She reached into her vinyl handbag and pulled out a small, rectangular box covered in faded blue velvet.

She did not hand it to me.

She slid it across the table until it rested against the heavy glass salt shaker.

“This was your grandmother’s necklace,” she said.

“The pearls are genuine.

The jeweler in Newark appraised them three years ago.”

I looked at the worn blue velvet.

“Why did you bring that here, Mother?”