Part 4
Grant took Flint’s leash from the console. He didn’t reach for his own door until Nora opened hers.
She tried one key, frowned, and chose another.
The lock yielded. She pushed the bakery door inward, and the little bell above it gave a reluctant rattle.
Owen slipped past the covered tables as though he knew the route by heart. Nora stayed near the entrance, her keys still in her hand.
Grant brought Flint into the front room and paused beside her. He’d expected something familiar to remain in the air. Instead, he smelled dust, dry cardboard, and the cool, closed smell of rooms that hadn’t been heated regularly.
The display case was empty. A faded notice about advance orders leaned inside it. Behind the counter, the big mixer sat beneath a cloth that hadn’t quite covered the bowl.
Grant looked toward the wall shelves.
Nora saw where his attention had gone.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re looking at your shelf.”
“Our shelf. Your mother supervised.”
“My mother made you take it down and start over.”
“Which suggests a management problem.”
Nora’s mouth twitched.
He stepped behind the counter and found the shallow gouge beneath the old register position. His thumb fit into it exactly as he remembered.
Owen came to look.
“What’s that?”
“Evidence,” Nora said.
Grant withdrew his hand. “A minor incident.”
“He dropped a tool.”
“Once.”
“Mom took the tools away.”
“She gave them back.”
“After hiding the good ones.”
Owen studied Grant with fresh interest. “So you weren’t always good at fixing things.”
“Don’t put that in writing.”
The boy grinned and asked whether he could uncover the tables. Nora gave permission, and the first cloth sent dust into the light from the window.
Flint sneezed.
Owen stopped. The dog sneezed again, then looked at Grant.
“I think he wants a different assignment,” Grant said.
Owen laughed and carried the cloth away more carefully. Grant moved Flint to the clean stretch beside the entrance, clear of their work.
Nora set her folder down and went to the small office. The metal filing cabinet resisted until she lifted the drawer slightly. Inside were years of invoices, receipts, lease records, and envelopes with notes across their fronts.
She began sorting.
Grant stayed out of the paperwork. He opened a lower cabinet beneath the counter and heard the door scrape the floor. He tried it once more, then went toward the entrance.
Nora looked up. “Where are you going?”
“For tools.”
“We’re not here to do repairs.”
“Then I’ll be very discreet.”
When he returned, she had found a towel and was wiping the counter. He didn’t mention it.
The hinge screws had loosened in worn wood. Grant took the door’s weight, removed the hinge, and checked what he had to work with.
Owen crouched beside him.
“Can I do something?”
Grant placed the hardware in his palm. “Keep track of these.”
“That’s all?”
“Lose one and you’ll discover how important it was.”
Owen curled his fingers around the pieces.
The cabinet closed cleanly when Grant finished. He opened and closed it again.
“Are we all happier?” Nora asked.
“Some of us.”
“You’ve been here twenty minutes.”
“There’s still time.”
At the sink, he checked the dripping faucet. It needed a washer he didn’t have. He tightened it only enough to stop the steady drip and put the replacement on his list.
Nora found the records she’d come for. She slid them into the folder, looked toward the window, and crossed the room to raise the blinds.
Owen uncovered another table. Grant moved chairs so she could sweep. Cool air came through the window Nora opened, and for the next hour nobody said they were supposed to be leaving.
Grant tightened chair joints and replaced a ruined pad beneath a table leg. Owen sorted pastry boxes according to a system that appeared to favor anything with an attractive picture. Nora cleaned the display glass until she could see the scratches left by years of use.
“You know Mom put folded receipts under that table,” she said.
“I know.”
“You never told her it was fixable.”
“She had a perfectly workable system. I wasn’t volunteering for an argument.”
Nora smiled and went back to the glass.
She avoided the kitchen until Owen asked for trash bags.
“Drawer by the pantry,” she told him.
“I don’t see them.”
She put down the towel and went through the doorway. Halfway to the pantry, she stopped.
Grant bent over the chair he was working on.
After a while, he heard a drawer open. Nora handed Owen the bags, and the boy went back to the front room.
She stayed by the drawer.
Years earlier, she’d come into that kitchen before daylight with every intention of working. The funeral was over. People had stopped arriving with food. She’d thought perhaps the bakery would tell her what to do with an ordinary morning.
She put on an apron, warmed the oven, and measured ingredients. The radio stayed off. Vivian had always switched it on before the first dough was mixed, but Nora couldn’t bear the thought of a voice coming from that shelf.
Then she needed another bowl.
Her hand went left, toward the place where her mother would already have set it out.
The counter was bare.
Nora stood there until the oven signaled it was ready. She switched it off, untied the apron, and left the dough in the bowl.
Inez Rourke had worked beside Vivian for years. When Nora offered to lease her the bakery, Inez accepted without asking for an explanation. Bellamy’s remained open. Nora could own the building without having to enter that kitchen before dawn.
The arrangement lasted more than a decade.
Then Tess died, leaving Owen seven years old. Nora’s work as a physical therapist assistant had required hours that didn’t accommodate school pickup, appointments, and the sudden emergencies children produced without warning. Talvessa offered steady shifts and a manager who didn’t mind Owen doing homework in the back room.
There was no familiar bowl missing from the café counter.
Inez kept the bakery going until the previous winter. She’d been finding the mornings harder for some time. A hip problem finally made the long hours on her feet impossible to ignore.
She retired. Nora paid the bills that kept the building sound and postponed the rest.
Now she closed the drawer and picked up a stack of old pan liners.
Grant continued working on the chair.
Sunlight had reached the front counter when Nora finally asked what time it was. Grant checked his phone.
“Nearly four.”
She came close enough to see the screen for herself.
“We were getting a folder.”
“It’s a very clean folder.”
She looked around. Three tables stood uncovered. The counter shone in uneven patches. Owen was writing labels for a box of old menus, and Flint had gone to sleep beside the entrance.
Nora rubbed at a dirty streak on her wrist.
“I didn’t mean to spend the afternoon.”
Grant put his tools away. “We can go.”
She looked toward the kitchen once more before closing the window.
Outside, she checked the door after locking it. She didn’t hurry to the truck.
The next morning, Grant found his coffee waiting at Talvessa. Nora finished cleaning the steam wand, set down the cloth, and came to his end of the counter.
“Would somebody be able to get that old oven running again?”
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