And now there was no more time. No hope they’d finally have an honest dialogue about why Dev had been the one to disappoint her. Life wasn’t a chick-flick rom-com with a neat ending.

It was more like a shit show.

“No fight,” she said, dumping the perfume and shutting the last drawer. “Just a random thought. I’m just mad at the way it happened.”

Pris gave her a sympathetic look. “Can’t blame you. Getting a call from the hospital that Mom died was like a nightmare. I kept thinking someone would jump out and say, ‘Kidding!’ and I could hate them for a terrible prank.”

“I didn’t believe you,” Dev said. “When you called me. It was too much.”

Bailey’s voice trembled. “I ran. I was in my pajamas at the hospital because I didn’t stop to even change. I think I figured if I got there fast enough I could prove it was a terrible mistake.”

The memory of Bailey in sleep shorts and an old black T-shirt, hair unbrushed, with those blue eyes wild with grief, would haunt Dev forever. Her sister had collapsed on the floor and let out a wail that brought goose bumps. Was it easier for her to pour out her emotion at all times? To empty herself like a vessel until it was filled up again with feelings, and then tip it over and spill them out—like the little teapot song? Dev had always wondered. Because her insides were like a devastated forest—quiet, dehydrated, with perished trees standing in even lines.

Silence settled over the room. Everyone seemed lost in their thoughts, so when Pris called out their names, Devon jumped.

“What is it? Did you find the Gucci suit?” Dev asked, trying for some sarcastic wit to break up the heavy sadness thickening the air.

“No. I found a trunk.”

Dev watched her sister drag out a cedar trunk with beautiful gold carvings. It was medium-size, with pedestal feet and an intricate lock. A shiver raced down her spine as they all gathered around the piece, staring at the object as if it held the answers to something instead of some carefully preserved blankets or linens.

Dev was the first one to speak, ignoring her suddenly racing heart.

“Open it up.”

Pris hesitated, her hand like a fragile bird, hovering midway in the air. A strange foreboding swept through Dev.

Then the lock clicked and she lifted the lid.

The scent of must and cotton and wood drifted to her nostrils.

They stared down at a quilt.

Her shoulders relaxed. The quilt was ivory colored, hand stitched, and quite beautiful, but still a boring reveal after such anticipation. It was obvious from her sisters’ relieved sighs they’d done the same thing. Expected something else.

Bailey smoothed her hand over the soft material. “Pretty. I would’ve saved my dibs for this, Pris. Better than the sweater.”