“I see.” Her white hair looks lavender. I just realized that. I never noticed much about her except that she was white and old. And for the first time, I realize that Miss Loretta is pretty. I’d bet she was a knockout when she was younger. It’s written all over her face. I wonder if she has any other close friends. But she plays bridge, she should. I’m also wondering if Mama ever actually got the hang of it. She said Miss Loretta was trying to teach her.

“Do they need to be here?” Janelle asks.

“It’s all right. You two can share this with them.”

Janelle sits in one of Mama’s gold chairs. What are we supposed to do with them? What about all of this stuff in here? What do you do with someone’s personal belongings when they die? I don’t want to think about it right now. “What exactly is it we need to share, Miss Loretta?”

“Well,” she says, clasping her hands together, “first of all, your mother and I talked about this quite some time ago.”

“Talked about what?” Janelle asks.

“About what to do if she passed away suddenly.”

“What?” I say.

“She knew it might happen, with her asthma and all.”

“Okay,” Janelle says, paying extra-close attention.

“Anyway, Paris, as the oldest, she wanted me to tell you a few things. First, she wants you to go through all of her old purses.”

“Her old purses? For what?” I say. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. She just asked me to tell you that.”

“That’s kind of a strange request,” Janelle says. “It sounds like she knew this was going to happen.”

“Well, after the last attack, Vy told me that she didn’t think she could go through it again. That she was tired of fighting, and if she ever had another one even close to one like that, she probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“Really? She told you that?” I ask.

“Yes, she did.”

“When?” Janelle says.

“Right after you all left back in March.” Now she’s reaching into her purse, pulling out what looks like a bunch of white envelopes. I forgot about Mama’s mail. What do we do about her mail? Do we just open it and read it? And what if it’s personal? What if it’s something we shouldn’t know? I never thought about any of this stuff before.

When Miss Loretta presses the envelopes to her chest, something tells me they’re not bills or anything close to it. “Your mother wrote each of you a letter,” she says, trying not to cry, but neither she, nor I, nor Janelle can help it.

“Mama wrote us all letters?”

“Yes, she did. And they’re right here.”

“May I have mine?” Janelle says, holding out her hand.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how Vy wants it done.”

“What does Mama want done?” I ask.

“She asked me to tell you that she doesn’t want any of you to read them until the first Thanksgiving after she passes, and only if all four of you can manage to spend it together. At that time, she wants each of you to read the letter out loud and in front of each other, but you can’t read your own.”