Toronto author David Penhale’s first novel is a kind of coming-of-age story for those on the cusp of retirement. Life lessons can be avoided for decades, but maturity can be put off only for so long, and when it finally arrives it will bite you in the butt.

Daniel Foster, old enough to be a grandfather but young enough to still be employable, is passing through Toronto on his way to a retirement villa in Thailand when the Arabian bank that holds all his worldly wealth collapses. Instantly broke, he boards with his granddaughter, daughter, and her live-in boyfriend. Foster has spent decades overseas, making money and ignoring his family, only to abruptly discover that his family is all he really has in the world.

Destitute, Foster takes a job at a new hardware franchise, picks up a casual girlfriend, helps his granddaughter with her math homework, and starts to learn about the things he’s missed while working on the other side of the world. However, he remains remarkably unaware of how relationships function, what people expect of one another, and why others might find him clueless.

It’s never really clear what’s at stake in this novel. Foster is a nice guy who comes across as a less than compelling protagonist. He bonds with the family he left all those years ago. They work through issues from the past, but the conflict is gently negotiated. They didn’t really miss him, and they don’t really need him now, but they enjoy hanging out together, at least until he sprints off elsewhere to make a buck. The patriarch can be reintroduced into the bosom of the family, the book seems to be saying, but in this telling, only in the least dramatic way.