Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

“In that case, you’re well rid of it. The way you spend your day is the way you spend your life.” He picked up a napkin and stared at it uncomprehendingly.

She reached across and tucked it into his collar for him. Oh, Grandy.

“It would be very unfortunate if the water ruined things in the basement,” he remarked. “That was Colleen’s domain down there. Papa told me she didn’t have much, and she was careful with her things. I shall ask Papa why they were never found.”

Natalie was learning not to ask Grandy to remember or to try to make him understand what was real and what wasn’t. She was learning that it was enough to be with him, to take his hand, tuck his collar, fix him something to eat.

Sometimes he spoke of his parents as if they were in the next room. Maybe it was a blessing for distant memories to be so vivid. She thought about her mother every day, remembered countless details of their life together, but already certain things were fading, like images in a rearview mirror growing smaller and smaller. There were moments when she couldn’t picture the exact shape of her mother’s hands or the way she parted her hair or the tilt of her head when she was concentrating. Moments like that made her panic. Don’t go. I still need you.

Well before it was time to open, Peach arrived with Dorothy in tow. The little girl was adorable, even with severe bedhead and shoes that looked a bit like bedroom slippers.

Peach buckled on a tool belt and holstered a flashlight, then swapped his shoes for rubber boots. There was something elemental about him—his approach to a problem, his calm confidence as he ripped into a 150-year-old wall or tackled a flood.

Watching him at work made Natalie miss Rick. Despite her ambivalence about their relationship, she did miss his big manly hands and can-do air of self-confidence. Rick had not filled a pair of jeans in quite the same way Peach did, though. She cut the thought short. She had dragged him from his wife’s bed this morning, for Pete’s sake. He was, as she often reminded herself, totally off-limits.

“I’m sorry to get you over here so early,” she said. “I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday than to look at my swampy basement.”

“I didn’t have to twist Dorothy’s arm,” he assured her. “She loves this place.”

“How about a fresh cinnamon roll and some cold apple cider?” Grandy offered. Just the sight of the little girl caused him to light up. He sat straighter, and the smile lines on his face deepened.

“Mr. Harper!” Dorothy scurried over to him. “Yes, please.”

“Oh good, you can keep each other company,” Natalie said. “Can the two of you hang out together while I show your dad the basement?”

“Yep!” Dorothy hoisted herself onto a chair and sank her teeth into a cinnamon bun.

Natalie motioned Peach toward the back of the shop and led the way downstairs. “She’s really cute,” she said. “I love seeing my grandfather’s face when he’s around her.”

“I’m pretty proud of that kid,” Peach agreed. He flipped off one of the breakers at the electrical panel. “In the future, kill the power before you go wading in the basement.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to do that.”

“Standing water and live wires are not your friend.”

“Got it.”

Rays of light from the street-level windows highlighted the skeletal hulk of the letterpress and reflected off the surface of the water on the floor. “Looks bad, right?” she said. “Grandy asked if the sump pump failed again, so I suppose it’s happened before.”

“Let’s take a look.” He shone the light at the hot water heater and the pipes lining the ceiling and walls. “There might be a slight bit of good news,” he said. “The water doesn’t seem to be coming from a leak in your building. This is from the city.”

“Can I get them to stop it?”

“You’ll need to call the public works department. The pump should be able to handle it if I can get it running. I might need you to hold the flashlight.” He glanced down at her feet. “Got any boots?”

“I’m okay with flip-flops.”

His look of approval should not have been gratifying, but it was. She rolled up her pant legs, then took the flashlight from him and stepped into the standing water. “Dang, that’s cold,” she muttered, leading the way to the blinking red light in the corner.

Peach looked into the hole where the sump pump was positioned. Then he peeled off his sweatshirt and hunkered down, plunging his arm deep into the pit. “You’re right. That’s damn cold.”

She held the light steady while he brought up the submerged pump and unplugged it. Taking the flashlight from her, he inspected the pump, which was covered in slime. He used a screwdriver to pry something out of the bottom. “Hello.”

“What is it?”

“I think I found the problem.” He held out a small metal object—an old key of some sort. “This was caught in the intake. Let’s see if that fixed it. I’ll plug it back in and you flip the breaker back on.”

“Only if you promise not to get electrocuted.”

“Yeah, not on the agenda today.”

While he replaced the pump, she pocketed the key, went to the breaker box, and flipped the switch. A quiet mechanical hum ensued. “That’s a good sign,” called Peach.

She rejoined him in the basement. “Is it fixed?”

“Let’s check it out.” He shone the light, and they saw that the pump was sucking in swirls of water.

Natalie exhaled a breath of relief. “Wow. That’s … I’m glad I didn’t have to buy another pump. Thank you for fixing it.”

He looked around. “The water’ll subside pretty quickly. Good thing you heard the alarm.”

“Miss Natalie?” Dorothy called from the top of the stairs. “Can you come?”

Natalie glanced at Peach, who shrugged. They both went upstairs, leaving flip-flops and boots in the hallway. Natalie was haunted by visions of her grandfather wandering off again. “Everything all right?” she asked.

The two of them were still sitting together in the café area. Sylvia had made an appearance, crouching on the windowsill nearby. Dorothy had a piece of lined paper and appeared to be making a list.

“Yes, indeed,” said Grandy.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Peach asked his daughter.

“We have a plan to save the bookstore,” Dorothy replied, utterly serious.

Natalie felt a twist of anxiety in her gut. She’d been trying to protect her grandfather from fretting about finances. Forcing a smile, she asked, “Save the store from what? Sea monsters? Pirates?”

Dorothy’s expression clearly said I’m not having this . “Mr. Harper and I are making a list. Number one, get more of these yummy cinnamon rolls to sell to your customers.”

Peach washed up at the sink and helped himself to one. “Excellent plan. Dang, that’s good.”

“That’s very smart,” Natalie said. “I did the math, and the café makes up about a quarter of our revenues. You must be good at math, too.”

“Nuh-uh. I just like sweet rolls.”

“Then I’m going to see about having the bakery across the way help us turn the coffee area into a proper café.” Yet another project she didn’t have time for, but visitors to the shop would love it.

“You need Wi-Fi, too,” Dorothy said. “Free Wi-Fi.”

“Why do you need Wi-Fi with all these books?” asked Peach.

“I don’t. All the grown-ups do. Mom says Wi-Fi runs the world.”

Peach took a savage bite of his sweet roll.

“Adding guest Wi-Fi is on my list of projects,” said Natalie. “And it’s actually something I know how to do. I’m liking this free advice, Dorothy. What else do we need?”