Prologue

The Flood Mansion

San Francisco

Standing before the gathering at her mother’s memorial service, Natalie Harper glanced down at the podium. On the angled surface was a folder titled “Resources for the Grieving,” along with her notes. The guide was a compendium of advice, but there was one thing it failed to explain: How was she supposed to go on after this?

Natalie had been carrying the pages around for days, hoping she’d somehow find an explanation for the inexplicable, or a way to express the inexpressible. But all the notes and resources in the world failed to penetrate the unfinished narrative of her mother’s life, which seemed to dangle in the thin air of Natalie’s grief, just out of reach. The words shimmered in a wet blur before her eyes.

She tried to remember what she meant to say—as if she could sum up Blythe Harper’s life in a three-minute speech. What did you say at your mother’s final farewell? That she had been with you every minute of your life from the second you took your first breath until a week ago, when she had left forever. That she was beautiful and inspiring. Brilliant, but often foolish. Quirky and infuriating. Complicated and beloved. That she was everything—a mother, a daughter, a friend, a bookseller, a purveyor of dreams.

And that, at the moment Natalie had needed her most, Blythe Harper had fallen from the sky.

Part One

Do not fear death, but rather the unlived life. You don’t have to live forever, you just have to live.

—Tuck Everlasting

1

Archangel, Sonoma County, California

One week earlier

This was a big moment for Natalie. The biggest in her career so far, for sure. The whole company had gathered in the reception hall of Pinnacle Fine Wines to celebrate her promotion and the million-dollar deal she’d made for the firm. But her own mother was a no-show.

True to form.

To be fair, the drive from the city up to Archangel could be unpredictable in the afternoon. It was equally possible that Blythe Harper had completely forgotten that she’d promised to show up to celebrate her daughter’s achievement.

Natalie pasted on a smile and smoothed her hands down the front of her blazer, a tailored, conservative piece she wore over the white silk pussy-bow blouse she’d splurged on for the occasion. Meanwhile, she tracked the company owner, Rupert Carnaby, as he made his way to the podium at the dais, pausing to greet colleagues along the way. Then she glanced at the door, half hoping her mom would come dashing through at the last minute.

The other half knew better.

Natalie reminded herself that she was a grown woman, not some kid who needed her mommy to show up for a school event. Not that Blythe had done that, either.

Although she didn’t consciously keep score, Natalie knew her mother had missed many things in her life, from her Brownie investiture ceremony to the California Mathletics championship to her graduation from college. There was always a reason—she couldn’t leave the shop, a sales rep was coming in, she couldn’t find a car to borrow, she had an event with a VIP author—all good reasons, the kind Natalie would feel petty for disputing.

Whatever, Natalie thought, shifting from foot to foot in her fashionable but uncomfortable midheel pumps. It’s fine. Her mom would have an excuse and Natalie would be fine with it. That was the way it always worked. And to be fair, her mother—who had raised Natalie alone—rarely had a moment to spare away from the bookstore. She’d run it almost single-handedly for the past thirty-three years, often lacking the wherewithal for backup help.

Mandy McDowell, Natalie’s coworker in logistics, milled past, a glass of wine in hand as she regaled a colleague with yet another story about her adorable but ill-behaved kids.

Too late, Natalie realized Mandy wasn’t watching where she was going. Natalie failed to step away in time, and Mandy’s glass of wine sloshed into her.

“Oh my God, Natalie,” Mandy exclaimed, her eyes wide with distress. “I didn’t see you there. Oh shoot, I am so, so sorry!”

Natalie plucked the white silk blouse away from her body. “Great,” she muttered, grabbing a napkin and blotting at the splash of red wine.

“Club soda to the rescue.” Mandy’s friend Cheryl bustled forward with a napkin and a bottle. “Here, let me help.”

While Natalie held her blouse away from her also-stained bra, Mandy and Cheryl dabbed at the large blot. “I’m such a horrible klutz,” Mandy said. “Can you ever forgive me? God, you shouldn’t. And today of all days, just as you’re about to go up to the podium . . .”

“It was an accident,” Natalie conceded, trying to keep her cool. Trying to minimize the situation.

“Promise you’ll send me the cleaning bill,” Mandy said. “And if the stain won’t come out, I’m totally buying you a new blouse.”

“Fair enough,” Natalie murmured. She knew her coworker wouldn’t make good on the promise. Mandy, a single mom, was perpetually broke. She always seemed to be scrambling to stay on top of her bills. Judging by her eyelash extensions and nail job, she didn’t mind splurging on self-care. Yet she was always short on cash.

Don’t judge, Natalie reminded herself. People have their reasons.

Mandy regarded her with dewy-eyed sympathy. “Oh hey, I thought your mom was coming up from the city today.”

Natalie gritted her teeth, then forced her jaw to relax. “Yeah, not sure what happened. Traffic, maybe. Or could be something came up at the bookstore. She always has a hard time getting away.”

“Are you sure you told her this whole party is in your honor?”

“She knows,” Natalie murmured. Mandy was so very sincere, but her questions were not helping.

“And what about Rick? Wouldn’t your boyfriend want to be here on your big day?”

“He had a test flight he couldn’t get out of,” Natalie said.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Guess he’s moving up the ranks at Aviation Innovations. When the two of us were dating, he never had a conflict if I had a big event on the calendar.” Mandy and Rick had dated before Natalie had moved to Archangel. They were still friends, a point Mandy liked to make with annoying frequency. Now she whipped out her phone. “Here, I’ll text him a picture so he’ll see what he’s missing.”

Leaving no time for objections, Mandy snapped a picture of Natalie’s unflattering, openmouthed expression, and she hit send before Natalie could stop her.

Thanks, she thought. And then: It’s not a big day. It’s a job, is all. She eyed her coworkers, snacking on amuse-bouches and refilling their wine goblets at the open bar. Not one of life’s peak experiences.

Just then, the rapid clinking of a glass drew everyone’s attention to the podium.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” said Rupert, leaning toward the mic and surveying the gathering with his trademark boyish grin. “And by good, I mean great. And by afternoon, I mean happy hour.”

A murmur of chuckles rippled through the crowd. “I wanted to take just a little time to celebrate today. Now, Natalie Harper needs no introduction because you all know her, but I’d like to say a few words. Natalie!” Rupert gestured. “Get your good self up here and join me.”