by TJ Klune
And of Arthur, of course. Always Arthur. Of fire burning, of wings spread in orange and gold. Of a quiet smile, the amused tilt of his head.
Oh, how he dreamed.
Every morning it was getting harder and harder to pull himself out of bed. It was always raining. The sky was always metal gray. He felt like paper. Brittle and thin. He dressed. He rode the bus to work. He sat at his desk, going through one file after another. He ate wilted lettuce for lunch. He went back to work. He rode the bus home. He sat in his chair, listening to Bobby Darin singing about somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me.
He thought of the life he had. How he could have ever thought it’d be enough.
His thoughts were all cerulean.
Every day he went to work, he took time to touch the photograph on his desk, the photograph that no one dared say anything about. Ms. Jenkins had even kept to herself, and though Linus received demerit after demerit (Gunther gleefully scratching on his clipboard), she didn’t say a word. In fact, he was ignored. Linus was just fine with that. He suspected Ms. Bubblegum had something to do with that, the gossipy thing that she was.
It wasn’t all rain and clouds. He took his time, going back through his old files, reviewing the reports he’d written for all the orphanages he’d visited, making notes, preparing for a shimmery future he wasn’t even sure was in his grasp. He winced at some of what he’d written (most of it, if he was being honest with himself), but he thought it important. Change, he reminded himself, started with the voices of the few. Perhaps it would amount to nothing, but he wouldn’t know unless he tried. At the very least, he could follow up with some of the children he’d met before and find out where they were now. And, if all went as he hoped, he wouldn’t let them be left behind or forgotten.
Which was why he began to smuggle out the reports. Every day, he would take a few more. He was a sweaty mess each time he put another in his briefcase, sure that at any moment, someone would shout his name, demanding to know what he was doing, especially when he started after the files belonging to other caseworkers.
But no one ever did.
He shouldn’t have felt as giddy as he did, breaking the law. It should have caused his stomach to twist, his heart to burn, and perhaps it did, to an extent. But it was no match for his determination. His eyes were open, and the brief moments of exhilaration he felt did much to temper his lawlessness the more the days dragged on.
On the twenty-third day after his return from the island, the clacking of computer keys and murmur of voices once again fell silent as a figure appeared in the doorway to the offices of the caseworkers.
Ms. Bubblegum, snapping her gum, clutching a file to her chest.
She glanced over the rows of desks in front of her.
Linus slumped low in his chair. He was about to be sacked, he knew.
He watched as she walked toward Ms. Jenkins’s office. Ms. Jenkins didn’t seem pleased to see her, and her scowl only deepened at whatever question Ms. Bubblegum asked. She responded and pointed out toward the desks.
Ms. Bubblegum turned and made her way through the rows of desks, hips swaying delightfully. Men stared after her. Some of the women did too. She ignored them all.
Linus thought about crawling under his desk.
He didn’t, but it was close.
“Mr. Baker,” she said coolly. “There you are.”
“Hello,” he said, hands in his lap so she wouldn’t see them shaking.
She frowned. “Have I ever told you my name?”
He shook his head.
“It’s Doreen.”
“A pleasure, Doreen.”
She snapped her gum. “I almost believe you. I have something for you, Mr. Baker.”
“Do you?”
She set the file down on his desk, sliding it over in front of him. “Just came down this morning.”
Linus stared down at it.
Doreen leaned over, her lips near his ear. She smelled like cinnamon. She tapped a fingernail on his mouse pad. “Don’t you wish you were here?” He watched as her finger rose to the photograph and traced along the frame. “Huh. How about that?” She kissed his cheek, sticky-sweet and warm.
And then she walked away.
Linus could barely breathe.
He opened the folder.
There was his final report.
And across the bottom were four signatures.
CHARLES WERNER
AGNES GEORGE
JASPER PLUMB
MARTIN ROGERS
And below that was a red stamp.
RECOMMENDATION APPROVED.
He read it again.
Approved.
Approved.
Approved.
This was—
He could—
Did he have enough to see his plan through?
He thought he did.
He stood from his desk, the chair scraping loudly against the cold cement floor.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Ms. Jenkins walked out from her office again, Gunther trailing after.
Approved.
The orphanage would stay as is.
He heard the ocean.
Don’t you wish you were here? it whispered.
Yes.
Yes, he did.
But that was the funny thing about wishes. Sometimes all it took to make them come true was a first step.
He lifted his head.
He looked around.
“What are we doing?” he asked, his voice echoing loudly around the room.
No one answered, but that was okay. He didn’t expect them to.
“Why are we doing this? What’s the point?”
Silence.
“We’re doing it wrong,” he said, raising his voice. “All of this. It’s wrong. We’re feeding a machine that will eat us all. I can’t be the only one who sees that.”
Apparently, he was.
