All he needed was a whiff of the store to feel calmer—rubber and machine oil, insecticides and fresh-cut lumber. The comfort of the familiar had driven him here this morning, not the urgent need for spare keys. He just had to get away, forget about everything. The pressure was extreme. A move and a new job? Who could do both of those things at the same time and stay sane? A young guy in a red vest and a nametag greeted him. Grant shook the fellow’s hand. It was like reaching out to his former self.

Grant had grown up in his father’s hardware store, graduating from playing on the wood floor behind the counter, to runner (Can you get this young lady a can of WD-40, son? Can you show this gentleman where we cut glass?), to advising and ringing up customers. He’d been proud when his father had given him the green vest all of the Main Street Hardware employees got to wear, but not so proud that he wanted to make the store his life. His father had been caustic when Grant told him he did not want to take over upon his father’s retirement. “Then who in God’s name am I doing this for?” his father had said, smacking his hand into a row of clay pots. Grant picked up the shards, keeping an ingratiating smile on his face for the customers.

He strolled down each row now, familiarizing himself with the layout. Garden gloves and trash cans, cleaning solvents and mousetraps. He caressed door hinges and ran his hand over a row of air filters. He wasn’t the owner’s son here, but a stranger. It was a funny feeling.

He’d known anonymity for such short bursts in his life. His first weeks at the university—well, not really, since so many of his friends from high school went there. In law school—but it was only an hour from home, easy to go back for the weekend. At Fitzpatrick, Oppler and Moore—but that wasn’t right, either, since many of the law firm’s clients were neighbors or customers at the store. Then, of course, Marie got hired, and it was like being in school all over again. It was impossible to be anonymous when you settled down where you grew up. While some people found it claustrophobic, incestuous even, he loved the feeling of being known, the pride he felt in being the first Davenport to attend graduate school.