She gave Grace a brief look inside the master suite, too, and then showed her another room that served as Monica’s study. In the study, Monica pointed out her collection of angel figurines that she had been collecting since she was a child, her glass display case full of medals and trophies from her many years of sprinting competitions, and a photo journal of her garden over the years.

Throughout the tour, Grace listened attentively, asked lots of questions, and shared remarks about her own experiences. This was the mother-daughter connection that Monica had been craving all her life, and what was fascinating was just how much she and her mother had in common, in both interests, and perspectives. She’d never had quite the same feeling with anyone else, even some of her closest girlfriends.

We’ve missed so much, Monica thought, fighting to hold back another wave of tears.

Afterward, they went downstairs by way of the grand spiral staircase, and entered the kitchen. It was an enormous space, equipped with track lighting, stainless steel appliances, glass-fronted cabinets, granite countertops, and a travertine floor. An array of copper cookware hung from hooks above the island, which also included a dual sink. It was one of the few areas of the house for which Monica had truly spared no expense.

“This rivals a kitchen at a restaurant.” Grace traced her fingers across the six-burner Viking range. “Do you cook, or do you hire a chef to prepare your meals?”

“A chef?” Laughing, Monica leaned against the long center island. “Yes, we’ve got a chef, all right, and that’s me. I do all of the cooking, always have. No one was going to live with Lily without being able to throw down in the kitchen.”

“I remember that about her.” Grace smiled wistfully.

“God, I miss her.” Monica’s chest suddenly got tight with emotion. She looked around for a box of Kleenex, but Grace snapped out a yellow handkerchief and offered it to her.

As Monica blotted her teary eyes, Grace slowly rubbed her hand in a circular motion across her shoulders and upper back. Lily had used to comfort her in the same way when she was a child, and the bittersweet memory made Monica cry harder.

“You should rest, my dear,” Grace said. “No doubt, you’re exhausted. You’ve had a terribly stressful day.”

“I’m okay.” Monica sniffled.

But as if Grace’s words had triggered a switch, Monica yawned. Drowsiness tugged at her. The compulsion to lie down and sleep was so strong it was almost as if she had ingested a powerful sedative.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” Monica said. “There’s so much we have to talk about. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“Pish, posh. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s get you upstairs to bed. You’ve done enough today.”

“But the kids will need to eat dinner.”