“Of course not,” said Liz supportively, though she was beginning to regret even starting this conversation in the first place. Liz had what you might call resting approachable face, which meant this kind of detailed personal download got thrust on her all the time. It was a pity, because she really wasn’t very interested.

Laura gathered her long wet hair into a makeshift knot and looked at Liz, wide-eyed. “So I was wandering around trying to think of what to do and it started raining so I got on the first bus that came along and here I am.” She was trying to hold it together, and behind her head the twist of hair was slowly and silently unfurling like a cinnamon bun, expanding in the heat of the store. “I have no job, no friends, and now no apartment and no dry clothes or actually any clothes except the ones I’m wearing.” Unexpectedly, she smiled. “But I’m still here and in another month I’ll start grad school and then I’ll have somewhere to live.” She turned up her hands. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” There was a wobble hiding somewhere in her voice, but it was keeping its head down pretty successfully.

At that very minute, Polly Culligan, one of the employees of the bookstore, turned up with the towel. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly, “the cat didn’t want to let go.” Then she noticed the drying tears and the soot and the expression on Liz’s face and raised her voice. “Nina!” she yelled. “Put the kettle on.”

•   •   •

Nina Hill was the co-owner of Knight’s, and a bookish person of the first order. She had been spending the afternoon going through school reading lists for the year, making sure the store was completely stocked. True, most local parents would purchase their books online, the quislings, but you would be surprised how many copies of The Outsiders the store ended up selling at the last minute (stay gold, Ponyboy). Plus, if a local parent walked in and asked for The House on Mango Street or The Great Gatsby and some other parent had snatched up the last copy, there would be hell to pay (and Amazon would pocket the profit). Nina took this responsibility seriously and had been deep in concentration when the door suddenly burst open and a tall, damp woman accosted her where she sat. Nina leapt to her feet, yanked out the earbuds that had prevented her hearing the yelling, the knocking, or the requests for kettle assistance, and prepared to do battle.

“Hello,” said the sudden arrival, who was, of course, Laura. She looked down. “How did you fracture your wrist?” She’d appeared so abruptly because the rain had made the door to the office swell, and she’d had to push rather harder than she’d expected and . . . you can imagine the rest.