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Some books should be sold shrink-wrapped with a box of tissues. Or two. That would be Jojo Moyes’ “Me Before You,” which brings new meaning to book grief.

Louisa Clark is 27 and newly unemployed in an English tourist town where there aren’t a lot options. She’s not educated or worldly. She lives at home and sleeps in a  windowless closet; her extended family is sweet, funny and kind, but they’re on the downslope of prosperity.

When she accepts a job as companion to a wealthy quadriplegic, her life changes. So does his.

Will Traynor, 35, is an urban sophisticate trapped in a wheelchair. He’s already tried to kill himself; Louisa is hired for six months to keep an eye on him and spell his male nurse.

Why six months? That’s how long Will promised his parents he would continue to live. After that, he’s to go to Switzerland, where they’ll assist his suicide.

Louisa wants to, but can’t quit this job: she’s the sole provider for her family. And by staying and caring for Will, she becomes organized, resourceful, curious, daring, decisive. She grows up.

Will sheds his long hair and bushy beard; he charms, goads, teases, educates. He is thoughtful, generous and quietly good-natured about his limitations. We learn what he cannot do: remove an itchy tag, cook a meal, feed or bathe himself. Have sex.

An invitation from a classical musician friend forces the two out for an evening. Louisa is awakened to the magic and power of a live music performance. Will is simply happy to have been transported out of his physical misery, even for a short time. “‘I don’t want to go in just yet,’ he says. ‘I just want to sit and not have to think about…I just…want to be a man who has been to a concert with a girl in a red dress. Just for a few minutes more.”

This could have been a cheesy beach read; it’s not. Think Bronte sisters. Or David Nicholls’ “One Day.” Moyes is a gifted writer and assured storyteller; she takes her time unspooling this tale. Louisa’s first day on the job is “a filthy, low-cloud sort of a morning, where the rain spat meanly against the windows…” and later, near her last day, “…the ground (is) cracked and the grass wispy, like the last hairs on the head of balding man. The flowers in the tubs looked defeated, as if they were already half preparing for autumn.”

Theirs is a powerful, odd love — but it’s not enough to save Will. “I loved my life, Clark. Really loved it. I loved my job, my travels, the things I was. I loved being a physical person. I liked riding my motorcycle, hurling myself off great heights. I liked crushing people in business deals. I liked having sex. Lots of sex. I led a big life…I can’t be the kind of man who just…accepts.”

His resolve is understandable, and heartbreaking.