Reaching Kennewick Village, Caitlin spotted a bakery that appeared to be open. She bought a large coffee and a maple scone, then sat outside on a bench and ate the scone while waiting for the coffee to cool down enough to drink. The sweat had dried on her skin, and her legs and arms had broken out in goose bumps in the cool air. She crossed the street to a bench that was in the sun, which had now entirely broken free of the clouds. From her new position she could see a row of shops, including one that had books in the window. It must be Bill Ackerson’s store, she thought. After warming up in the sun, she walked over and looked through the window. It was Ackerson’s, and it was dark inside, not surprising this early in the morning. She watched as a bushy cat padded toward the glass front door, looked up at her, and opened its mouth. She couldn’t hear the meow through the door. Something about the plaintive look on the cat’s face made her feel a sudden stab of emptiness. She thought again of Harry.

She walked the rest of the way back to her motel room, and once she was there, before she did anything else, she sent him a text: What’s the cat’s name in your father’s bookstore? I saw him this morning.

When she got out of the shower, he’d texted back: Lew. You leaving today?

No. Tomorrow.

Can I see you?

I’d like that.

They made plans to meet that afternoon for a drink at the Livery bar in the Kennewick Inn. Caitlin was happy that she wouldn’t have to spend the entire day alone. She got dressed, then called her mother.

They started on a second round of drinks, and Harry said, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“It might freak you out.”

“Okay,” she said, suddenly fearful.

They’d met at three in the afternoon in the basement bar, long and narrow and decorated to look like the sleek interior of a yacht. Harry had ordered a bourbon with ginger ale, and she’d gotten a pint of Harpoon. They’d brought the drinks to an alcove near an unlit fireplace. She’d told him about her decision to accompany Grace’s body back to Michigan, and he’d told her all about the bookstore, and how it seemed as though his stepmother, Alice, and the man who worked at the store, John, wanted Harry to take over the business. They’d finished their drinks, and then Harry had gotten two more, paying for them at the bar and bringing them over. Caitlin had just been realizing how much you could read on Harry’s face, his anxiety, his sadness, and then she’d seen indecision flit across his features right before he asked her if he could tell her something.