“It came to me from my father,” he said. “It was meant to go to your mother, and, I assume, to you after that. Things did not occur in the proper order.”

“I’m so sorry about that. Did you know about the liens? The back taxes?”

“Blythe said she’d work out a payment plan.”

“Grandy, I looked at the numbers and there’s no way to dig out of this hole. I think we need to talk about putting the business and the building up for sale.” She paused, and when he didn’t say anything, she said, “There are some beautiful places for you to live in Archangel, up by me. I would love to be closer to you.” She showed him a collection of glossy brochures illustrated with smiling silver-haired people playing golf and bridge and laughing around the dinner table.

He responded with a long silence.

“Grandy?”

“I’m still here. It’s a no, Natalie.”

“But—”

“A hard no.”

She took a breath and spoke softly to hide her frustration. “I don’t want to pry you out of your home,” she said, “but I’m trying to come up with a strategy here. Foreclosure is a terrible option.”

“And I appreciate your concern. However, selling the building is not on the table. The shop has hidden value, and I’m certain we’ll manage. It’s where I’ve lived my life and where I intend to finish my days.”

Her heart sank. “I want to be able to provide that for you. Mom wanted it, too. But—”

“We’ll find it, Blythe, don’t you worry,” he said, gazing at her but obviously not seeing her. “My father would never lie about such a thing.”

She frowned. “Your father? You mean Mom’s grandpa Julius?”

“Don’t be impertinent. You’re talking nonsense.” His voice cut like a knife.

She didn’t let herself argue further. In some moments, he was uncharacteristically angry. She’d never known him to have a temper before. The medical reports on his condition, which she’d found in her mother’s files, indicated recently observed signs of dementia and called for more tests. The patient might become argumentative.

“Mom’s calendar shows an appointment with Dr. Yang on Tuesday.”

“He’s impertinent as well. Thinks he knows more about me than I myself do.”

“I’m sure he means to help.” Her stomach knotted. She felt horrible—guilty for subjecting him to the neurologist. Filled with dread at the prospect of pursuing the lawyer’s suggestion—to have her grandfather declared incompetent and taking the decision away from him.

She gazed across the table at his furious, troubled face. We’re not there yet, Grandy. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that they would get there one day. From her reading about dementia, it was progressive and, ultimately, fatal.