Marriage between them seemed a given, until the September he and I crossed paths two years after graduation.

On that muggy morning, I was working at a locksmith shop for close to full wages—a respectable feat for anyone at the time, much less a girl—when he entered wearing a smart brown suit and brimmed hat. His briefcase, suffering a jammed lock, was easy as pie to fix, though my efforts did slow once I casually asked about Nina.

“Actually,” he said, “we broke up. Back in May.”

“Oh gosh. I hadn’t heard. I’m so sorry.”

“We just…realized we wanted different things.”

I nodded, extending a sympathetic look, my best effort at least.

“At any rate,” he said after a pause. “I guess you were the right person.”

It took me a second to respond. “Pardon?”

“For the lock.” He motioned toward the counter between us, where I’d finished repairing his briefcase without thinking.

“Right. Yes. The lock.” I avoided his gaze, feeling my cheeks flush, and slid the case toward him.

He smiled before testing it. “I’m impressed. You’re really keen at this.” For a skill deemed unladylike, the comment was refreshing. “Let me guess. Training for all those future stage tours.”

I was touched that he linked the two, and without a trace of mockery. Then again, as a kid, he did attend a good number of my shows, which dwindled only as Arie became busier with his studies at Calvin College. Supported by an on-campus job and an academic scholarship through a factory connection, he would earn his degree the coming June. I was dizzy to have ever doubted him.

Anyhow.

“Houdini actually mastered locks,” I replied, “by working at a shop like this. That’s where I got the idea for my earlier jobs too.”

“Oh? Such as?” Hendrik set his elbow on the counter, leaning a smidge closer, in no hurry at all.

As I plundered my recollections, I worried I’d absorbed the shop’s grease-metallic scent and wished the space weren’t so stuffy. “I worked for a carpenter first. He hired me only for sweeping and inventory but said I could learn more from being quiet and watching. Of course, I peppered him with so many questions he finally gave in and let me assist with the woodwork. I…suppose I wasn’t very good at the quiet part.”

“You don’t say.” Hendrik’s grin made me smile. “And then what?”

“And then”—I hesitated, uncertain how he’d react—“there was my job with a spiritualist.”

His hazel eyes went big, but in a captivated way.

“Mostly I helped with her séances—which I know sounds absurd. But it was really quite something. She’d pass along loving messages from her patrons, things they regretted not saying. I swear, you could see their grief practically melt right off.”