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the folks say they’re not lonely who’d be the saddest of all. ’Cause they hadn’t grown the insides big enough yet to admit it.”
Inside, of course, would be her mother’s engagement and wedding rings, the diamond gleaming incongruously—only the lives it united having turned ugly. Kate remembered it vaguely from her childhood, not so much on her mother’s finger as sitting on Sarah Grace’s dresser in its blue velvet box. The diamond blinked enormous and clear in Kate’s memory. The one material thing of real value I own, Sarah Grace had said. And I can’t stand the sight of it. After which she’d stuffed it in her sock drawer.
To her right sat an elderly woman, thick silver hair rolled into a perfect chignon, her spine the straight of those raised to believe the world was waiting for them to order its chaos.
Without looking back, she let herself be washed into the swirl of skirts, the brass sconces along the walls blurring into a single ribbon of gold.