If he were a braver man, maybe he would have said more. Maybe he would have picked up his copy of the RULES AND REGULATIONS and thrown it in the trash, announcing grandly that it was time to toss out all the rules. Literally, but also figuratively.
By then, Ms. Jenkins would be demanding his silence. And, if he were a much braver man, he would have told her no. He would have shouted for all to hear that he’d seen what a world looks like with color in it. With happiness. With joy. This world they lived in here wasn’t it, and they were all fools if they thought otherwise.
If he were a braver man, he would climb up on the desks and crow that he was Commander Linus, and it was time to go on an adventure.
They would come for him, but he’d hop from desk to desk, Gunther squawking as he tried to reach for Linus’s legs but missing.
He would land near the door, this brave man. Ms. Jenkins would scream at him that he was fired, but he’d laugh at her and shout that he couldn’t be fired because he quit.
But Linus Baker was a soft man with a heart longing for home.
And so he went as quietly as he’d arrived.
He picked up his briefcase, opening it on his desk. He placed the photograph inside lovingly before closing it. There were no more files to smuggle out of DICOMY. He had everything he needed.
He took a deep breath.
And began to walk through the aisles toward the exit.
The other caseworkers began to whisper feverishly.
He ignored them, head held high. He barely bumped into any desks.
And just as he reached the exit, Ms. Jenkins shouted his name.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
The expression on her face was thunderous. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Home,” he said simply. “I’m going home.”
And then he left the Department in Charge of Magical Youth for the last time.
* * *
It was raining.
He’d forgotten his umbrella inside.
He turned his face toward the gray sky and laug
hed and laughed and laughed.
* * *
Calliope looked surprised to see him when he burst through the front door. It made sense; it wasn’t even noon.
“I may have lost my mind,” he told her. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
She meowed a question, the first time she’d spoken since they’d left the island.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Yes.”
* * *
Life, Linus Baker knew, came down to what we made from it. It was about the choices, both big and small.
Bright and early the next morning—a Wednesday, as it turned out—Linus closed the door to one life in pursuit of another.
“Another trip?” Ms. Klapper asked from across the way.
“Another trip,” Linus agreed.
“How long this time?”
“I hope forever. If they’ll have me.”
Her eyes widened. “Come again?”
“I’m leaving,” he said, and he’d never been so sure of anything in all his years.
“But—but,” she spluttered. “What about your house? What about your job?”
He grinned at her. “I quit my job. As for the house, well. Perhaps your grandson and his lovely fiancé would like to live next door to you. Consider it a wedding gift. But it doesn’t matter right now. I’ll figure that all out later. I have to go home.”
“You are home, you fool!”
He shook his head as he lifted Calliope’s crate and his suitcase. “Not yet. But I will be soon.”
“Of all the—have you lost your mind? And what on earth are you wearing?”
He looked down at himself. Tan button-up shirt, tan shorts, brown socks. Atop his head sat a helmet-style hat. He laughed again. “It’s what you’re supposed to wear when you’re going on an adventure. Looks ridiculous, doesn’t it? But there might be cannibals and man-eating snakes and bugs that burrow their way under my skin and eat my eyes from the inside out. When faced with such things, you have to dress the part. Toodles, Mrs. Klapper. I don’t know if we’ll see each other again. Your squirrels will know only peace from this point on. I forgive you for the sunflowers.”
He stepped off the porch into the rain, leaving 86 Hermes Way behind.
* * *
“Going on a trip?” the train attendant asked, looking down at his ticket. “All the way to the end of the line, I see. A bit out of season, isn’t it?”
Linus looked out the train car window, rain dripping down the glass. “No,” he said. “I’m going back to where I belong.”
* * *
Four hours later, the rain stopped.
An hour after that, he saw the first blue through the clouds.
In two more hours, he thought he smelled salt in the air.
* * *
He was the only one to get off the train. Which made sense, seeing as how he was the only one left.
“Oh dear,” he said, looking at the empty stretch of road next to the platform. “I might not have thought this through.” He shook his head. “No matter. Time waits for no man.”
He picked up the suitcase and the crate, and began to walk toward the village as the train pulled away.
* * *
He was drenched with sweat by the time he saw the first buildings. His face was red, and his suitcase felt as if he’d packed nothing but rocks.
He was sure he was about to collapse when he reached the sidewalk on the main street of the village. He thought about having a lie-down (perhaps permanently) when he heard someone gasp his name.
He squinted up.
Standing in front of her shop, a watering can in her hand, was Helen.
“Hello,” he managed to say. “How nice it is to see you again.”
She dropped the watering can, and it spilled its contents onto the concrete. She rushed toward him as he sat heavily on his suitcase.
“Did you walk here?” she demanded, grimacing as her hands came away damp after she put them on his shoulders.
“Spontaneity isn’t exactly my forte,” he admitted.
“You stupid man,” she said. “You wonderfully stupid man. Came to your senses, did you?”
