“Here’s my card,” said the woman. “I was going to set up a lunch with Blythe, but …”

Natalie took the card. Vicki Visconsi, Equity Advancement Specialist, Visconsi Development. “Thank you.”

After the woman left, Natalie showed the card to Cleo. “What’s equity advancement and why did my mom need a specialist?”

“No clue. Blythe never mentioned her.”

Natalie tucked the card under the desk blotter. She searched the web and found out that the firm had developments all around the Bay Area. Could her mother have been thinking of selling? No way, thought Natalie. The shop had been her mom’s life.

By the end of the day, Peach had made a list of repairs, ranked in order of urgency—safety features for Grandy, things that were on the brink of disaster, followed by matters that probably needed attention sooner rather than later. Natalie walked outside with him as he loaded tools and gear into the truck. She studied the list, picturing a river of cash flowing out the door.

“You can take your time and let me know how you want to proceed,” said Peach.

“I will. Thanks for helping today. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Sure.” He dug his keys from his pocket and then paused, studying her face and looking as if he could read her thoughts. “Once again, I want to say I’m real sorry about your mom. Nothing quite prepares you for something like this.”

She looked at his eyes, soft and thoughtful, like Dorothy’s. “It’s hard to describe. The sadness feels so … pervasive. It takes up all my headspace, and I’m supposed to be taking care of things. The shop. The building. My grandfather.”

“If you want to put off the work for a later time, we can do that.”

“No.” She was surprised at how quickly that came out. “I mean, these things are not going to get better on their own, right?” She knew the repairs wouldn’t be cheap, but she had money put by. Her savings. She could sell her car, which was a liability in the city anyway, impossible to park. And the damned diamond ring she would never, ever wear, because it was an albatross of guilt. She could cash in her 401(k), the retirement fund she’d been nurturing since the day she’d landed her first grown-up job. Not so long ago, that would have been unthinkable. Now it seemed like the best option.

You’re young, she told herself. You’ll replace those funds once you … What? That was the trouble. Once the shop was profitable? When would that happen?

“Can you get started on my grandfather’s apartment?” she asked Peach. “I worry about him. He’s … ever since he broke his hip and then got back from rehab, it seems like he’s aging so fast.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on that.”