“About what?”
“There was a woman, once.” He reached out to a beam, resting his palm on one of the splintered, worn pillars that was barely keeping the house alive. “Margaret, a bright dame, sensible, wicked wit. You two would have gotten along.”
When he spoke of Margaret, it was similar feeling to when Nico had spoken of Julia. A profound longing, a feeling of closeness through whatever they saw in Jo that reminded them of their lost loves. But it was also a distance. She was not them, and no one was ever going to try to convince themselves she was.
“There was an Australian. . . he’d come to New York for work and, well, ended up at the company she was at.” Wayne shook his head. “We’d been seeing each other on the hush . . . but she wanted me to make things proper.”
“And you didn’t.”
“Don’t know why I didn’t. . . I should’ve,” he chastised himself. “She couldn’t wait—a girl like that shouldn’t bemadeto wait. And I lost her.”
“So she moved back here? To Australia?”
“She moved back to Australia with her husband at the first sign of economic downturn . . . But that’s not here.” Wayne stepped forward, leaving Jo to follow if she wanted to hear the rest of the conversation. “This is New Zealand.”
Jo nearly stumbled as she squeezed through the door—barely open wide enough to make jumping back into time unnecessary. “Why are we here?”
“I started looking at this region of the world after she left. Turns out, it’s startlingly beautiful. When I joined the Society at first and learned I could go anywhere I wanted with the Door, I started wandering and found this place and kept coming back whenever I needed to think.”
“You? Mister ‘be careful with time,’ just wandered?” Jo couldn’t stop her laughter, though she did her best to make sure it sounded kind.
“Never said I wasted time doing it.” He paused. “Well, long enough to open the front door. The whole place nearly broke down when I moved it just a little, too.”
“I can see why . . .” Jo reached out a hand to touch the wall. But at the sight of her hand hovering over the wood, she remembered the desk, and withdrew.
The floor had sagged in places, hanging between supports that were struggling against the weight of time. In the sunlight that streamed through a large bay window to her right, a small tree grew up, insistent, through the floor. To the left was a small kitchen area, and stairs that had as many missing treads as existent ones.
“It’s beautiful, in its own way.” There was something enchanting about how the elements wore things down, made them blend with the nature that surrounded them. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the police station. This was how things were meant to break, all a part of the natural order.
“It’s quiet.”
Jo could feel his eyes as she walked over to what would’ve been the main living area. She inspected a sofa opposite the bay window. He hadn’t brought up the strange incident yet. But she knew it was coming. She could only play at peace for so long.
“And it’s far away from people.”
“You said that earlier.” She didn’t look at him when she spoke; she didn’t want to see him out of pure fear that they’d escalate each other again and whatever was in her would be unleashed.
“I don’t know if I can trust you around others.”
Jo pressed her eyes closed. There it was. That horrible assessment. Why did it feel as though it was something that had been levied against her for her entire life? She had never been good at making, or keeping, friends. Only ever Yuusuke, really. She’d always had the worst luck that ultimately resulted in everything imploding due to her own actions or surrounding circumstances. Which was sort of how things had happened with Yuusuke, and now the Society.
“I told you, Wayne, I don’t know what happened.” Jo finally turned. “I wish I did, I really do because if. . . if I knew, then I could stop it from happening like that again.”
“You think it could happen again?”
It was impossible to miss the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, attempting to hold back a twinge of lingering concern that he hadn’t wanted Jo to catch. But she was hyper-focused on his face. And she would never forget what it had looked like as it had stared at her in terror.
“I don’t know.” She dared to be honest.
Wayne sighed, running a hand through his hair. He paced between the entrance to the room she stood in and the stairs. Not a floorboard creaked, not a mote of dust fell out of place.
“You didn’t clock in when I wasn’t looking . . . did you?” he asked hopefully.
“No.”
He cursed under his breath. Finally, he stopped, his back toward her, as if he couldn’t face her for what he had to say next. “I’m out of my depth here, Jo.”
“Wayne, I—”
