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Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

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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

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