He nodded. “I think so. Either that or they’ve left me entirely. I’m not sure which yet.”
“They don’t know you’re coming?”
“No. Hence the spontaneity. I’m not very good at it yet, but I hope I will become so with practice.” He wheezed as she patted his back with the tips of her fingers.
“I think you’ve got a good start, at least. Though I suppose that means Merle also doesn’t know you’re here.”
He winced. “Oh. Right. The ferry. That’s important, isn’t it? Island and all.”
She rolled her eyes. “How you’ve made it this far, I’ll never know.”
“I popped my bubble,” he told her, needing her to understand. “It kept me safe, but it also kept me from living. I shouldn’t have left in the first place.”
Her expression softened. “I know.” She squared her shoulders. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Luckily for you, I’m the mayor. Which means when I want something done, it gets done. You stay right here. I have a phone call to make.”
She hurried back to her shop.
Linus closed his eyes for what he thought was only a moment, but was startled out of a doze when a horn honked in front of him.
He opened his eyes.
An old green truck sat idling on the curb. It was flecked with rust, and the whitewall tires looked as if they barely had any tread left. Helen sat behind the steering wheel. “Well?” she asked through the open window. “Are you just going to stay there for the rest of the night?”
No. No, he wasn’t.
He lifted his suitcase into the back of the truck. Calliope purred as he set her inside the cab on the bench seat. The door creaked behind him as he closed it.
“This is very kind of you.”
She snorted. “I believe I owed you a favor or two. Consider us even.”
The truck groaned as she pulled away from the curb. Doris Day was on the radio, singing to dream a little dream of me.
* * *
Merle was waiting at the docks, looking as unpleasant as usual. “I can’t just drop everything when you demand it,” he said with a scowl. “I have— Mr. Baker?”
“Hello, Merle. It’s nice to see you.” It was almost true, surprisingly.
Merle’s mouth hung open.
“Don’t just stand there,” Helen said. “Open the gate.”
Merle recovered. “I’ll have you know my rates have quadrupled—”
Helen smiled. “Oh, I don’t think they have. That would be preposterous. Open the gate before I crash through it.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
She gunned the engine.
Merle ran for the ferry.
“Awful man,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind if he fell off his boat one day and drifted away into the sea.”
“That’s terrible,” Linus said. Then, “We could make it happen.”
She laughed, sounding surprised. “Why, Mr. Baker, I never would have thought to hear such a thing from you. I like it. Let’s get you home, shall we? I expect you have some things you need to say.”
He slunk lower in his seat.
* * *
The island looked the same as it had when he left it. It’d been only weeks. It felt like a lifetime.
Merle muttered something about Helen hurrying back, and she told him they would take all the time they needed and she wouldn’t hear another word from him. He stared at her, but nodded slowly.
She drove along the familiar dirt road, winding toward the back of the island as the sun began to set. “I’ve been here a couple of times since you departed.”
He looked over at her. “For the garden?”
She shrugged. “And to see what you left behind.”
He turned back toward the window. “How … how was it?”
She reached over the crate between them and squeezed his arm.
“They were okay. Sad, of course. But okay. I stayed for dinner the first time. There was music. It was lovely. They talked about you quite a bit.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Oh.”
“You made quite the impression on the people of this island in the time you were here.”
“They did the same for me.”
“Funny how that works out, isn’t it? That we can find the most unexpected things when we aren’t even looking for them.”
He could only nod.
* * *
There were lights on upstairs in the main house.
The paper lanterns in the gazebo in the garden were lit.
It was half past five, which meant the children would be involved in their personal pursuits. Sal, he thought, would be writing in his room. Chauncey would be practicing in front of the mirror. Phee would be with Zoe in the trees. Theodore was most likely underneath the couch, and Talia in her garden. Lucy and Arthur would be upstairs, talking about philosophy and spiders on the brain.
He could breathe for the first time in weeks.
Helen stopped in front of the house. She smiled at him. “I think this is where we part ways for now. You tell Arthur I’ll still be here on Saturday. Apparently, there’s to be some sort of adventure.”
“There always is on Saturdays,” Linus whispered.
“Don’t forget your suitcase.”
He looked at her. “I—thank you.”
She nodded. “It should be me thanking you. You’ve changed things, Mr. Baker, whether you intended to or not. It’s a small beginning, but I think it’ll grow. And I won’t forget it. Go on. I think there are some people here who would like to see you.”
Linus fidgeted nervously. “Maybe we should—”
She laughed. “Get out of my truck, Mr. Baker.”
“It’s Linus. Just call me Linus.”
She smiled sweetly. “Get the hell out of my truck, Linus.”
He did, pulling Calliope out with him. He reached into the bed of the truck and lifted his suitcase out. The gravel crunched under the truck’s tires as Helen pulled away with a wave.