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.
