“I must admit it’s also time Sugar closes doors, too,” he adds. “In this economy, no one cares for homemade pastries. There’s only room for big industrial bakeries. I was stubborn not to see it earlier.”

A painful lump forms in my throat. If the head of Sugar is giving up, then there’s no hope left for Salt—or the rest of the neighborhood. “You’ve fought for your bakery your whole life. How can you suddenly give up your own home?!”

“I’m no longer the man I was.” His eyes linger on Grandma’s grave for a second too long, and I get the feeling that he’s saying it to her, too. He looks back at me. “My daughter is tired and she worries about my health. I had hoped my grandson would take care of Sugar, but I know he’ll be gone again as soon as he graduates. He doesn’t care for Sugar like I hoped he would, and I’m done fighting with him. I have no reason to hold on now.”

I see the tears he’s trying to hide. I know he hasn’t totally given up.

He gently pats the grave next to Grandma’s. Dad’s grave.

“Gabriel was one hell of a worker,” he says. “Couldn’t cook or bake, but he earned his spot in my bakery.”

I can’t help but smile. I didn’t know this. “Dad couldn’t cook?”

“Gabriel? Not even a pot of rice. But that boy knew bookkeeping like he’d been born an administrator. A real genius. He had a real knack for running Sugar like my mother. He saw it all like it was a special recipe none of us could read. If he were here, I know Sugar wouldn’t be at risk. I miss him every day. I miss his advice.”

I had no idea Dad meant so much to him. More than an employee. More than a protégé. More like a son, judging by the sorrowful glance Seu Romário gives his grave.

I used to wonder how involved Dad was in the feud, and what it must have triggered when he fell in love with Mom. Now I get the feeling there’s more to my parents’ story than Mom has ever been willing to tell me.

“You...miss my father?” I ask.

“Every day!” Seu Romário replies without thinking twice, and I hear so much pain in his words, it makes me tear up. “I even miss his clumsiness,” he chuckles wryly, just like Pedro does. I guess it’s the other way around. “Gabriel was the only one who ever understood me. Who understood my vision for Sugar. He believed in traditional recipes. He loved my mother’s guava tarts. He cared for Sugar like no one ever will.”

“Pedro cares, too,” the words tumble out, and Seu Romário looks a little taken aback.