I stood in front of Violet’s four-story brownstone in Greenwich Village and couldn’t think past the hurt. A staticky screen flashed system failure in the middle of my brain.

A red FOR SALE sign ruined the window, a wound on the building’s forehead. A smaller SOLD sign clung to the bottom like a leech.

The thought that I would never spend a weekend here with Violet demolished me. I raged against the unfairness of fate. Part of me would rather have set the building on fire than let strangers take over. Was anger one of the stages of grief? I couldn’t remember.

My phone rang.

“I just saw your text.” Diya. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me? Trey sends his condolences. What can we do to help? When are you coming back?”

I couldn’t face the house we shared. Or the office. “I’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Of course. For the funeral. We’ll come. When is it?”

“On Tuesday. But I’ll be staying longer.”

“I can run Sunday’s auction for you. Wait. Are you moving to New York?” Shock kicked Diya’s voice into a higher register. “What about Ludington’s? What— Did Violet leave you her home?”

“She sold it. Stroke care could bankrupt Bill Gates.” True story. “I need to take care of things here before I go back to LA.”

“I hate thinking about you there all alone.”

Shouldn’t have stolen my boyfriend. “I’ll be busy. I have to clean out the house.”

“Because your mom won’t let strangers in there?”

Diya understood my family, understood me. I was going to miss having that in my life. I doubted I would see her and Trey much, moving forward. The hardest part about losing old friends was that you couldn’t just replace them with new ones. The decade of history we shared—our college years, moving to LA, starting a business—were irreplaceable. I wasn’t just losing Diya and Trey. I was losing the half sentences that would bring up a shared memory and have us break out laughing. Yet I could deal with losing that; I’d adjust. But I couldn’t deal with losing Violet.

“How are you going to raise the money for Trey?” Diya asked.

I could not have cared less about money at that moment.

“I don’t know. I can’t think right now.” I looked forward to being alone, having a huge house to myself, for days and days. Grief needed room. I needed time to mourn, to say goodbye to Violet. Maybe I’d find her diaries and discover who she’d really been, more than the scandalous stories in the society pages. I still had so many questions. How tragically stupid I’d been not to ask them while I’d had the chance.