Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

Natalie hesitated, picturing her mother putting together an outfit for going out. “She did have really good taste.”

“It’ll be okay, Natalie. Let’s clear out her closet.”

“What?” Natalie felt a thrum of panic in her chest.

“I’ll help. We can remember things about your mom.”

“I’ve been avoiding this.”

“I know. One of these days, the memories will make you happy.”

“How’d you get so smart?” Natalie asked softly.

“I’m not smart. I just sound that way. And I read that new book on grief recovery that’s been selling so well for us. Feel your feelings, and let shit go. That’s the message.”

“It took a whole book to say that?”

“We’ll make three piles—keep, trash, and donate. Sound good?”

Natalie nodded. “This place is so small. I could definitely use the closet space.”

“I bet we’ll come up with just the thing. Your mom had a gift for finding treasures in vintage shops.”

“She did. I used to go along with her sometimes, but all I got was a headache from the old-clothes smell. I’d end up with somebody’s used Gap sweatshirt, and Mom would find a couture sweater or Gucci sunglasses.”

Natalie braced herself as she opened the clunky bifold doors of the closet. Confronted with the rack of clothes and shoes and bags, she was hit with a wave of nostalgia. A person’s clothes held their very essence. The garments exuded the unique scent of her mother and reflected the colors and textures that had most pleased her eye.

Her mother had been drawn to rich jewel tones—cobalt blue, turquoise, fuchsia, emerald, marigold. She liked to dress for her customers, her outfits changing with the seasons. Natalie pictured her mom choosing what to wear and putting things together, her mouth quirked in that thoughtful way she had as she paired tops and bottoms, shoes and scarves and accessories.

Her hands shook a little as she handled her mother’s dresses and blouses, passing them to Cleo for the sorting piles—keep, donate, discard.

She came across a wispy butterfly-sleeve blouse in a bright silk print. She shuddered, remembering one particular trip with her mother to a thrift shop.

“You’re growing like an avocado seed in a compost heap,” Mom had declared. “Let’s find you some new threads.”

“Clothes,” Natalie had said. “Not threads.”

“I like the Children’s Hospital Shop because it’s a nonprofit,” Mom said, unfazed. “Makes for higher-end donations.”

While her mom checked out shirts from Esprit and Ralph Lauren, Natalie had made a glum search through a rack of denim. Why couldn’t they just shop at I. Magnin all the time, like everybody else?

“Ooh, this is really cute.” Mom held a butterfly-sleeve top against Natalie. “Looks very expensive.”

“Hey, Natalie!” Kayla Cramer came into the shop with her mother. They each carried a cardboard box labeled donate to charity.

Natalie wanted to shrivel into nothingness. She quickly stepped away from the butterfly blouse and her mom. “Hey, Kayla.”

“We’re just dropping stuff off,” Kayla said, her sharp gaze darting to Natalie’s mother.

With her best customer-greeting smile, Mom said, “It’s nice to see you, Kayla.” She introduced herself to Kayla’s mother, a rail-thin woman wearing Belgian shoes, a camel coat, and tortoiseshell glasses.

“Hey, maybe some of my hand-me-downs would fit you,” Kayla suggested. “Want to have a look?”

Natalie would rather have a root canal. She was fumbling for an answer when Mom came to the rescue. “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” she said, putting the silk blouse on the counter. “Just this,” she told the clerk.

Natalie tried to dismiss the recollection in favor of better memories. All the years of her girlhood seemed to surface as she absorbed her mother’s essence. Sometimes when a favorite book was featured at the shop, they’d try to dress like the characters. Natalie had been obsessed with her mother’s high heels, parading in front of the tall oval mirror like Belle in Beauty and the Beast . Somewhere in her head, her mother’s laughter floated briefly, vivid as yesterday, and then abruptly faded, a warning that the memory might disappear for good one day.

You were my best friend, Mom. Did you know that? she thought for the millionth time. I lost you too soon.

Let go. She repeated the phrase like a mantra.

“Giving away her stuff means she’s well and truly gone,” said Natalie, regarding the garments piled on the bed. “Oh God. It’s like carrying her out with the trash.”

“Hon, she’s gone whether or not you hang on to her things. Come on. Let’s keep going. Take pictures of stuff you want to remember but don’t need to keep. That will preserve the memories without the clutter.”

Though her stomach was in knots, Natalie knew what she had to do. One by one, she removed things from the closet, feeling the memories burn through her. The clothing bore her mom’s scent, her sweat, her stray hairs, the shape of her body. A gum wrapper and a grocery list folded in a pocket. Spare change and a hair tie in the bottom of a bag. She could picture her mom in that jacket or that skirt, that sweater and slacks, smiling as she greeted people in the bookstore.

It all had to go. These things were weighing her down, keeping her from moving away from her grief.

In an empty suitcase, she found some papers—an unfinished passport application. “I used to get so mad at her for never going anywhere,” Natalie confessed to Cleo, studying the printout. The place for the photograph was an empty oval demarcated by a dotted line. “I’d ask her why she confined herself to the bookstore. Why didn’t she ever sink her teeth into life? Why didn’t she fall in love? Or go traveling, see the world?”

Cleo shrugged. “She was content doing what she did. We both saw how happy she was with the life she had. It’s not such a bad thing, is it? To be content with your lot?”

“We should all be so lucky.” Natalie accelerated the pace, filling the suitcase with handfuls of garments, not bothering to fold them. There was something savage and decisive in her movements, a sharpness that poked through her grief.

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.