She moved toward the door.

  The end.

  Except Alan shouted, “Nancy!”

  The light bulbs in the sconces flared. Nancy stopped, her hand on the doorknob.

  “Nancy!” Alan shouted again, stunning Wallace into immobility.

  Nancy turned toward the sound of his voice as she frowned.

  Alan jumped up and down in the center of the tea shop, waving his warms wildly, screaming her name over and over again. The tables on either side of him shifted as if someone had bumped into them, sloshing tea and knocking muffins over.

  “What the hell?” a man asked, staring down at the table. “Did you feel that?”

  “Yeah,” his companion, a young woman with pink bubblegum lip gloss, said. “It shook, right? Almost like—”

  The tables jumped again as Alan took a step toward Nancy.

  Nancy, whose grip tightened on the doorknob until her knuckles turned white. “Who’s there?” she asked, voice carrying, causing everyone to turn and look at her.

  “Yeah,” Alan panted. “Yes. I’m here. Oh my god, I’m here. Listen to me, you need to—”

  Wallace didn’t think.

  One moment, he was a tea plant, unmoving. The next, he stood in front of Alan again, hand over his mouth, teeth scraping against his palm. “Stop it,” he hissed.

  Alan struggled against him, trying to shove him away. But Wallace was bigger than he was, and though he was rail thin, he held firm. Alan’s eyes blazed in fury above Wallace’s hand.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” a woman asked Nancy, turning in her chair to look up at her.

  Nancy didn’t so much as glance at her. She continued to stare in Wallace and Alan’s direction, but if she saw them, she didn’t react. She opened her mouth as if to speak again, but shook her head before walking through the door, slamming it behind her.

  Alan screamed into the hand covering his mouth before shoving Wallace as hard as he could. Wallace stumbled back, hitting a chair behind him. The man sitting in the chair looked around wildly as the legs scraped along the floor.

  “She heard me,” Alan snarled. “She heard me. She can—” He never finished. He hurried toward the door.

  Hugo said, “If you walk out that door, you’ll lose yourself. And I don’t know how to bring you back.”

  Alan stopped, chest heaving.

  Silence filled the nooks and crannies of Charon’s Crossing. Everyone turned slowly to look at Hugo. Nelson groaned, face in his hands as Apollo growled at Alan.

  “Right!” Mei said brightly. “Because if you haven’t finished your cup of tea before you leave, you’ll spend the rest of your day fretting over what you’ve lost. And we don’t know how to bring it back, because reheated tea is the worst. Isn’t that right, Hugo?”

  Hugo didn’t respond. He stared at Alan, unblinking.

  “For the love of all that’s holy, listen to him,” Nelson said irritably. “I know you don’t have a lick of common sense, but don’t be an idiot. You’ve been told what will happen to you if you leave. You want that? Fine. Go. But don’t expect any of us to come running to save you if you do.”

  Alan’s shoulders were a rigid line. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes wet and lost. “She could hear me,” he whispered.

  “Oh, look!” Mei said loudly. “I just realized today is National Free Tea and Scone Day. We need to celebrate. If anyone wants a free cup of tea or a scone, come up here and I’ll hook you up.”

  Most everyone moved toward the counter, chairs scraping along the floor. After all, it was either continue to stare at the odd owner of Charon’s Crossing, or get something for free. It seemed to be an easy choice.

  Eventually, Alan stood down, though Wallace could still feel the anger and desperation emanating from him. He turned away and went to the far corner of the tea shop, leaning his forehead against the wall as he shook.

  “Leave him be,” Nelson said quietly. “I think he’s learning what this all means. Give him time. He’ll come around. I just know it.”

  Nelson was wrong.

  * * *

  The rest of the day went by in a blur.

  Alan didn’t move from the corner. He didn’t speak. Wallace left him alone.

  Mei stood behind the register, arms folded, watching, always watching. She smiled whenever someone came up to the counter to place their order, but it was forced, thin.

  Nelson stayed in his chair, cane across his lap, eyes closed, head tilted back.

  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.

  Hugo didn’t look disappointed. If anything, Wallace’s answer seemed to calm him further. “It’s okay not to know. In a way, it makes things easier.”

  “How?”

  Hugo settled his hands into his lap. Apollo lowered his snout to his paws, though he kept his gaze trained on Hugo, blinking slowly, tail curled around his haunches. “Because it’s harder to convince someone of what they need versus what they want. We often ignore the truth because we don’t like what it shows us.”

  “Alan.”

  “I’m trying,” Hugo said. “I really am. But I don’t know if I’m getting through to him. It’s only been a few days, but he feels further away than he did when he first arrived.” His mouth twisted down. “It’s like Cameron all over again, only worse because there’s no one trying to undermine my work.”

  Wallace startled. “They’re not your fault.”

