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CHAPTER 1
COURTNEY
As soon as the car reaches our driveway and parks, I realize that the last thing in the world I want to do is get out. It’s the same old red-brick ranch house, with the same short lawn and the wooden swing in the front yard that I played on as a kid.
And yet it’s not. It’s different. Everything is different now.
The announcement at the hospital was one thing. So was the funeral. But walking into that house, knowing my grandma won’t be in there?
That’s something else entirely new — the kind of new I’m not sure I can handle.
“Courtney.” Someone touches my arm, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s my best friend Ginny.
I give her the best smile I can muster up. “I’m fine,” I say. “Really.”
It’s my mom I’m more worried about. She gets out of the passenger seat, her shoulders hunched over. She’s trying herhardest to be strong, but I can only imagine how hard it is to lose your mother.
I bite into my bottom lip, willing myself not to cry. My mom has always been strong for me, and now it’s my turn to be strong for her.
Eventually, though, I have to open the door. Other people from the funeral are arriving, carrying casseroles and bustling into our house. Ginny and I head inside as well, and I feel like I’m shrinking against the wall. Everyone is kind, but I can’t stand the sad looks in their eyes.
“Your grandmother was such an amazing woman,” our neighbor Veronica says, patting my hand.
“Thank you,” I choke out, my voice cracking.
It’s crazy. Just a few days ago she was with us, and now she’s gone for good. At least she lived a long life, and I know I should be grateful for that. Eighty-four years old is nothing to dismiss.
Food is passed around, condolences are offered. Everyone talks about what a beautiful funeral it was, but deep within me there’s something hollow. Unfulfilled.
The walls seem to close in, and I slip away, not explaining myself to anyone.
In my bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare out the window. I grew up in this house, and even once I finished college I never thought about moving out.
How could I? My family has always been me, my mom, and my grandmother. The female version of the three musketeers.
And it’s not like I’ve had any real prospects for love. At thirty, I haven’t even had one serious boyfriend. It’s only been casual dating here and there that never goes anywhere.
Taking a deep breath, I let the waves of grief wash over me. Everything will be okay… because it has to be.
There’s a knock on the door, and even though it’s soft, I jerk. My mom opens the door and pokes her head in, the lines in her face somehow deeper than they were last week. In them, I see the same strength I inherited from her. The strength that I’m doing my best to embody now.
“How are you doing?” she asks.
I just shrug. “How about you?”
She shrugs back, then opens the door more fully, and I see for the first time that she has something wrapped in a cloth napkin in her hands.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Instead of answering right away, she takes a seat next to me on the bed. Slowly, she draws a breath. “It’s… what your grandmother left you.”
I stare at her, trying to comprehend. My grandmother was an immigrant who had very little in terms of both belongings and money. Her bedroom was always sparse, without much other than furniture, clothes, some books, and her sewing and knitting projects. I swear I could name every single thing that she owned, and none of those things was worth more than a hundred dollars.
So what would she have to leave me behind?
As if answering my question, my mom slowly sets the object on her lap and unwraps it. The sight of a gold necklace, a huge blue sapphire gem hanging from it, makes me gasp.
“Where did that come from?”