Despite the ominous warnings from everyone she’d lived with since the death of her grandmother, Maya had hopes for herself that kept her up at night. She wanted her life to mean something. She wanted purpose, a reason to get out of bed every morning, people who would miss her if she were gone.

She wanted a place to belong.

And here at the shop, she’d come as close to finding it as she’d experienced since losing her grandmother. Here in this small town, with these quirky people and these kind sisters, she was slowly realizing that maybe she could belong again. That maybe this could be the place for her. The place where she could be someone who mattered.

* * *

All day, Violet had been fidgeting. She picked at a fingernail, then drummed her fingers on the counter. Later, when she wasn’t busy with customers, Maya caught her staring off into space, her lips moving in tight, nervous words. She’d rolled up a section of the newspaper and stuck it down by her purse, and every little while, she’d come back and scan through it again.

After lunch, Maya made a cup of peppermint tea and brought it to Violet. “Is everything okay? You seem a little distracted today.”

“Hmm?” When Violet saw the mug of tea in Maya’s hands, her shoulders dropped a little. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine.” Violet blew on her tea, sending peppermint-scented swirls into the air, then took a sip. “Well, I suppose I am distracted. The older you get, the more you have to think about.”

“I saw a banner today for the art festival.” Maya made her voice cheery to try to pull Violet from whatever malaise had gripped her. “What’s it like?”

“All the shops close their storefronts and operate out of booths set up down near the river.” Violet pulled a paper towel from the roll under the counter and swiped at the side table where the teapot was set up. “Then when the booths close down for the evening, they bring in food trucks and bands and it becomes a big street party.”

“It sounds fun.”

“Oh, it is.” Violet balled up the towel and threw it in the trash can, a little harder than necessary.

“Does the shop have a booth?”

“Yes, we will.” She seemed to snap back to reality. “And you’ll be able to work that day, I hope. I can talk to your boss at the Shack if necessary. We could really use an extra pair of hands on the festival day.”

“I’ll make sure I’m here.”

Maya left the shop on a high that night, her mind filled with possibilities for the festival and what products they’d heft down to the edge of the river to sell at their booth. When she arrived at the bait shop, however, she found Mr. Meyer standing at the top of the stairs outside the door to her small apartment. He was fiddling with his fingers, his face mottled and damp. He didn’t have to say any words. She already knew it’d be bad news.