As soon as Celeste pulled the truck into the nearby town of Wellfleet, Gemma knew she’d made the right choice in accompanying her to the estate sale. The narrow streets and small shops selling ice cream and crafts gave her a feeling of tranquility. A wooden sign in the center of town pointed arrows in different directions, directing people to Provincetown or Wellfleet Harbor. A teenage girl sat at a table selling shells painted with the words “Wellfleet Summer.” A line had formed in front of her.

“People are really into shells around here,” Gemma said.

“They’re not buying shells,” said Celeste. “They’re buying memories.”

Gemma nodded. She knew exactly what Celeste meant. It was the whole idea behind her brand: Build a necklace from charms that reflect your memories, your experiences.

She glanced at Celeste from her passenger seat, wondering if her aunt resembled what her mother would have looked like if she’d reached her fifties. Paulina was frozen in Gemma’s memory as an eternally young woman. Would her hair still be blond? Aunt Celeste’s was still faintly gold, an ash-blond with streaks of silver. She didn’t wear makeup, and her crow’s feet and laugh lines were deep—the byproduct of sun-drenched summers. And she dressed like a hippie, always in flowing caftans and sandals. But her eyes; it was like looking directly into her mother’s.

They arrived at their destination, a classic three-quarter Cape framed by a white picket fence. Near the trim board of the front of the house, a metal plaque declared the home part of the National Register of Historic Places circa 1800.

“Sometimes these old houses themselves are more interesting than anything that’s for sale. They have all these quirky features, like beehive ovens beside brick fireplaces,” Celeste said.

She’d explained to her that each sale was slightly different. Some were as loosely organized as a yard sale, with people browsing inside and out freely and sometimes aimlessly. Others featured attendants offering a guided tour like a museum visit. Most fell somewhere in between, with a sales crew around to monitor the room and answer questions.

“I’m mainly looking for porcelain and cut glass,” Celeste said on their way inside. “They sell like hotcakes in the summer because people are staying at friends’ homes and they need host gifts.”

She led Gemma through a room filled with Federal-style furniture and asked an attendant where to find housewares. They were directed upstairs, where Celeste gravitated to an alcove stuffed with vases and chandeliers.