No one touched it.
“Soph.”
She stared at the necklace.
“Can you tell me what you meant about Grandma’s box?”
Sophie shook her head.
“Why?”
“Promise you won't be mad.”
Andrew felt dread.
“At you?”
She nodded.
“I won't be mad at you.”
“Grandma said not to tell.”
His stomach tightened.
“Not to tell me?”
Sophie nodded.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“What did she say?”
The child stared at her knees.
“She said you weren't ready.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
Margaret.
Of course.
“What box?”
Sophie looked toward the stairs.
“Mom box.”
Andrew went very still.
He knew exactly what she meant.
Hannah’s memory box.
A cedar chest.
Not large.
Kept for years at Margaret’s house.
Andrew had packed it himself two weeks after Hannah died.
Letters.
Photographs.
A scarf.
A recipe book.
A recording device with voice messages Hannah made during hospice.
Several pieces of jewelry.
Cards for Sophie’s future birthdays.
He had been unable to keep it in the house.
Every time he opened it he stopped functioning.
Margaret offered to store it.
Andrew agreed.
Then avoided discussing it for nearly three years.
“Sophie.”
His voice came out quieter.
“Did Grandma show you the box?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
She looked nervous.
“All.”
Andrew felt the room tilt.
“What does all mean?”
“Mom talks.”
He stared.
“What?”
“On Grandma’s computer.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
The videos.
Hannah had recorded twelve.
He knew.
He had watched three.
Then stopped.
Not because they were bad.
Because they were Hannah alive after everyone knew she was dying, speaking carefully to a daughter who would someday be older than the child she left.
Andrew could not bear it.
He had told Margaret he wanted to decide when Sophie watched them.
Margaret had agreed.
Apparently not.
“How many did you watch?”
Sophie held up four fingers.
“Four?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
Andrew felt anger explode.
He stood.
Too quickly.
Sophie flinched.
He immediately sat again.
“Sorry.”
She stared.
“Which ones?”
“Seven.”
“What?”
“Birthday seven.”
Andrew swallowed.
“Anything else?”
“First day school.”
“Wedding.”
His face drained.
“What wedding?”
“When I get married.”
Andrew covered his mouth.
Hannah had recorded a wedding message for Sophie.
He had never watched it.
Sophie continued.
“And necklace.”
He looked at the locket.
Of course.
“What did Mom say?”
Sophie’s eyes filled again.
“She said it’s mine.”
Andrew stared.
“She said when I’m big enough to ask questions.”
The anger he felt toward Margaret shifted.
Not disappeared.
Complicated.
“How did Grandma decide you were big enough?”
Sophie shrugged.
“I asked.”
“Asked what?”
“Why Mom doesn't have necklace in pictures after hospital.”
Andrew looked toward the framed photographs along the bookshelf.
In most pre-illness photos, Hannah wore the silver oval locket.
During treatment she stopped wearing jewelry frequently.
Sophie had noticed.