Yet even so, Grace opened the store the next day, and the day after that, and the one following as well. Customers asked after Mr. Evans and while their concern showed their love for the man who had meant so much to Grace, each question dug into the open wound of her sorrow.

Her mind felt rubbery and unwieldy in its grief. Every time she unlocked the door to the shop, she expected to see Mr. Evans there, marking meticulous notes in the ledger while offering a distracted greeting. And every time the emptiness of that space behind the counter hit her like a fresh knock to the heart.

No matter how much she failed to grasp the reality, no matter how much she didn’t want to believe it, Mr. Evans was gone.

It took attending his funeral for her to finally accept his loss. That moment where his casket was lowered into the ground. It had rained that day and was as if the world was mourning the enormous loss of such a man as Percival Evans.

She still did the readings every afternoon. Getting through them might not have been possible if he wasn’t in her head, encouraging her with that proud smile. Each night she closed, she put the money in a lockbox in the backroom the way she always did, not sure what would happen to it. She wasn’t even sure what would happen to the shop. Perhaps a cousin in the country he had never mentioned?

It wasn’t until nearly a week later that she had her answer. After her reading one bleak afternoon, an older gentleman approached her.

It wasn’t uncommon. Many new listeners liked to speak with her about the book, or see what others she might suggest. Usually she would welcome such discussions. But not today. Not when her chest threatened to cave in.

“Miss Grace Bennett?” the man asked.

“May I help you?”

“I’m Henry Spencer, solicitor with Spencer & Clark.” He smiled at her. “I’d like to have a word with you if I may.”

Grace looked to Mrs. Weatherford, who was standing near enough to have overheard. The older woman made a shooing motion with her hands, indicating Grace should go with the man.

Grace waved him to follow her to the back room and apologized for the cramped space. Not being able to order from Simpkin Marshalls meant they were finally using their stockpile of books. Though many of the boxes had been cleared out, the tidy space was still rather small.

“I generally do not come to the establishment of my clients,” Mr. Spencer said. “However, Mr. Evans was a friend. I wanted to ensure I had a chance to speak with you privately.”

An ache clenched in Grace’s throat.