“It’s pretty great.” He noticed a guitar case in the corner. “You play?”

“Not really. Mom got that at a rummage sale when I was a kid, and we taught ourselves a few three-chord songs.” Her expression softened with remembrance, but then the worry frown reappeared. “I guess you could say I have a love-hate relationship with this place. I love that our entire family history lives here, and I hate that we can’t afford to keep it.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but you’d have buyers lining up. It’s in a prime location, has the kind of vintage appeal people can’t get enough of. I see places like this selling for cash, as-is.”

She sat on the rolled arm of a comfy-looking sofa and knotted her hands together until her knuckles turned white with stress. “That was my first inclination after the crash. The bookshop was my mother’s reason for living, and I thought without her, it couldn’t go on.” She brushed her hand across a soft blanket on the back of the sofa. “It’s not mine to sell, though. It wasn’t even my mother’s. Everything belongs to my grandfather, so it’s his call, and he won’t budge. He was born here, grew up here, made his living here. I want him to enjoy his retirement in a place he loves. Uprooting him now would break his heart.”

What about your heart? Peach wondered, but not aloud.

“He’s lucky to have you,” he told her.

“I’m the lucky one,” she said. “He’s my only family, and it’s a privilege to look after him. I’m going to do what it takes to keep him here.”

“Now that,” said Peach, “is something I can help you with.” He wanted to say more, ask her more. Instead, he said, “I’d better get to work.”

In Andrew’s apartment, Peach had already finished installing sturdy holds in the bathroom. Now he built a ramp leading down to the garden in back. While he worked, the old man seemed absorbed in reading yellowed pages and documents from a big folder, turning the pages with his unsteady hands. Sometimes the tremors were so bad, he would press his hands flat on the table, an agonized expression on his face. Every now and then, he would glance up with a benign gaze and make some comment or other, drifting in and out like the window curtain blowing in the breeze. Peach realized he was seeing the symptoms that kept Natalie up at night.