The guest-house attic was anticlimactically unspooky; dry and empty for the most part. I pushed the extending ladder into the ceiling and brushed the dust from my hands. “There,” I said. “I’ve put waterproof sheeting across the hole in the roof, and all around the area where the leak was. I’ve also scattered a whole lot of calcium carbonate drying agent up there to try and soak as much moisture out of the timber as possible. I’ll come and check on it in a few days, but it should hold for a little while at least, and it’ll stop things from getting any worse.

Daisy hovered about me, one hand on my arm. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sanders. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Are you completely sure you won’t take any kind of payment for this?”

“Not so much as a dollar.” I shook my head. “It’s the least I could do after the kindness you’ve shown me.” I thought for a minute. Although the guest house was weird—really weird—it was warm and welcoming in an odd way, and the whole reason for that was Daisy. Even if her cookies are terrible. “I really admire you, running this place on your own; it’s really a lot of work for one person.”

She gave a little laugh. “Well, you’ve got to keep busy. The cleaning does get to be a lot of work, though, I’ll admit that. If I’d known when I bought the place how much time it would take to dust all of these ornaments and paintings that came with it, I would have gotten rid of them. Cookie?”

“Uh, no,” I said quickly, “thank you.” Anxious not to dwell on the matter of cookies, I continued. “So you didn’t own the furnishings beforehand?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” We walked into the parlor, and Daisy shook her head. “It was a deceased estate, you see. The previous owner was a great collector, it seems, and when he died, none of his heirs seemed to want the furnishings.” She indicated the enormous, faded armchairs, gold and green paisley faintly luminous in the half-light.

I did my best to feign astonishment. “That is hard to understand.”

“So, when I moved here ten years ago, I thought I was getting a great deal on the place. Just look at those paintings! What a wonderfully lifelike collection of pigs. I’m not as keen on the horses, though.”

“Quite. I can see what you mean about the upkeep. But you did bring some of your own things, I suppose?” I indicated the picture of the young Maori man in uniform on the mantelpiece. “Was that…a sweetheart?”

For a moment, Daisy looked slightly miffed; the crochet square waved in short motions through the air. “Good Lord, man, how old do you think I am?” Then her face softened. “I suppose it was a long time ago, though. No, that’s my older brother Wiremu. Half-brother, really. I only have a few memories of him, but he was killed during the war. This is the last photograph of him before he went to fight in North Africa.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I looked again at the photo, and now I could see a similarity about the young man’s eyes to the elderly lady in front of me.

Daisy waved a hand. “That’s quite alright. It was a long time ago, and we did have a large family.” She turned to face me. “But, you do remember what we were saying about remembering the past, don’t you? Well, remembering Wiremu reminds me to take the time to cherish the people around me.” She sighed. “Because they won’t be around forever, and remembering people takes some effort.”

“Yes indeed, Miss McNeish. I’m lucky that I have my work; I’ve always hoped that people will remember that, even if they don’t remember me. Now, let’s go and check in the guest room—sorry, the Paihamu Suite—and make sure that the sheeting is holding up.”

We mounted the stairs, Daisy leading the way up the landing and into the guest room. Inside, the opossums regarded us with glassy inscrutability, tiny jaws agape as they silently belted out long-forgotten pop hits. I was growing more resilient with every exposure, though, and this time I suppressed my involuntary shudder. The plastic sheeting was visible through the ceiling, but it looked dry and secure, and I was happy with the work.

“It may not be enough when you get older, you know.” Daisy spoke suddenly as we looked at the ceiling together.

I blinked. “Sorry?”

“Your work, Mr. Sanders. As much as I admire what you’re doing, you need to think of yourself as well as posterity.” She pointed a finger at me. “You’re a young man, and the time you spend building relationships now will resonate with you for the rest of your life. Don’t be so consumed by your work that you forget about the people around you.”

“Again, ma’am, you may be right.” I acknowledged her words with a rueful look. “I’m afraid my work doesn’t make it easy for me when it comes to relationships. Flying in and flying out of places the way I do doesn’t leave a lot of connection to them.”

“I should think not. But don’t leave it until it’s too late.” She looked around the room. “All these things have a history, but the real history of people is in the hearts of those whom they love.”

I was quiet for a minute. “You’re right.” I thought about my years of travel, all those discoveries I’d made, all those memories saved. I didn’t often dwell on it, but I’d paid a price for them, drifting away from relationships, and never being present even when I was.

I thought of Cat, of waking up with her that morning, the easy familiarity that had come upon us so suddenly. Stroking her hair, feeling her curled up next to me, listening to her talk about her day.

What would it be like to have her next to me like that every day?

I shook my head. That isn’t going to happen. She won’t leave even if she loses the bar. This is only a temporary thing, and I’d better get used to that.

Daisy coughed. “Mr. Sanders?”

“Sorry. I was just…admiring the artwork in here.” Searching for something to say, I gestured at the stuffed opossums.

“Artwork?” Daisy had a tone of confusion in her voice. “You mean the opossums?”

“Well, yes…I mean, I thought they were here in the guest room because they were a central feature of the experience. That is, a prized…” I tailed off into silence.

“Actually,” Daisy said, after a moment, looking at them warily, “I hate the bloody things. I only moved them in here because they give me the creeps.”