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“I collect bricks,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Right,” said Gabri, as though everyone collected bricks. “But why that one?”

“It’s special.”

“Ahh,” said Ruth. “Her lucky brick. Seems she takes after her aunt in the load department.”

Rosa nodded, as ducks often did.

“No,” Harriet began, then, waving Billy to his feet with a weak smile, she all but collapsed into his chair. It was a lifeboat situation. “Though I was lucky to find it. Took me months.”

“I’m bored,” said Ruth. “If there’s a point, please get there.”

“It’s from the same factory that made these buildings.” Harriet waved at the shops behind her. “If you look on it, there’s the factory’s name and a date stamp. Those are the best. The most collectible. They don’t identify factories and dates anymore.”

“You collect bricks?” said Clara.

“We’ve moved past that, keep up,” said Ruth, then turned back to Harriet. “Still bored.”

“You’ve talked about how much this place, these people, mean to you,” Harriet said to her aunt. “How you found not just home here, but belonging. I wanted to give you a piece of it, to always remind you.”

Myrna leaned over and hugged her niece, gripping her tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For knowing. It’s a perfect gift.”

“And it’s even more important now,” said Harriet, when released. “Since you’re leaving.”

“What?” said Clara. “What?”

“You’re leaving?” said Gabri. “What?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” said Rosa.

“I heard you and Billy talking this morning,” said Harriet. “I’m sorry. I thought the others knew.”

“We haven’t decided yet,” said Myrna, looking at Clara’s stricken face.

Clara just stared, unable to form words. Ruth was so shocked she’d dropped the bored act along with the invisibility cloak that hid her true feelings.

It was up to Gabri to ask why.

“I love the loft, but with the two of us pretty much living together, it’s just too small. And then, if we ever want people, want Harriet, to stay, they have to sleep in the living room.”

“They can stay at the B&B,” said Gabri. “For free. You can’t leave Three Pines.”

“Thank you, mon ami, but we’d still need more room,” said Myrna. “I’ve thought about this a lot, but only mentioned it to Billy this morning. I’ll keep the bookshop, of course.”

“What bookshop?” asked Ruth. “It’s a library. Says it right on the sign.”

“Oh, you old hag,” said Gabri. “Give it up. You know perfectly well ‘librairie’ is French for bookshop.”

“Come on now. That’s just ridiculous,” said the poet. “Why call a bookstore a library?”

“There must be a place in the village you could move to,” said Clara. She could feel panic welling up. “Or we could switch. You can live at my place and I can take over the loft. An artist. A loft. It’s perfect.”

Myrna looked at her best friend, at the desperation in her face and the potato chips in her hair. And wondered how she would ever leave.

Harriet was right. This was not just bricks and mortar. This was her beating heart. It was the first time in fifty years Myrna felt like she really belonged. As though Three Pines had set a place at the table and had been waiting for her.

And now she was considering leaving.