The House in the Cerulean Sea(118)

He turned his face toward the gray sky and laughed 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.”