I thought I was wrong.
My hands started shaking. I set it down, then snatched it back up like someone might take it.
The inscription was still there, scratched faint but clear into the back of the clasp:
"For Nana, from Mom and Dad."
I leaned over the table. "Where did you get this? Who sold it to you?!"
The man behind the table looked up from his crossword puzzle. "Young woman sold it to me this morning. She was tall, slim, and had a big ol' mass of curly hair."
"Where did you get this?"
"And?"
"But no more questions," he continued. "$200. Take it or leave it."
My mouth went dry. I gripped the table edge.
That description — that was her. That was Nana.
I paid the $200 without blinking. I held the bracelet all the way home, gripping it like a lifeline. For the first time in ten years, I was holding something she'd touched.
