“This is a place to be seen, not fixed,” she always said before they started. “To sit, not perform.”

That morning—that Wednesday—began no differently.

Her father-in-law, Ben Donnelly, was the first through the door, as usual. He wore his retired Marine Corps cap low over his eyes and carried a copy of the local newspaper he’d pretend to read but never really did.

“Morning, Gracie,” he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“Morning, Ben. Dark roast and the world’s worst comics section?”

“You know me.”

Ralph shuffled in next, the bell over the door tinkling gently as he entered. Vietnam had taken his hearing in one ear and most of his patience with small talk. Grace slid his mug onto the counter before he even raised his eyes.