She refocused and shrugged. Time to defend herself for being cruel to Bailey. “Sorry, but we all need to be grown-ups now. It’s not good for her to depend on Dad, or have grandiose ideas of keeping this house for fun. Can you work on the closet? I’ve got some not-for-profits coming to collect her designer labels, but the rest can be donated.”

“Don’t you want anything?” Pris asked. Her gaze flicked around the room as if cataloguing every personal item. “I’d like some pieces of jewelry she wore. And that red-gold sweater.”

Dev lifted a brow. “I think we should all take what means the most to us. I won’t fight anyone on it. Why would you want that sweater, though? God, it was awful.”

Bailey interrupted their conversation, her ponytail bouncing as she walked into the room. “For once, I agree with Dev. I begged Mom to throw it out every time I saw her, but she’d only wrap it closer. It’s old as dirt and ugly as sin. So bright I couldn’t even look at her when she wore it.”

Pris laughed, walking to the closet to search. “I know, but there was something she loved about it. I think she treasured it more than the few diamonds she owned.”

“Can I have her wedding ring?” Bailey burst out. At Dev’s sharp look, her pixie face turned stubborn. “Not for the value—because it reminds me of when we were all together. And happy.”

The slice of pain surprised her, along with her sister’s words. When was the last time they’d felt happy together? Holidays were now strained affairs, with all of them desperate to leave as soon as the turkey was eaten or presents opened. Dad had his own family and always looked uncomfortable when his old and new families collided. As the youngest, Bailey was stubbornly optimistic, seeing the tension through rainbow-colored glasses, which was part of her nature. If only Devon could blot out the bad stuff as easily. But it lay in wait every night, whispering in her ear. Taunting.

“Sure,” Dev said. Her sister relaxed, the tension between them slowing from a burn to a slight simmer.

“Thanks.”

“Found it!” Pris pulled the sweater from the closet with a triumphant grin. The fabric was worn—once a wide, loopy-type knit that reminded Dev of a handmade afghan. It was oversize, and the pattern was a swirling mix of bright sunset colors that was overdone, making an onlooker a bit dizzy. Pris slipped it on. The sleeves stretched out over her delicate hands, and the large rust-colored buttons only added to the clownish image.

Dev and Bailey burst out laughing. “It’s just as horrible as I remember,” Dev said with a grin.

“I don’t care, I’m going to take it,” Pris said.