RUBY
The donation center for the Safe Nest charity for women seeking refuge sits in a building off Eastern Avenue. I sit in my car for a while, eyeing the boxes in the back seat. Seven large cardboard boxes, neatly labeled, “Professional,” “Casual,” “Evening.” Claire’s clothes. She loved these pieces, wore them with such joy.
Marcus, the intake coordinator, meets me outside. His purple bow tie matches his glasses frames, and his smile is wide when he sees how much I’ve brought. “Ruby Walsh? We spoke on the phone. Here, let me help you with those.”
The interior is bright and organized. Racks of clothing line the walls, sorted by type and size. A section for interview outfits commands pride of place near the front.
“Thank you so much for this. Many of our women are starting over completely,” Marcus says as he leads me to a sorting table. “Sometimes all they have are the clothes on their backs, so we try to give them everything they need to build a new life.”
I manage a smile despite the building discomfort in my stomach. “I’m glad they can be of use.”
Marcus begins unpacking the first box. Each piece holds memories. Claire’s Armani blazer emerges, classic black. She wore it to court, to client meetings, to charity galas.
“Oh my God,” Marcus breathes, running his fingers over the lining. “This is exquisite. And in perfect condition!” He holds it up to the light, examining the stitching. “Honey, this must be worth a fortune. Not that I’m complaining, but why on earth would you want to get rid of all this? Someone in our shelter is going to be very, very happy to have an amazing blazer like this for their job interview.”
I can’t stop it. Tears spring to my eyes and Marcus looks at me properly for the first time, really sees me, and his hand flies to his mouth.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Did these belong to someone who…” He flinches. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“No, it’s okay.” I swallow away the lump in my throat. “My wife…she would have wanted them to come here. She always admired the work you do. She helped with fundraising sometimes. Claire Walsh.”
Recognition dawns in his eyes. “Claire Walsh? Oh my God, of course. She organized that amazing auction three years ago.” He pauses. “Oh, sweetheart… We heard about her passing. Would you like to help me unpack and sort them?”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and we work in silence for a while, Marcus handling each piece with care and respect. A coral Theory dress that Claire wore to summer parties. The cashmere sweater she lived in during winter weekends, soft gray with slightly worn elbows because she always pushed the sleeves up. A pair of Jimmy Choo pumps, barelyworn. The dress she changed into after our wedding ceremony.
“She had incredible taste,” Marcus says softly, arranging a DVF wrap dress on a hanger. “These pieces will help so many women feel confident.”
“That’s what she always said about clothes.” I smooth my hand over a leather jacket. “That the right outfit is like armor. It helps you face the world.”
When we reach the last dress—the one she wore the night we met—I hesitate.
“Why don’t you keep it?” Marcus says.
I shake my head. “No. Someone else should wear it. Create new memories in it.” Another stab in the heart, but I hand it over.One foot in front of the other. Just move forward, I remind myself.
Marcus wraps me in a sudden hug and squeezes me. “You’re doing a beautiful thing,” he whispers. “And you’re right. Your Claire would want this.”
I let myself lean into his embrace for just a moment. I didn’t want to do this, but now I feel somewhat relieved that I got it over with, and it gives me strength to move on to my next task.
Back in my car, I pull out my phone and scroll to a number I should have called two years ago. If I don’t do it now, I’ll keep making excuses, and then I might never do it. My hands shake as I press dial.
“Hello?” a young woman’s voice answers on the third ring.
“Sarah? It’s…it’s Ruby. Claire’s Ruby.”
Silence stretches for a beat. “Oh my God, Ruby? I can’t believe… Are you okay? We’ve been so worried. When you stopped answering calls…”
“I’m sorry.” The words feel inadequate. “I’m so sorry Ihaven’t called before now. I have something for you—your grandmother’s sapphire ring. Claire would have wanted you to have it.” I have to stop, take a breath.
“Ruby…” Sarah’s voice softens. “I’ve been following your cases online—that huge merger last week made the business papers. At least I knew you were working, staying busy.”
I laugh, but it comes out more like a sob. “Work is all I’ve been doing. It was easier than…everything else. Than calling family and dealing with the aftermath. But I’m finally getting to it.”
“I understand.” And maybe she does. She lost her aunt, after all.
“I could send it to you by courier or…we could meet up?” I suggest.
“Yeah. Next time I’m in Vegas, maybe we could get dinner? Catch up properly?”