  “Aren’t they? They came to me because I’m the one who’s supposed to help them. But no matter what I say, no matter what I do, they can’t listen. And I don’t blame them for that. It’s like a panic attack. I can try to explain it to you, but unless you’ve ever had one yourself, you’ll never understand just how harsh they can be. And though I’m surrounded by death, I can never understand what it does to a person because I’ve never died.”

  “You’re better than most,” Wallace said.

  Hugo squinted at him. “Another compliment, Wallace?”

  “Yes,” Wallace said, picking at the frayed ends of his jeans.

  “Ah. Thank you.”

  “I could never be you.”

  “Of course not,” Hugo said. “Because you’re you, and that’s who you’re supposed to be.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You do what you do, and I can’t even begin to imagine the toll it takes. This gift you have … it’s beyond me. I don’t think I could ever be strong enough to be a ferryman.”

  “You underestimate yourself.”

  “Or I know my limits,” Wallace countered. “What I’m capable of, even if I should’ve second-guessed some of the decisions I made.” He paused. “Okay, maybe a lot of the decisions I made.”

  Hugo knocked his head back against the railing softly. “But isn’t that life? We second-guess everything because it’s in our nature. People with anxiety and depression just tend to do it more.”

  “Maybe that’s Alan,” Wallace said. “I won’t pretend I get everything about him. I don’t. But the world he knows is gone. Everything has changed. He’ll see you for what you are, eventually. It just takes time.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I have faith in you,” Wallace said, feeling brittle and exposed. “And all that you are. There’s no one like you. I don’t know if I would have made it this far without you. I don’t even want to think what it would have been like with another ferryman. Or woman. Ferryperson?”

  Hugo laughed, looking surprised as he did so. “You have faith in me.”

  Wallace nodded as he waved his hand awkwardly. “If this is a way station, if this is just one stop on a journey, you’re the better part of it.” He was silent for a moment. Then, “Hugo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I wish for things too.”

  “Like what?”

  Honesty was a weapon. It could be used to stab and tear and spill blood upon the earth. Wallace knew that; he had his fair share of blood on his hands because of it. But it was different, now. He was using it upon himself, and he was flayed open because of it, nerve endings exposed.

  And perhaps that’s why he said, “I wish I’d found you before. Not someone like you. But you.”

  Hugo inhaled sharply. For a moment, Wallace thought he’d crossed a line, but then Hugo said, “I wish that too.”

  “It’s dumb, right?”

  “No, I don’t think it is.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know,” Hugo said. “Whatever we can, I guess.”

  “Make the most of the time we have left,” Wallace whispered.

  And Hugo said, “That’s all anyone can ask of us.”

  The sun drifted slowly across the sky.

  * * *

  The last customer left for the day with a jaunty wave. Mei was back in the kitchen, Nelson in his chair. Apollo stayed close to Hugo, as if wanting to make sure he didn’t relapse. Alan still stood in the corner, shoulders hunched up around his ears. They’d left him alone, but Wallace knew it couldn’t last, especially when Nancy came back. They needed to make him understand that she was off-limits. Wallace wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Hugo flipped the sign in the window.

  He was about to lock the door when he froze.

  “Oh no,” he breathed. “Not now.”

  “What is it?” Nelson asked. “Don’t tell me we’ve got another guest coming. It’s getting a little crowded as is.” He glared at Alan.

  “It’s not that,” Hugo said tightly.

  In the distance, Wallace heard the rumble of a car engine coming down the road. He went to a window. Headlights were approaching. “Who is it?”

  “The health inspector,” Hugo said.

  Nelson suddenly popped into existence next to Wallace, who yelped. Nelson ignored him, peering out the window. “Again? But he was just here a couple of months ago. I swear, that man has it out for you, Hugo. Quick! Turn off all the lights and lock the door. Maybe he’ll go away.”

  Hugo sighed. “You know I can’t do that. He’d just come back tomorrow and be in a worse mood.” He glanced at Nelson. “Leave him alone this time.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Grandad.”

  “Fine,” Nelson said irritably. “I’ll be on my best behavior.” He lowered his voice so only Wallace could hear. “But mark my words, if he tries anything, I’m going to shove his pen up his ass.”

  Wallace grimaced. “You can do that?”

  “Damn right I can. And he’d deserve it too. Prepare to meet the biggest waste of space you’ve ever met in your life.”

  “I know hundreds of attorneys.”

  Nelson rolled his eyes. “He’s worse.”

  Wallace wasn’t sure who he was expecting to climb out of the little car, but who he saw certainly wasn’t it. The man was younger, around Hugo’s age. He was coldly handsome, though his handlebar mustache made Wallace want to punch him in the face. He wore a smart suit—one Wallace might have worn when he was still alive, expensive, cut perfectly to his frame, the plaid tie completing the look—and a terrible sneer. Wallace watched as he reached back into his car, pulling out a clipboard. He took a fountain pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pressing the tip against his tongue before he started scribbling notes.