They looked over at him.
“Lucy’s asleep,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“Men,” Zoe growled. “Useless, the lot of you.” She stepped away from Arthur, her expression tight as she glared at Linus. “Bright and early, then?”
Linus nodded. “Train leaves at seven sharp. Merle is expecting us at a quarter after six.”
“And you just have to be on it, don’t you?”
He said nothing.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll be here. Don’t keep me waiting.” She whirled on her heels and left without saying anything else. She left the door wide open.
Arthur stared after her, jaw clenched.
“Everything all right?”
“No, I don’t think it is.”
His head hurt. “If you’re both worried about my final report, let me assure you that—”
“It’s not the damn report.”
“Okay,” Linus said slowly. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Arthur curse before. “Then what is it?”
Arthur shook his head.
“Stubborn,” Linus muttered, and he couldn’t help how fond he sounded. He didn’t know what else to do, so he did the only thing he could.
He walked toward the door.
He thought something would happen the moment he was shoulder to shoulder with Arthur. What, he didn’t know. But it didn’t. He was a coward.
“Good night, then,” he managed to say. He continued on to the door.
And then Arthur said, “Stay.”
He stopped as he closed his eyes. His voice was shaky when he asked, “What?”
“Stay. Here. With us. Stay here with me.”
Linus shook his head. “You know I can’t.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know that.”
Linus turned and opened his eyes.
Arthur was pale, his mouth in a thin line. Linus thought he could see the faint outline of burning wings behind him, but it might have just been a trick of the low light. “It was always temporary,” Linus said. “I don’t belong here.”
“If you can’t belong here, then where can you belong?”
“I have a life,” Linus said. “I have a home. I have—”
A home isn’t always the house we live in. It’s also the people we choose to surround ourselves with. You may not live on the island, but you can’t tell me it’s not your home. Your bubble, Mr. Baker. It’s been popped. Why would you allow it to grow around you again?
“I have a job to do,” he finished lamely. “People are counting on me. Not just—not just here. There are other children who could need me. Who could be in the same position you were in once. Shouldn’t I do everything I can to help them?”
Arthur nodded tightly as he glanced away. “Of course. Of course that’s what’s important. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make it sound like it wasn’t.” When he looked at Linus again, his expression was smooth, almost … blank. He bowed slightly. “Thank you, Linus. For everything. For seeing us for who we really are. You will always be welcome on the island. I know the children will miss you.” The expression stuttered slightly. “I know I will miss you.”
Linus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. And he despised himself for it. Here was this man, this wonderful man, exposing his heart. Linus had to give him something, no matter how small.
He tried again. He said, “If things were—if this were different, I … you have to know, Arthur. You have to. This place. These children. You. If only I could…”
Arthur smiled quietly. “I know. Good night, Linus. And safe travels. Do take care of yourself.”
He shut the door, leaving Linus standing on the porch in the dark.
* * *
Linus sat on the porch. There was a faint light in the east. The stars were bright. His luggage was beside him. Calliope too, in her crate, though she wasn’t amused at the early hour. Linus could commiserate, especially since he hadn’t slept a wink.
He took a deep breath. It came out in a mist. “I think it’s time.”
He stood. He grabbed his luggage and the crate, and stepped off the porch.
As promised, Zoe was waiting by her little car. She took his suitcase from him and set it in the trunk without a word.
He climbed into the passenger seat, settling Calliope’s crate on his lap.
Zoe hopped in and started the car.
Then they were off.
Linus watched the house in the side mirror as it slowly shrank behind them.
* * *
Merle was waiting at the docks. The headlights from the car illuminated his scowl. He lowered the gate. “Rates for this early hour are doubled,” he said.
Linus surprised himself. “Shut up, Merle.”
Merle’s eyes widened.
Linus didn’t look away.
Merle broke first. He grumbled as he walked back to the wheelhouse.
* * *
The crossing was smooth. The ocean was nearly flat. The sky grew brighter. Zoe didn’t speak. When they reached the village, Merle didn’t even look at them as he lowered the gate. “I expect you to come right back,” Merle said as they exited the ferry. “I have a busy day and—”
Zoe gunned the engine, and whatever else Merle had to say was lost.
* * *
The train hadn’t yet arrived when they reached the platform. The stars were disappearing as the sun started to rise. Linus could hear the distant crashing of the waves as Zoe turned off the car. He flexed his hands on his knees.
“Zoe, I—”
She got out of the car and walked around to the back. He heard her open the trunk. He sighed as he pushed the door open. He fumbled with Calliope’s crate but managed to climb out without dropping her. Zoe set his luggage next to the platform before going back to the trunk and slamming it closed.
“I get it,” he said.
She laughed, though without humor. “Do you? Because I wonder.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
She shook her head. “Good. Because I don’t.”
“I can’t just stay here. There are rules to follow. Regulations that must be—”
“To hell with your rules and regulations!”
He gaped at her. Then, he said the only thing he could, “Life, it—it doesn’t work that way.”
“Why doesn’t it?” she snapped. “Why can’t life work whatever way we want it to? What’s the point of living if you only do it how others want you to?”
“It’s the best we can do.”
She scoffed. “And this is your best? This?”
He said nothing as the whistle of a coming train came from down the tracks.
“Let me tell you something, Linus Baker,” she said, hands clenched on the top of the driver’s door. “There are moments in your life, moments when chances have to be taken. It’s scary because there is always the possibility of failure. I know that. I know that. Because once upon a time, I took a chance on a man that I had failed before. I was scared. I was terrified. I thought I might lose everything. But I wasn’t living, then. The life I had before wasn’t living. It was getting by. And I will never regret the chances I took. Because it brought me to them. To all of them. I made my choice. And you’re making yours.” She opened the door and got in the car. The engine turned over. She looked back at him just once when she said, “Don’t you wish things could be different?”