Packing was stranger than I expected. Minerva had a drawer full of receipts she'd never mentioned, a drawer full of makeup, and an entire shelf of wellness powders that seemed to have multiplied whenever I wasn't looking. I found hair ties in couch cushions and earrings beneath the bed. I found a postcard she'd bought for us on vacation but never written. Every discovery carried a brief flash of memory, some sweet, some irritating, none substantial enough to change what had happened.
I made an inventory because Clara told me to. Two suitcases, four large bags, one box of cosmetics, a plastic tub of books, and a shoebox containing the jewelry she'd kept on the bedroom dresser. I didn't open her letters or look through her personal devices. I put the postcard with her books. That felt foolish and necessary at the same time.
Billie arrived just after six. She wore hospital scrubs beneath a rain jacket and looked as tired as her voice sounded. She checked the contents against the photographs, signed a simple receipt acknowledging collection, and loaded the things into her hatchback. We were careful not to make the exchange into a discussion of who had been the better partner. For the first time that day, somebody was helping solve a problem instead of creating another one.
When the last bag was inside, Billie paused beside the open trunk. "She's telling people you threatened her," she said. "I want you to know that. Mom believes parts of it. Landon believes almost all of it."
"I figured."
"Did she really announce her engagement at dinner?"
"Candles and everything. She made pasta."
Billie closed her eyes. "God. She probably thought she was being considerate."
"That's what she said."
She leaned against the bumper for a moment. "I love my sister. I also know she can turn an explanation into something everybody else is supposed to live with. I'm tired of being asked to referee."
"Then don't," I said. "You helped her get her things. That's plenty."
Billie gave me a tired smile and left. I stood in the garage after her taillights disappeared, looking at the empty spot where her car had been. I'd always thought a dramatic breakup would leave me feeling as though something had been torn away. Instead, there was a lot of paperwork, an inventory list, a conversation with a lawyer, and a growing ache whenever I remembered how easily Minerva had eaten dinner with me while wearing another man's ring.
I went to the grocery store and bought ordinary food. Bread, eggs, bananas, coffee, tomatoes, two bags of frozen vegetables. I walked past the fancy dessert section without stopping. When I got home, I realized I was still calculating whether Minerva would complain about what I'd bought. The recognition irritated me more than it should have. I was standing in my own kitchen, holding a loaf of bread, and still waiting for approval from someone who had announced her engagement to another man.