“You know how much I love doing this. It’ll be perfect. You’ll make sure it looks good and I’ll make sure it’s accurate.”

“Exactly.”

Amy hugged her, then reached down for the papers. She opened the first folder and sighed at a picture of the front entryway. “This needs wrought iron.”

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Carol Anne said as a truck rumbled by. “Who is that?” She pointed to a dark blue van pulling up to the curb.

“Darby Youth Foundation. I’m donating all those boxes in the hall.”

Amy stood to wave at the large man who jumped down from the driver’s seat. She winced as the bruised rib on her left side sent out a searing pain, reminding her that all wounds take time to heal. She had to give Phil time. And she would.

There was, as he said, nothing she could do.

The man from the van stepped up to the porch. “Hello there. I’m Mr. Adams from the Darby Youth Foundation to pick up your donations.”

She opened the front door and swept her hand across the boxes in the hall. “All this is yours.”

“All these? You want me to take all these?” He leaned against a porch pillar.

“Yes. The whole shebang.”

“Looks like you’re moving.”

“No, just cleaning out stuff I don’t need anymore.”

The man hitched his fingers into the straps of his overalls. “Okay, then. This’ll take me a while.”

“I’ll help you.” Amy picked up a box.

Carol Anne grabbed another box. “I’ll help, too. Let’s get this stuff out of here.”

Molly and Jack came down the stairs. Jack threw a bag over his shoulder and moved toward the van.

Those who loved her still surrounded her, she realized. She was humbled.

“Yeah,” Molly said. “Whatever it takes to get Mom to quit going through all my stuff. This is it, right, Mom?”

“Whatever, Molly.” Amy laughed, walked toward the van with her box.

When the entire load filled the back of the van, Mr. Adams, wiping his sweating neck with a bandanna, asked, “We done now?”

“I think so,” Amy said. “Would you like something cold to drink?”

“Yes, ma’am, I would. A nice glass of ice water would be great.”

She walked into the house, kissed her children, hugged Carol Anne, and thanked them for helping. “I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed a glass of ice water from the kitchen, then walked through the front hall to Mr. Adams. She glanced at the hall table with an empty space above it where a mirror used to hang. She cringed at the memory of Phil hurling the book into the mirror, of the diamond cross dangling from his fingers.