Chapter 10 — Every Seam a Memory

I want you to understand, too, that this had not been a simple thing.

Julian had not bought a red dress off a rack.

What he wore across that stage was something far more painstaking, and far more loving, than that.

For the previous six months, working in secret, late at night, after his father had gone to sleep, Julian had been making it.

He had gone up into the attic, and found the tiny, faded red dress in Lily’s memory box, the actual dress, her grandmother’s hand-sewn gift, that she had loved and worn and held against her cheek.