He was the Mr. Rogers version of his grandson: thick gray hair, charcoal gray slacks, red cashmere sweater and blue Harvard tie. Or better yet, he was Mr. Rogers’s New York City attorney twin.

He put a comforting hand on my elbow. “I’m sorry for your loss, Emsley. We’re all heartbroken.” His soft voice cracked midsentence. “Would a grandfatherly hug be all right?”

“I’ve never had a grandfatherly hug. I might embarrass myself by clinging.”

“You go ahead.” He embraced me, mindful of my breakfast. “You didn’t know either of your grandfathers?”

“My father’s parents had him late in life and died before he married my mother. I only knew them from pictures. And Violet… She never said.” To my great disappointment, the hatbox hadn’t offered up any clues either.

I led the way into the first room of the gallery, which no longer stood empty. I’d wrestled down three armchairs and a few other light pieces the previous day to open up the overcrowded third floor.

“This is new,” Bram remarked on the furniture.

“I’ll have to have everything on the ground floor for shipping, anyway.”

“Need help?”

“I won’t be dragging all the furniture down myself. Whatever antique store buys the pieces will handle that. If there’s anything left over, Habitat for Humanity promised their people would do the heavy lifting.” All I had to do was clear out Violet’s personal effects. I put down my breakfast, then picked up the UPS envelope and handed it to Bram. “I read and signed everything.”

His grandfather ambled past us. “Would you mind if I walked around? It’s been a while.”

“Go ahead. But there’s not much to see.”

“Ah.” He took in the nearly empty room with hazy eyes, as if seeing not the present, but the past. “But there is much to feel.”

I sat and embraced the day’s first caffeine hit. “Thank you again,” I told Bram. Then, “It’s nice that you’re close to your grandfather.”

“I have the other one too. In Pittsburgh. Used to be a steelworker.” He folded onto the chair next to mine. “Big football fan. Grandpa Joe used to take me to all the games. Grandpa Bram took me to the Harvard Club. That’s how I grew up such a balanced person,” he deadpanned.

I rolled my eyes at him and fought a grin as I reached for the bagel. Then I caught myself and dropped my hand. I’d be polite and wait.

Bram put the envelope down and pushed the food toward me. “Have you had any luck with translating those old letters?”