Miriam came out of her panic-driven productivity haze enough to recognize how big of a step this was for her cousin, letting her be in charge of this.
“Let me rephrase.” She sat down next to Hannah. “I connect to people through their belongings. Seeing what people left behind as little discarded treasures is so much a part of my work. I missed a big chunk of Cass’s life, but I think going through her things might help me feel close to her again. And, I might be able to use some of her stuff for the tree lighting, which would give us a chance to share her with our community one last time.”
Hannah took a conspicuously long time chewing her breakfast sandwich.
Noelle winked at Miriam and stepped in. “You know, her stuff is taking up the entire top floor. If we started clearing it out, eventually we could rent out that floor and get a lot of guest space back.”
Miriam watched as Hannah absorbed this information. “That’s true, and I don’t have time to do it,” she said, finally. “Take Noelle with you, or you’ll get trapped under a pile of feather boas and we’ll never find you again.”
The top floor, which Cass had kept as her personal domain, looked like the inside of a fortune teller’s tent from a silent film.
“Cass always did regret that she never ran away with the circus,” Miriam said appreciatively.
“Too much sustained human interaction, not enough closet space, is what she told me.” Noelle agreed.
Wooden beaded curtains sectioned the rooms off into various spaces. Cass’s California king mattress, on a massive brass filigree bed frame draped in tulle, took up the entire center of one room. Tiny white twinkle lights (“That hypocrite!” Miriam gasped) hung haphazardly from every post.
Seamstress dummies stood in one corner, hats and ancient mink coats piled seven or eight high on each. Framed photos spanning nine decades covered another wall. One room was filled with clothes racks, from which hung pristine dresses, wool slacks, cashmere sweaters, and more scarves than Miriam had known currently existed on the planet.
One entire room was just shoes.
“Shit,” Miriam said. Kringle meowed in agreement next to her, having apparently followed them to help. “What are we going to do with all this stuff? Some of it has tags from 1957.”
Noelle was picking up and modeling turbans. Miriam surreptitiously took a picture of her in a lurid pink silk with a two-foot ostrich plume drooping over one ear, then couldn’t resist pulling on the feather to bring Noelle’s mouth down to hers.
“Gosh, well,” Noelle shrugged dramatically, after breaking the kiss, “it’s too bad we don’t know anyone whose only friends are old theater people who now own consignment and antique shops.”
“Hey,” Miriam protested, wrapping herself in an avocado-green robe, embroidered with orange and teal dragons, “I’m also friends with Cole.”
“Do you think any of your Old Ladies would want to carry any of this?” Noelle gestured to a bookshelf stuffed with purses.
“We should ask Marisol first,” Miriam said, “because people in Advent might want something to remember Cass by.”
Noelle held up a yellow and turquoise paisley trench coat, clutching it to her nose and burying her face in it. “I remember the last time she wore this,” she said, tears in her eyes. “She was too sick to go down to yell at the Advent town council about something, so she made them come here, and she wore this. She said it was good luck.”
Miriam caught her breath, unable to imagine Cass so sick she couldn’t travel a couple of miles to yell at someone.
She walked the perimeter of the room, touching tchotchkes and the mismatched jumble of furniture, trying to imagine all the lives Cass had lived before any of them knew her. She stopped short in front of a mirrored vanity covered in gold leaf and decked in perfume bottles. Tucked into the mirror frame was a snapshot of three kids in snowsuits. She, Hannah, and Blue had to be six or seven, their cheeks red from joy and wind. They had their arms around each other, a sled at their feet, and they were glowing. Miriam pulled it gently out.
On the back, Cass had writtenThe Heirs of Cassiopeia. Miriam must have made a noise because Noelle came over to see what was wrong. She wrapped her arms around Miriam’s shoulders, and Miriam relaxed back into her.
“I’ve never seen this picture before,” Miriam whispered.
“Do you remember when it was taken?” Noelle asked.
“Oh yes,” Miriam said. “Blue decided he was going to sled to Canada, and we wouldn’t let him go without us. Our entire childhood was him dragging us into Shenanigans. There was a big storm forecast, and our parents were livid we’d been out so far from the house, but we were having so much fun, we couldn’t even pretend we were sorry. I didn’t know this picture existed. I wonder why this is the one Cass kept?”
Noelle smiled softly. “None of the three of you were particularly happy children, from what I’ve heard, but here you all are, together and joyous, hooligans throwing away the rules for a moment of pure bliss? She must have been so proud, and so hopeful.”
Miriam sat down on the bed and crossed her legs underneath her. Noelle’s shoulders were bowed, her hands stuffed into her pockets. She looked…uprooted. “How are you really doing,” Miriam asked, “without her?”
Noelle brought her hands up to cover her eyes, and there was silence for a long moment. Miriam patted the bed next to her, and Noelle sank down.
“This is not how I intended to get you in bed for the first time,” Miriam said gently.
Noelle laughed a thin, watery laugh. “I’m not doing well, I’ll tell you that. I keep getting my grief for Cass all tangled up in stuff I thought I’d put away or gotten over about my parents. I didn’t get to see them in their last months, or even years, but I got to see Cass. I got to see Cass every day until the morning I woke up to her gone.” Miriam gasped out a sob, and Noelle laced their fingers together.
“I’m glad you got that,” Miriam said, leaning into Noelle’s warmth and solidness. “I’m a little jealous. I wonder how I’ll ever get the chance to make up for missing the last ten years.”