Six Vintage Dresses Left in a Cedar Trunk on Oak Street

reading the date on the notary stamp over and over.

By eight the next morning, the yellow paper was folded inside my cardigan pocket, pressing flat against my ribs as I stood in our mother’s living room.

Clara was already there, pacing the narrow space between the sofa and the front window, her fingernails tapping a frantic, erratic rhythm against her continue reading …