More Than You Know by Nan Rossiter Page B

sight of her dream—and her hope of ever finding someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life. Finally, as her thirtieth birthday approached, she decided that being an old maid was bad enough—she wasn’t going to live in her mom’s house forever, too—so she started to keep an eye out for a place of her own. After several months of halfhearted looking, she noticed a small sign in the window of a newly renovated Victorian in town, and stopped to inquire. The downstairs apartment had floor-to-ceiling windows that were trimmed with lustrous dark mahogany, a huge fireplace with a stone hearth, and a claw-foot tub with a stained glass window over it in the bathroom; the kitchen had been updated with new appliances and granite countertops, which had made her think there was no way she’d be able to afford it, but the owner said he’d inherited the house, updated it, and was anxious to find someone responsible and neat to rent it so he wouldn’t have to worry. He said the price was entirely negotiable. That evening, Beryl had brought Mia back to see it, and although her mom had had mixed feelings about her moving out, she’d understood her need for independence and gave her blessing. Beryl had signed the lease that night, and a week later—with help from Rumer, Will, and her mom—she’d moved in. They’d celebrated with pizza that was delivered to her apartment and beer that had been chilled in her refrigerator. It had given her a wonderful feeling of new possibilities.
    “I love my apartment,” Beryl said. “Besides, this house needs so much work—I couldn’t afford to buy you two out . . . never mind fix it up. It’ll be sad to let it go, but hopefully the right person will come along and love it as much as we do.”
    Rumer looked around, trying to come to terms with the inevitable prospect of selling their childhood home. “I just wish we didn’t have to sell it,” she said sadly. She slowly stirred her oatmeal. “So, what time is Isak’s flight?”
    Beryl glanced at the clock. “She gets in around three.”
    “Are we picking her up?”
    “What do you think?”
    “Not . . .” Rumer said with a knowing chuckle.
    They ate in silence and then Beryl stood to clear their bowls. “We can start without her, though—if you’re up to it.”
    Rumer yawned and stretched. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be up to it.”
    As Beryl filled the sink with hot, sudsy water, she remembered one other thing they needed to do. “The undertaker is stopping by this afternoon, so we need to pick out some clothes.”
    Rumer looked puzzled. “I thought Mum was being cremated.” “She is . . . but he said out of respect . . .”
    “Oh, I didn’t know . . .” Rumer said quietly.
    “I know, I didn’t either . . .”
    They were both lost in thought as they washed and dried the dishes. Finally, Rumer smiled. “How about her tan slacks and navy blazer with a white blouse? She always looked so sharp in that outfit.”
    Beryl smiled. “Yeah, that’s perfect—she’ll be the best-dressed angel in heaven!”

7
    “W e’re going to need a lot of boxes!” Rumer groaned, looking at the mountain of clothes on the bed. “I’m beginning to think Mum kept everything. There are clothes in this closet that I wore when I was twelve!”
    Beryl laughed. “Well, it’s all your stuff and you didn’t get rid of it either.”
    “We’re going to have to hire one of those estate companies,” she said, dragging a box out of the back of the closet and pulling open its flaps. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Here are our games!”
    Beryl looked over her sister’s shoulder at the contents of the box. Lined up, side by side in their original boxes, were all the games of their childhood: Parcheesi, Clue, Scrabble, Checkers, Monopoly, and Yahtzee; there was also a plain black box with no name.
    “There’s our Ouija board! I always wondered what happened to that.”
    Rumer laughed. “Do you remember the time we had Sarah