The shop was busy the next week. We had more customers than ever, the new building was working out, and Luis had settled in like he'd been there for years. I was in the office, going over the books, when Sarah knocked on the door.
"There's someone here to see you."
"Who?"
"Margaret Kessler."
I set down my pen. Margaret was here. Margaret, who was dying, who'd asked for my forgiveness, who'd given me the letter from her husband.
"Send her in."
She walked in slowly, leaning on a cane, her face thinner than I remembered. She looked around the office, at the desk and the files and the window that looked out on the bay.
"You've done well for yourself."
"I've been lucky."
"It's not luck. It's you." She sat down in the chair across from my desk. "I came to say something. Something I shou
