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“Hi, Cam!” the woman greeted her. “Here to take another shift?”

“Sorry, Ginny,” Cam said. “Not today. I was wondering if I could look at something I unpacked the other day. Do you remember that really old dress and apron?”

“Over there in the antique section,” she said, pointing to a few tables and clothing racks. “We separate those out and tag ’em with higher prices. We want people to find bargains, but we have to raise the funds for the fete. I’ve got a goal to hit, and believe me, I’ll never hear the end of it from Rox if we don’t.”

“Of course,” Cam said, darting over to the spot Ginny had indicated and quickly locating the items. The dress was marked $30 and the apron was $15. She touched the mother-of-pearl buttons along the dress’s neckline and felt the rough cotton of the apron. She snatched them both up, and the fabric of the garments felt strangely warm in her hands. Cam fished in her bag for her wallet and pulled out a check as she approached Ginny. “Could I go ahead and buy these?”

“I’m technically not supposed to let people buy things before we open to the public,” Ginny said, looking around, probably for Rox.

“What if I made it a hundred dollars for both and dated the check for Saturday?” Cam said, scribbling on the check and holding it out. “Think of it as a donation to the town, and no one needs to know.”

“Sure thing, Cam,” Ginny said.

“Thanks, Ginny. ’Night!” Cam tucked the items under her coat and started for the exit before wheeling around as a thought occurred to her. “Sorry,” she said, “but you wouldn’t know, by any chance, who donated these, would you?”

Ginny shook her head. “No clue. I have a receipt book with the names of people who wanted one for tax purposes. But it only has a few entries. Most people don’t bother, and almost all the donations were dropped off in a bin we keep here by the entrance, where people can just walk in off the street.”

“Can I see the receipt book?” Cam said, hoping she wasn’t asking too much. “I’d like to make sure that someone didn’t accidentally leave something they didn’t mean to.”

Ginny shrugged and pulled a slim, spiral-bound book from the counter, suddenly distracted by a situation on the other side of the hall that apparently required her attention. “I’ve got to go deal with a folding emergency,” she said. “Just leave it here when you’re done.”

Cam opened the notebook and used her phone to snap photos of the receipts. Then she hurried out to the cold street.

Gold lettering on the window proclaimed the name of the shop to be Antiques on the Cove, and Cam admired the boxwood wreath and tasteful red bow that adorned the entrance. She stepped in, pulling Parsley’s leash close. She didn’t have to worry about the dog knocking things over—he was generally very well-behaved—but she didn’t want to risk it. The store was full of beautiful things, from an early pine cupboard to a display of Willow Ware china. Light from various lamps gave the place a lively glow, and Ella Fitzgerald’s “White Christmas” played softly.

“Hello?” Cam called out, peering around to see if anyone was around. “Are you open?”

Cam heard the voice before she could see its source. “Come on in, and welcome!” Which was followed by the appearance of a woman Cam guessed was near her own age, and yet there was something timeless about her, as if she was from a different era—or maybe several different eras. Her glossy, dark-purple hair might have looked vaguely punkish, but she wore it in a flapper-style bob, and her smile was accentuated by bright-red lipstick.

“Is it okay if he comes in, too?” Cam asked, motioning to Parsley.

“Well-behaved dogs and children are always welcome here,” she said, reaching under the counter and retrieving a bowl of doggie treats. “Can I give him one?” she asked Cam, who nodded. The woman came out from behind the counter and offered it to Parsley, who eagerly ate it up.

“You’ve made a friend for life,” Cam said. “Thank you.”

Cam noticed that the bowl holding the pet snacks was actually an ornate compote dish with intricate hand-painted flowers. “That dish is lovely,” she said. “That must be worth quite a bit. I can’t believe you’re using it for dogs.”

The woman rotated it around to show that a large chunk of the lip was missing. “It’s badly damaged, alas, so it’s not worth anything. But it’s still a pretty old piece. Even our pets deserve to be served out of something elegant. I believe we should surround ourselves and the people—and animals—we love with beauty.”

“Well, you’ve certainly accomplished that here,” Cam said, looking around.

“Thank you so much,” the woman said, extending her hand enthusiastically. “I’m Francine. Francine Jensen. And you’re Cam Parker. You might remember me from Mr. Taylor’s trigonometry class, junior year.”

Cam squinted at the woman, trying to place her. High school memories weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy for Cam. She had spent most of her time trying to disappear, to blend into the background. When she first started school in Silver Cove, some kids had been nice to her, probably because she was Birdie’s granddaughter. Some of them might have even had parents who were Flora’s friends. Invite her to sit at your table at lunch, she imagined their parents telling them, imagining them rolling their eyes in return. Ask her to go with you to the movies. You know her mom died. Cam envied them, with their conventional families and easy friendships that came from knowing each other for as long as they had. She couldn’t bear the thought of their curiosity, although they probably knew all about Flora and what happened to her. So Cam always turned them down, politely, and after a while, they stopped asking. Avery was her only friend, the Summer Sister to whom she didn’t have to explain anything.

“Of course, I looked a little different back then,” Francine laughed, flipping her aubergine hair. “I was more the ponytailed cheerleader type. But you know, college and the big city can change a girl.”

Cam suddenly pictured a blond teenager in her Silver Cove High uniform with that same confident, bubbly laugh.

“Now I remember you,” Cam replied. She was pretty sure Francine had been one of the handful of girls who tried to befriend her, and she felt a pang. What if she had just said yes and joined her at the table with the giggling girls? Would they have become friends, real friends? Someone to share gossipy brunches with, who knew your birthday and your favorite Taylor Swift song? She was struck by a feeling she’d been having more often than she liked lately, as she watched Birdie and the loving community that she had built, or caught sight of Ian working. There were times when Cam had wondered about all the hundreds of might-have-beens. What her life might have been like if she hadn’t been so guarded.

Cam paused, not sure what to say next. It wasn’t like she and Francine could reminisce about high school parties and football games. She reached under her coat and pulled out the dress and apron, placing them on the polished wood counter.

“What can you tell me about these?”

Francine’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I adore vintage clothes,” she said, motioning to her own dress, a rust-colored damask with a pinched-in waist and a flared skirt. “I don’t sell any here because there isn’t much of a market for it in Silver Cove, but I dealt with a lot of it when I worked in L.A.”

“So you can tell when these are from? I’m guessing the twenties?”