“She spent three weeks sewing those little sleeves before you were born.”

“It never touched the dirt,” Sarah said.

“No, it didn’t,” I said.

“It stayed in the dry dark while the two of us grew old.”

Sarah folded the satin back into the box, her fingers moving slowly and carefully over the stitches.

“Did she leave anything else behind?”

“Only a bank draft receipt and a closet of old shoes,” I said.

She put the cardboard lid back on and tucked the shirt box under her arm.