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Through the years, she’d collected lovely things, not to be admired but to be used daily. After all, who did she have to save them for?
    Letting the tea steep, she returned to the table. “I heard Andy say a dozen times that if something happened to him, the house belonged to you because you always loved the place as much as he.”
    Briana sighed, still touched by her grandfather’s generosity. “Yes, Tom Richmond sent me the documents. Gramp drew up the paperwork a while back. He has a life estate until his death, and afterward, it’s officially mine. I doubt he’ll ever come home again, poor soul.” The attorney’s notice had jarred her, not because of its message, but seeing it in writing somehow made it seem so final, as if to say that her grandfather wouldn’t be around much longer, a fact she didn’t want to face.
    “Do you know what you want to do? Perhaps fix up the place and move here? Or are you thinking of maybe selling the house?” Irma waited, hoping Briana’s answer wouldn’t disappoint her.
    “Oh, I couldn’t sell that house. I’d feel like I was cutting off my right arm.”
    Irma let out a relieved breath, pleased her assessment had been on the money. “Maybe, under the circumstances, living here away from all the memories in Boston would be a good thing for you right now.”
    Slowly, Briana set her spoon down. “I have memories of Bobby here, too. No matter where I go, he’s with me.”
    The words were said so softly, so sadly, that Irma took a moment to swallow the sudden lump in her throat before reaching over and grasping Briana’s hand. She’d been waiting for an opening, knowing from personal experience that a parent who loses a child wants to talk about it, yet doesn’t. She’d walk carefully here, and let Briana lead the way. “He always will be,” Irma said. “My Timothy was two when meningitis took him. That’s fifty-two years ago, and I still think of him.” The grieving and working two jobs to make ends meet had killed her first husband shortly after their son’s death. The double sorrow had nearly finished Irma.
    Briana squeezed the older woman’s hand as her eyes, brimming with tears, met Irma’s equally damp gaze. “Tell me, does it ever get better?”
    “The sense of loss never,
ever
goes away. It’s like an open wound that scabs over, but never quite heals. Yet the pain does ease in time.” Irma cleared her throat. “And work, physical work like fixing up that house, can help a great deal.”
    Briana dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m sorry. I get like this several times a day, and I can’t seem to control it.”
    “That, too, will let up, honey. I’m living proof that a strong woman can get through a very difficult time.”
    Briana tried a smile. “I don’t think I’m as strong as you.”
    “Sure you are. Just give it time, and strength will come to you. You’re a survivor, Briana. There are two kinds of people in this world, the quitters and the survivors. And it’s been my experience you can pretty much tell early on which way a body’s going to go.” This was turning into a pity party, the last thing her young friend needed. Rising, Irma cleared the soup bowls and busied herself with the tea things. “Just wait until you see what I have for dessert.”
    “Not for me, thanks. The chowder was just enough.”
    “You can’t turn this down.” Irma brought forth a cake dish, setting it on the table. “Chocolate with double fudge frosting. Sinfully delicious. And honey,” she added with a wink, “ain’t nothing wrong with a little sin now and then.”
    Knowing when she was defeated, Briana accepted a piece large enough to feed a lumberjack. “Wow, you are generous with that knife.”
    Irma brought over the teapot, then placed her hands on her hips and stood at an angle in front of Briana. “Well, what do you think? See anything different about me?”
    Briana examined her from head to toe and couldn’t imagine what Irma had in