Frank closes the book and runs his hand over the cover.

“My business was about to go under,” Frank says softly. “Although I apprenticed under my dad and learned all of his skills, I wasn’t as good of a salesman as he was. The old-timers who knew my dad weren’t buying property, and the new guard were only hiring fancy builders and architects whose work had been featured in Architectural Digest.”

I think of the Dragoon Lady and silently nod.

“Your dad was one of the first to hire me,” he continues. “Worked on refurbishing that turret. Added on to that beautiful office and sitting area on this floor that will soon be your new owner’s suite. Mr. Kruger gave me this and told me to read it. Said he’d know if I’d read it or not. Got to that passage I just read you, and beside it, your father had written, ‘Don’t ever quit, Frank!’”

He stops, and I swear I catch his jaw tremble under his bushy beard. “Helluva guy,” he says in a near whisper that gives me goose bumps. He looks at me. “Don’t ever give up, Adie Lou!”

Frank hands me the book with a definitive nod and heads into the kitchen. I cradle it sweetly, thinking of my father and then of Evan. As the workers clean up and gather their tools, I dig my cell out of my purse and call my son.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice ragged and husky.

“That’s quite the greeting,” I say. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Evan says. “Sleeping.”

“Sleeping? It’s early afternoon. Don’t you have class?”

“Not today, Mom. I had a big paper due and a test this morning.” He yawns. “And I’ve got midterms coming up soon. I needed a nap.”

“I didn’t know college students napped,” I say. “I didn’t know fraternity boys napped.”

“We call it instant midnight,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Instant midnight,” Evan replies. “It’s a phrase some of the older guys made up. A lot of afternoons, if the guys are tired from studying or hungover, they come back to their rooms, lock their doors, close their blinds and pull the curtains. It goes from daylight to midnight. Instant midnight. Get it?”

“Now I do,” I say with a small laugh. “But a nap in the middle of the day sounds so frivolous.”

“What was that book Grandma loved?” Evan asks. Goose bumps again cover my body. It’s as though he is reading my mind, as if he knew I was just talking about books and his grandparents.

“She liked a lot of books,” I say, looking at the countless novels lining her side of the bookshelves. “As did your grampa.”

“The kindergarten one by that reverend guy,” he says. The way he says that is so typical Evan that I can’t help but laugh.