skin would feel like. He thought it would be warm and soft. But he’d never find out. Instead, Hugo rested his hand between Wallace’s, tapping his pointer finger. Wallace’s own fingers twitched. Mere inches separated them. “It’s okay,” Hugo said. “I promise. Nothing bad. Your file said you were determined. Hard working. That you didn’t take no for an answer.”

  A month ago, that would have pleased Wallace.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  “I’m more than that,” he said dully.

  “Glad to hear you say that,” Hugo said. “I think so too.” He picked up the file from the counter, flipping it open. Wallace attempted to lean in nonchalantly but ended up falling through the counter. Hugo eyed him above the top of the folder. Even his eyes were smiling.

  “I dislike you immensely,” Wallace said, feeling rather petulant as he stood upright.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You should.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Nelson muttered. “Of all the obtuse…” Whatever else he had to say trailed off into mumbling under his breath.

  Mei appeared down the stairs, dressed smartly in the same suit she’d worn to Wallace’s funeral. She brushed her hair off her face. “I mean it about those muffins, man. If I come back and find they’ve burned, there’ll be hell to pay. Who have we got now?” She plucked the file from Hugo and began to read, eyes darting back and forth. “Huh. Oh. Oh. Well. I see. Interesting.” Her brow furrowed. “This … isn’t going to be easy.”

  Wallace glared at Hugo. “You said you were the only one who could touch it.”

  “Did I?” Hugo asked. “My bad. Mei can too.”

  She grinned at Wallace. “Saw yours. Lots of good stuff in there. Question: Why did you think wearing parachute pants was cool in 2003?”

  “You’re all terrible people,” Wallace announced grandly. “And I want nothing more to do with you.” And with that, he went back to pulling down the chairs, refusing to even glance in their direction.

  “Oh no,” Mei said. “Please no. Anything but that.” She shoved the file back into Hugo’s hands. “All right. Number two, here we go.”

  “Make sure you don’t show up three days late,” Wallace said. “Heaven forbid you do your job correctly.”

  “Aw,” Mei said. “You do care. I’m touched.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Hugo’s cheek. “Don’t forget about—”

  “The muffins. I know. I won’t.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. Wallace wasn’t jealous. Not at all. “Be careful. This one isn’t going to be like the others.”

  Wallace didn’t like how worried he seemed to be.

  “I will,” Mei said, hugging him back. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Wallace turned to tell her that the number of people who showed up at a funeral was not indicative of the value of a person, but Mei was already gone.

  The clock on the wall resumed its normal pace, the seconds ticking by.

  “I’ll never understand how any of this works,” Wallace said.

  Hugo’s only response was to laugh as he turned and walked through the kitchen doors.

  * * *

  The tea shop was busy all day. Since he was down Mei, Hugo never stopped moving, barely having time to acknowledge Wallace, much less answer more questions about what was in his file. It irritated him, though if pressed, he wouldn’t be able to explain why.

  It was Nelson who cut through the heart of the matter, much to Wallace’s dismay. Wallace was lost in thought, sitting on the floor next to Nelson’s chair. “He’s not going to forget about you just because someone new is here.”

  Wallace resolutely didn’t look at him. He stared into the fireplace, the flames snapping and popping. “I’m not worried about that at all.”

  “Right,” Nelson said slowly. “Of course you’re not. That’d just be preposterous.”

  “Exactly,” Wallace said.

  They sat in silence for at least ten more minutes. Then, “But if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t. Hugo’s smart. Focused. He knows how important this is. At least, I think he does.”

  Wallace looked up at him. Nelson was smiling, but at what, Wallace didn’t know. “The new person coming here?”

  “Sure,” Nelson said. “That too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Nelson waved his hand dismissively. “Just rambling, I suppose.” He hesitated. “Did you love your wife?”

  Wallace blinked. “What?”

  “Your wife.”

  Wallace looked back at the fire. “I did. But it wasn’t enough.”

  “Did you try your hardest?”

  He wanted to say yes, that he’d done everything in his power to make sure Naomi knew she was the most important person in his entire world. “No. I didn’t.”

  “Why do you think that was?” There was no censure in his voice, no judgment. Wallace was absurdly grateful for it.

  “I don’t know,” Wallace said, picking at a string on his jeans. He hadn’t worn anything close to a suit since he’d been able to change clothes. It made him feel better, like he’d shed an outer shell he hadn’t been aware he’d been carrying. “Things got in the way.”

  “I loved my wife,” Nelson said, and anything else Wallace had to say died on his tongue. “She was … vibrant. A spitfire. There wasn’t anyone like her in all the world, and for some reason, she chose me. She loved me.” He smiled, though Wallace thought it was more to himself than anything else. “She had this habit. Drove me up the wall. She’d come home from work, and the first thing she’d do was take off her shoes and leave them by the door. Her socks would follow, just laid out on the floor. A trail of clothes left there, waiting for me to pick them up. I asked her why she just didn’t put them in the hamper like a normal person. You know what she said?”

  “What?” Wallace asked.

  “She said that life was more than dirty socks.”

  Wallace stared at him. “That … doesn’t mean anything.”

  Nelson’s smile widened. “Right? But it made perfect sense to her.” His smile trembled. “I came home one day. I was late. I opened the door, and there were no shoes right inside. No socks on the floor. No trail of clothes. I thought for once she’d picked up after herself. I was … relieved? I was tired and didn’t want to have to clean up her mess. I called for her. She didn’t answer. I went through the house, room by room, but she wasn’t there. Late, I told myself. It happens. And then the phone rang. That was the day I learned my wife had passed unexpectedly. And it’s funny, really. Because even as they told me she was gone, that it had been quick and she hadn’t suffered, all I could think about was how I’d give anything to have her shoes by the door. Her dirty socks on the floor. A trail of clothes leading toward the bedroom.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wallace said quietly.

