Kimball Harris hated his aunt, and she didn't like him much more. But she was his only family, so he nevertheless finds himself driving to Salt Lake City, the town of his youth, when she dies. Middle-aged and tired, he has the distinct sensation that he is returning through both distance and time as he drives through the city and the memories assail him. In those days, the center of his social life was a three-story tower, where an enigmatic woman lived: Holly. Dozens of roommates came and went, but she was a constant. Jazz Age Bohemians of every stripe imaginable crawled in and out, and Harris was often among them. To his shock, the funeral home where his aunt has landed is the very same tower he knew so well. The inside is completely remodeled, but the familiar bones remain. After working out some details with McBride, the undertaker, his curiosity gets the better of him. As he walks into Holly's old apartment, he tries to ignore the unprepared cadaver by the window and lets his mind drift back to Prohibition. They dreamed, he remembers. They debated, wondered, cheered, drank, and everything else. It is Holly's bedroom, however, that holds the most significance for him. There, she entertained her closest friends (including many suitors), of whom Harris was one. One day near the end of her reign, he remembers, Holly and he were talking alone. Suddenly, she hugged him, clinging and begging and crying that all she wanted was to get out of there. He comforted her, and they almost had sex, but the shock of leaving their usual whimsicality so quickly scared him away. Now, Harris has a wife he loves, children he adores, and a job he likes. But even so, he thinks, not taking Holly when she offered herself was one of the saddest failures of his life. A quarter-century later, the past still holds him captive.