She used up the last of her mother’s sleeping pills and still tossed and turned most of the night.

Natalie was jolted awake by the wind rattling a windowpane that should have been replaced decades ago. She was filled with a what-have-I-done sense of dread. How could she even think there was a way to rescue this situation? She had lost her mother and Rick. She’d thrown away her job and was now faced with running a business that was deeply in debt in a falling-down building, with her elderly grandfather slowly losing himself. Trying to keep the bookstore going was a horrible mistake.

She yanked on her clothes, shoved a few more into a bag, and rushed downstairs. Maybe if she went back to Pinnacle Fine Wines and recanted her quitting, they would take her back. It was an awful job, but at least it wouldn’t send her and her grandfather off a cliff.

She went outside to throw her bag in the car. Standing at the curb, she looked left and right, then froze. No car. Where the hell was her car? In its place was a panel van covered in morning dew.

She took out her phone to report the car stolen. Her screen flashed the daily affirmation from the app she’d installed: Happiness isn’t a moment in the future. Find something to be happy about right here, right now.

“Bite me,” she muttered to the universe. Who would steal a nine-year-old compact sedan? Then she spotted a sign spelling out the on-street parking rules—NO PARKING M-W-F ON EAST SIDE EXCEPT … The rules were so complicated and restrictive that her eyes glazed over. Obviously she’d violated one of the intricate restrictions. The car had been towed, then. Wonderful.

She tipped back her head, addressing the universe again. “All I need is a glimmer,” she said. “Just one goddamned glimmer of hope. Is that too much to ask?”

An oversize work truck trolled past, its engine growling ominously. It wasn’t a tow truck, though. Just some workman looking for a parking spot. Good luck with that, buddy, thought Natalie. A magnetic sign on the door depicted Michelangelo’s David wearing a strategically placed tool belt and HAMMER FOR HIRE with a phone number.

Really? she thought, batting away a cloud of diesel exhaust. That was not the glimmer she was looking for.

A Radiohead song blared from an open window. She covered her ears to block out the noise as she called the posted number of the towing service. After an annoying sequence of automated responses, she figured out that there was actually no simple way to pay the fine and reclaim the car.

Good job, Natalie, she thought. Now what the hell are you going to do? While she stood there pondering the feeling of utter defeat, a woman came out of the gallery a few doors down, climbed into the panel van, and pulled away from the curb.