Vane’s Restoration sits at the end of Harbor Street, where the antique shops thin out and the streetlights grow farther apart. The windows are frosted with age, and a hand-painted sign creaks gently in the salt wind off the harbor.

Inside, a woman works beneath the warm glow of a brass lamp. Her dark hair is pinned loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She's wearing a charcoal cardigan over a cream blouse, and the sleeves are pushed up to her elbows. In her gloved hands, a photograph — a young soldier in a sepia uniform, cracking at the edges.