I pressed the hot iron down hard on the collar.

Steam hissed against the dark fabric.

The smell of damp wool filled the kitchen and reminded me of every winter Sunday service I’d ever sat through.

My mother’s heavy black leather purse sat in the middle of the kitchen table.

I had cleaned out her old mints, her crumpled tissues and the brass house keys.

The inside was completely empty and wiped clean.

I unplugged the iron and went into Evelyn’s bedroom.