  “You don’t need to be,” Nelson said. “We had a good life. She loved me, and I made sure she knew every day I loved her, even if I had to pick up after her. It’s what you do.”

  “Don’t you miss her?” Wallace asked without thinking. He winced. “Shit. That didn’t come out like I meant it to. Of course you do.”

  “I do,” Nelson agreed. “With every fiber of my being.”

  “But you’re still here.”

  “I am,” Nelson said. “And I know that when I’m ready to leave this place, she’ll be waiting for me. But I made a promise that I’d watch over Hugo for as long as I was able. She’ll understand. What’s a few years in the face of forever?”

  “What will it take?” Wallace asked. “For you to cross.” He remembered what Nelson had told him when they’d stood below the door. “To rise.”

  “Ah,” Nelson said. “That’s the question, isn’t it? What will it take?” He leaned forward, tapping his cane gently against Wallace’s leg. “To know he’s in good hands. That his life is filled with joy even in the face of death. It’s not about what he needs, necessarily, because that might imply he’s lacking something. It’s about what he wants. There’s a difference. I think we forget that, sometimes.”

  “What does he want?” Wallace asked.

  Instead of answering, Nelson said, “He smiles more, now. Did you know that?”

  “He does?” He thought Hugo was the type who always smiled.

  “I wonder why that is,” Nelson said. He sat back in his chair. “I can’t wait to figure it out.”

  Wallace glanced at Hugo behind the counter. He must have felt Wallace watching him, because he looked over and grinned.

  Wallace whispered, “It’s easy to let yourself spiral and fall.”

  “It is,” Nelson agreed. “But it’s what you do to pull yourself out of it that matters most.”

  * * *

  The second hand on the clock began to stutter a half hour after Charon’s Crossing closed for the evening. Hugo placed a familiar sign in the window: CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE EVENT. He told Wallace it was just a precaution.

  “We’re not here,” Hugo said. “Not really. When the clock begins to slow, the world moves on around us. If anyone were to come to the shop during a time such as this, they would see only a darkened house with the sign in the window.”

  Wallace followed him into the kitchen. His skin was itching, and the hook in his chest was uncomfortable. “Has anyone ever tried to get in?”

  Hugo shook his head. “Not that I know of. It’s … not quite magic, I don’t think. More of an illusion than anything.”

  “For someone who’s a ferryman, there’s a lot you don’t know.”

  Hugo chuckled. “Isn’t it great? I’d hate to know everything. There’d be no mystery left. What would be the point?”

  “But you’d know what to expect.” He realized how it sounded the moment he said it. “Which is why we unexpect.”

  “Exactly,” Hugo said, as if that made any kind of sense. Wallace was learning it was easier just to go with it. It kept his sanity mostly intact. Hugo went to the pantry, frowning at the contents as he stood in front of it. Wallace looked over his shoulder. More jars lined the shelves, each with a different kind of tea inside. Unlike the ones behind the counter in the front of the shop, these weren’t labeled. Most of them were in powder form.

  “Matcha?” Hugo muttered to himself. “No. That’s not right. Yaupon? No. That’s not it either, though I think it’s close.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find what tea will best fit our guest,” Hugo said.

  “You did this with me?”

  He nodded as he pointed toward a dark powder toward the top of the shelf. “You were easy. Easier than almost anyone I’d ever had before.”

  “Wow,” Wallace said. “First time anyone’s said that about me. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  Hugo was startled into laughter. “That’s not—oh, you know what I meant.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “It’s an art,” Hugo said. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Picking the perfect tea for a person. I don’t always get it right, but I’m getting better at it.” He reached for a jar, touching the glass before pulling his hand back. “That’s not it either. What could—ah. Really? That’s … an acquired taste.” He took a jar from the shelf, filled with twisted, blackened leaves. “Not one of mine. I don’t think I could grow it here. Had this imported.”

  “What is it?” Wallace asked, eyeing the jar. The leaves looked dead.

  “Kuding cha,” Hugo said, turning toward the opposite counter to prepare the tea. “It’s a Chinese infusion. The literal translation is bitter nail tea. It’s usually made from a type of wax tree and holly. The taste isn’t for everyone. It’s very bitter, though it’s said to be medicinal. It’s supposed to help clear the eyes and head. Resolves toxins.”

  “And this is what you’re going to give him?” Wallace asked, watching as Hugo pulled a twisted leaf from the jar. The earthy scent was pungent, causing Wallace to sneeze.

  “I think so,” Hugo said. “It’s unusual. I’ve never had someone take this tea before.” He stared at the leaf before shaking his head. “Probably nothing. Watch.”

  Wallace stood next to him as Hugo poured hot water into the same set of teacups he’d used when Mei brought Wallace the first night. Steam billowed up as he set the teapot down. He held the leaf between two fingers as he lowered it gently into the water. Once it was submerged, the leaf unfurled like a blooming flower. The water began to darken to an odd shade of brown even as the leaf lightened in color to an off-green.

  “What do you smell?” Hugo asked.

  Wallace leaned forward and inhaled the steam. It clogged his nostrils, and he wiggled his nose as he pulled back. “Grass?”

  Hugo nodded, obviously pleased. “Exactly. Underneath the bitterness, it has an herbal note with an aftertaste that’s like lingering honey. You have to get through the bitter to find it, though.”

  Wallace sighed. “One of those things where you say one thing but mean something else.”

  Hugo smiled. “Or it’s just tea. Doesn’t need to mean something when it’s already so complex. Try it. I think you might be surprised. It probably needs to steep longer, but it’ll give you a good idea.”