She surprised herself with how little she really wanted to keep. The pile on the bed was small and manageable. But there were treasures, to be sure—a classic cherry-red cashmere dress coat from the now-defunct I. Magnin. A lovely vintage watch that didn’t run, some glittery bangle earrings, a pair of gold-heeled sandals still in the box, as though her mother had been saving them for a special occasion. A Coach belt her mom had splurged on and wore often. A few things Natalie had given to Blythe as gifts, some of them never worn. Let go, she reminded herself. Just let go.

“Jackpot,” said Cleo, producing a jade silk shift with intricate hand embroidery in metallic thread around the Nehru-type collar and cap sleeves outlined in marigold piping. “This would be perfect for the event. Try it on.”

“It’s not really my style,” Natalie said, eyeing the bright colors.

“Neither is attending swanky museum galas,” Cleo pointed out. “This is gorgeous. Pure silk. Try it on.”

Putting on the dress felt, just for a moment, like a reunion with her mother. Cleo zipped it up the back. Natalie smoothed her hands over the rich fabric and looked in the mirror. It was beautiful but slightly large on her and needed to be hemmed. Yet the color complemented her hair and skin, she had to admit. And the ornamentation would spare her from needing any jewelry other than the beautiful broken watch they’d found.

“It needs alterations, and then it will be totally perfect,” Cleo said.

“Where am I going to have it altered on such short notice?” asked Natalie.

“Please. It’s the family business.” Cleo found some bulldog clips to cinch the dress where it needed to be taken in, and marked the hem. Then she whisked it off Natalie. “I’ll take it to my aunt right away. Are you okay finishing on your own here?” She gestured at the piles on the bed.

“Sure.” Natalie gave her a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “I literally could not have done this without you.”

She put on some music to keep her company and worked until the closet was empty, finding a rhythm and decisiveness that got her through the ordeal. The sadness flowed through her, but it was a cleansing sadness, as though her grief had finally burst through a dam.

She took stock of the discarded items—Don’t overthink—making her peace with them. Then she stood in front of the closet and regarded the empty space. There was one long, deep shelf up high, and a rod that sagged in the middle like a sow’s belly, hangers swinging like bird bones.