“She did. I used to go along with her sometimes, but all I got was a headache from the old-clothes smell. I’d end up with somebody’s used Gap sweatshirt, and Mom would find a couture sweater or Gucci sunglasses.”

Natalie braced herself as she opened the clunky bifold doors of the closet. Confronted with the rack of clothes and shoes and bags, she was hit with a wave of nostalgia. A person’s clothes held their very essence. The garments exuded the unique scent of her mother and reflected the colors and textures that had most pleased her eye.

Her mother had been drawn to rich jewel tones—cobalt blue, turquoise, fuchsia, emerald, marigold. She liked to dress for her customers, her outfits changing with the seasons. Natalie pictured her mom choosing what to wear and putting things together, her mouth quirked in that thoughtful way she had as she paired tops and bottoms, shoes and scarves and accessories.

Her hands shook a little as she handled her mother’s dresses and blouses, passing them to Cleo for the sorting piles—keep, donate, discard.

She came across a wispy butterfly-sleeve blouse in a bright silk print. She shuddered, remembering one particular trip with her mother to a thrift shop.

“You’re growing like an avocado seed in a compost heap,” Mom had declared. “Let’s find you some new threads.”

“Clothes,” Natalie had said. “Not threads.”

“I like the Children’s Hospital Shop because it’s a nonprofit,” Mom said, unfazed. “Makes for higher-end donations.”

While her mom checked out shirts from Esprit and Ralph Lauren, Natalie had made a glum search through a rack of denim. Why couldn’t they just shop at I. Magnin all the time, like everybody else?

“Ooh, this is really cute.” Mom held a butterfly-sleeve top against Natalie. “Looks very expensive.”

“Hey, Natalie!” Kayla Cramer came into the shop with her mother. They each carried a cardboard box labeled DONATE TO CHARITY.

Natalie wanted to shrivel into nothingness. She quickly stepped away from the butterfly blouse and her mom. “Hey, Kayla.”

“We’re just dropping stuff off,” Kayla said, her sharp gaze darting to Natalie’s mother.

With her best customer-greeting smile, Mom said, “It’s nice to see you, Kayla.” She introduced herself to Kayla’s mother, a rail-thin woman wearing Belgian shoes, a camel coat, and tortoiseshell glasses.

“Hey, maybe some of my hand-me-downs would fit you,” Kayla suggested. “Want to have a look?”

Natalie would rather have a root canal. She was fumbling for an answer when Mom came to the rescue. “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” she said, putting the silk blouse on the counter. “Just this,” she told the clerk.