A Queasy Selling of the Family Heirlooms
The gentleman is kindly, matter-of-fact. He is not scared of a dead mother’s lightning bolts. I stand on the other side of the glass cabinet, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, nervous as a thief at a pawn shop. Not because I stole this sterling and silverplate, but because I inherited it. As a sacred trust, glowing with aspirations to fineness. My Irish great-grandmother paid for her passage to America by working as a maid for a wealthy family, and she memorized their lace-curtain