In unguarded moments, Natalie felt a terrible anger at her mother for leaving her in the midst of the storm. Maybe old Julius had felt that way, losing his mother in the maelstrom after the earthquake.

She contacted a placement agency about hiring a general manager to run the bookstore. Neither of the two candidates was a good fit. The first one didn’t make it past the second page of the profit and loss report. “Not only can you not afford me,” he said, “you can’t really afford anyone.”

The second candidate created an elaborate plan involving angel investors and high-interest loans. To Natalie, it sounded so risky that she nearly hyperventilated.

She was mulling over other options when an urgent interoffice message appeared on her screen.

Another Mandy disaster. She’d screwed up a report and it needed to be redone.

Knowing Mandy’s opinion of her made it hard for Natalie to want to bail the woman out, but the habit was ingrained: redo the document correctly and get it done on time. It was such a simple thing.

Natalie sighed. She was about to tackle the report herself, correcting all the errors and updating the totals, when she remembered something Tess had said. If you keep rescuing people from their mistakes, they’ll never figure things out on their own.

But what if this was the mistake that would get Mandy fired?

Natalie spun slowly in her expensive ergonomic desk chair. She looked out at the Sonoma landscape, beautiful and unreachable.

Then she swung back and looked at her desk with its neat, organized stacks and files, and a concise spreadsheet displayed on her computer screen. There was a framed picture of Rick, another of her mom and Grandy.

God, I hate this job, she thought.

A single day at the failing bookstore had made her happier than a year at this grind.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, highlighting Mandy’s errors and suggesting revisions. The pages of the spreadsheet whispered from the printer. She collected the still-warm job from the printer. Then she went down to the department to find Mandy.

Her colleagues were all hanging out together, chatting and sipping their afternoon kombucha or cold press coffee or whatever the beverage du jour happened to be. Mandy was regaling her friends about trying an aerial yoga class. When Natalie approached, Mandy stiffened. “Oh, hey, Natalie.” Her expression instantly softened into a pucker of concern. “I still can’t get over what happened to Rick. How are you doing?”

A part of Natalie wished the inquiry were sincere. She would like to confess that she felt like shit. She was sad all the time. She couldn’t sleep. She worried constantly about her grandfather. But there was no comfort in seeking solace from someone who didn’t care. She offered a noncommittal shrug.

“What can I do for you?” Mandy asked.