I need to make an effort. Jay would want me to. Going back to work is a step in the right direction. What else would I do today except sit in the house and think about the funeral scheduled for tomorrow? So I walk down the sidewalk through the falling snow, which is already gathering on my black wool coat. The flakes are perfect, yet ephemeral works of art. Sadie trots at my side, proudly displaying her red harness and leash. I plan on taking her with me wherever I go. If other people can have an emotional support animal, I surely can. To complete her ensemble, I ordered a service dog vest, which should be here in a couple of days.

I see Alice behind the plate-glass window, peering out beneath the gold script that spells out the shop’s name. She opens the heavy door before I can reach for the knob.

“Molly! Dad said you’d be back today, but I wasn’t sure . . .” Her voice trails off as it so often does. She’s wearing a purple sweater with layered handmade beaded necklaces around her neck. Her long hair hangs behind her shoulders, and I detect a trace of pink shadow on her lids. She leans over and pets Sadie. “She’s perfect, Molly. Just the dog I pictured you getting.”

“She’s really sweet,” I say. “She hasn’t left my side since I got her.”

Hayes walks up behind Alice and puts his hands on her shoulders. “You sure you’re up to coming back?” He reaches around and pats Sadie.

I nod. “The house was starting to close in on me. I needed to get out.” I force a smile. “And I can’t think of a better place to be than here.”

“We’re glad you’re back.” Hayes wraps me in a quick hug.

Two elderly women walk into the store, and we move out of the way. They head to the romance section after a quick greeting.

“I’m ready to get busy,” I say, breaking our little spell.

“Great,” Hayes says.

“What’s been going on?” I ask, as my eyes take in the familiar stacks and displays.

“We’ve been a little slow. Post-holiday letdown.”

“Excuse me?” one of the women calls. “I need help finding the latest Nora Roberts.”

“Be right there, Mrs. Curtis.” Hayes turns and heads in her direction.

“I’m starting a new social studies unit, Molly,” Alice says. Hayes homeschools her, and she goes to work with him every day. She’s often on the computer in the kids’ section, doing her homework, or if it’s busy, she retreats to the office, where she sits at Hayes’s big antique desk.

“What’s it about?”

“Colonial America. I’m doing a paper on the Salem witch trials.”

“Wow. That should be interesting, and you’re right here where it all happened.”

“Well, close by anyway. No one in Graybridge was accused.”

“Right.” Alice is precocious. Hayes has raised her alone since his wife died when Alice was five years old.