Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

Peach impulsively turned up Perdita Street and drove to the bookstore. Parking in the loading zone, he went inside, causing the bell to jangle. “Hey,” he said to Cleo, who was at the counter. He didn’t see anyone else in the shop.

“Hey, Peach.” She glanced at the clock over the door. “I was just about to close. What’s up?”

“Is Andrew around?”

Cleo shook her head. “Natalie took him for a doctor’s appointment and then they went to dinner. He’s been sick lately. I’m worried about him.”

“Would it be okay if I checked something in his apartment? It’ll just take a minute.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You have the door code, right?”

Peach nodded and hurried to the back of the building. He hadn’t been here in a while. The place looked good, probably thanks to Natalie’s pinpoint organization. Andrew’s apartment held the smells of old paper, old ink, old man. A lamp on the nightstand cast a glow. The soft groans and hissing sounds of the radiator filled the room.

Peach switched his phone to flashlight mode and hunkered down, putting his cheek against the floor to see behind the apparatus. “I’ll be goddamned,” he said, eyeing a small iron vial with a slender neck and a bulb at the bottom.

The radiator. The goddamned radiator.

25

Andrew’s thoughts fluttered like curtains in a breeze through the window. The wind would part them momentarily and he’d see a flash of crystal clarity. Then the next eddy of air would obscure the view, and the haze would come up again.

Although there was no standard cure for mercury poisoning, the chelation therapy was helping in every organ except the brain. That much he knew, based on the frequent blood and urine tests.

Within hours of Peach sounding the alarm about the mercury, Andrew had been admitted to the hospital. He’d come home to find that the apartment—indeed, the entire building from basement to attic—had been decontaminated and tested. The metallic taste in his mouth was gone at last. His appetite had returned and he could walk a straight line. Feed the cat without spilling. He might never regain the lost pieces of himself, but after the sudden drama of removing the toxic radiator part, he felt more hope than he had in a long time.

He also saw things with intermittent clarity.

And he knew what he had to do. He took out the threadbare green ribbon that had lived in his billfold since his father had given it to him. His tie to Colleen, who had never found her way back.

“Come and sit,” he said to Natalie when she appeared at his door. “We can look out at the rain. It’s a restful sight, isn’t it?”

She squeezed his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed his cheek. Natalie. His Natty-girl. She of the butterfly kisses and worried forehead and huge heart everyone trusted but herself. Then she had a seat, placing a folder of printed pages on the table between them. It was the story of the Sunrose Building, the one Blythe had started—was it only a year ago? It seemed like much longer. Natalie was determined to complete the narrative, bringing in the trove of information from Colleen’s writings and drawings.

“I’m so very grateful,” he said. “I don’t tell you that enough, and I want to make certain you know.”

“I do know. How are you feeling today?”

“Good,” he said. “I checked the calendar, and for once there’s no doctor or lab on the agenda. I have a notary coming to help us this morning.”

She frowned. That pucker of worry endearing. “What for?”

He took out the forms from Ms. Hart, the lawyer. “I’m giving you my general durable power of attorney and guardianship. It’s long overdue.”

“Oh, Grandy. Are you sure?”

“I’ve had a good long time to think about it. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll do my best to take care of things, I promise. You’ve taken care of me all my life, and I’ll do the same for you.”

“You’ve kept me well because you give me joy. And joy will keep you well, but you have to let it.”

Her heart ached. “I’ll try,” she said. “I’ll try to let it.”

“Your first task is to find a buyer for this old place.”

“What? You want to sell?”

“It’s time, Natalie. You’ve known it all along, and you’re absolutely right. I’ve also reserved a spot”—he held up a brochure—“at this assisted-living residence.” He’d stayed up late, studying the booklet Natalie had given him in October, a glossy compendium of silver-haired people playing golf, sitting on porch swings, watching the sunset over the Sonoma hills.

“You want to live there ?”

Of course he didn’t. But it was the most sensible choice for them both. “You can return to Archangel. I’m sure your firm would love to have you back.”

Her cheeks lost their color. She started to speak, but he held up a hand. “I’ve made my decision. We’re selling the building, and also the shop and all its inventory. We need to act quickly before it’s foreclosed and we lose all control.”

She brushed at her eyes. “I’m not going to do a thing until we make sure this is what you want.”

“It is, I assure you. I’ve been a foolish old man. I can blame the mercury, but it’s likely my own stubborn nature. I tried to hold on to this place because it guards my entire life within its walls.”

“Grandy—”

“Let me finish. This place is an empty shell without May Lin and Blythe. Without my long-gone parents. They will be just as absent from my life whether I stay and wait for the inevitable, or whether we move far away.” He covered her hands with his. “I want to be near you in a place where we don’t worry that something else will fall apart each day. Can we make that happen? Please?”

“Are you absolutely certain?” she asked. Her worried eyes probed like Dr. Yang’s scope. “Absolutely one hundred percent?”

The uncertainty ached in his bones. But this was Natalie, his heart, and he could not be a burden any longer. “I know what’s happening to me. And I know how it ends,” he said. “I don’t intend to leave you with a mess on your hands.”

“You’re not a mess,” she said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here.”

He held up a hand. “My mind is made up. No more twelve-hour days. No more threatening notices. I want to enjoy the time I have left without those constant worries.”

“But—”

“Enough, now. It’s time to move forward, Natalie.”

She took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, the worry eased from her face. “There’s a woman who left me her card—Vicki Visconsi. I looked into her firm, and it turns out she’s a broker for high-end real estate. Mom was talking to her, before . . .”

“She would probably welcome your call.” He set the paperwork aside. “This can wait until we meet with the notary.”

“Oh, Grandy.” Natalie’s eyes were filled with tenderness. “We’re going to miss this old place, aren’t we?”

His smile was a twist of irony. “My forgetfulness might be a blessing.” Then his smile disappeared. “I’m not worried about forgetting the building. But you, Natty-girl. You.”

“Listen. If you forget, I’ll remind you. I will love you with all my heart, and you’re going to feel that love, because even if you forget here”—she touched his head—“you’ll remember here.” She gently laid her hand on his heart. “I promise.”

He took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. “You make me remember what a lucky man I am.” To stave off a wave of emotion that threatened to carry him away, he changed the subject. “So, about your mother’s project. It appears we now know the ending.” He smiled, and it felt good to smile. He was giving his granddaughter the best gift he could—freedom from worry and want. “Let’s finish Blythe’s story, shall we?”