“Give it here.”
But when Mom breathed, it still barely fogged over.
“Maybe fog usually only lasts a second,” Mom said.
“Maybe,” I said skeptically. I consulted my phone. “One of the other tests says to rub sandpaper over it.”
“We don’t have sandpaper,” Mom said (irrefutable Mom logic). She squinted. “It’s probably some other similar jewel. There’s a few other clear gems, I think.”
I wilted. “Yeah.”
Mom smiled. “Still, no harm asking. Didn’t you say Nantucket is big on antiques? We can get it appraised.”
I agreed, and we divvied up some ice cream and hot fudge we’d bought earlier, and climbed into bed and pulled up the covers. WewatchedStargateand I haltingly told her a little more about Noah, and she told me about her first boyfriend, from when she was nineteen.
It was very late when I dared voice the thought. “Mom,” I said. “What if itisa diamond?”
Mom looked at me. And then, to my surprise, she started laughing. A grin split her face with childish delight, and her eyes closed in the familiar squint signaling utter amusement. “Hell if I know.”
I laughed and closed my own eyes, a smile still on my face.
But it slowly faded as another thought surfaced.
What if Mom had been right, as she usually was? What if Ihadpicked the past over the future?
Was it too late to change my mind?
Nantucket had a long history of antiques: they had antiques shops and an annual antique show and this year, they’d decided to host anAntiques Roadshow–style event. It took place on the lawn outside the Boys & Girls Club, in peaked white tents filled with long tables and clumps of people.
Mom and I waited in line for forty-five minutes to speak to a jewelry appraiser. Mom hummed and pointed out funny characters while we waited, her arm looped through mine. Every time my thoughts drifted to Noah, her words pulled me back, making us laugh until our sides hurt. A deep, effusive love filled me. She drove me mad, of course. But she was the best mom in the whole world.
When we finally sat down in front of the appraiser, he greeted us with a weary politeness enunciated by his British accent. He was a bit of a stereotype, and I loved him for it.
“What have we here?” he asked politely as I pulled the necklace from my purse. I’d put it back in the glasses pouch, and now felt silly, like I should have worked harder on presentation. I felt weirdly embarrassed, too, like a child taking up an adult’s time with something unimportant. “It’s my grandmother’s necklace. It might be worth nothing. I don’t know. I thought it’d be fun to find out.”
I unspooled the necklace and laid it carefully on the table
“Oh.” He sounded slightly surprised. For a moment he didn’t move. Then he picked up the necklace, carefully, sifting it through his fingers, the pendant coming to rest in his hands. He lifted his jeweler’s loupe.
Even though I knew the necklace probably only had sentimental value, I couldn’t help hoping it would be worth real money. Mom and I had spent the morning watchingAntiques Roadshowclips, and they kept valuing old jewelry at three to five thousand. I knew we only saw the highlights reel, but still. It could be worth something! Edward Barbanel had implied as much, hadn’t he?
When the appraiser looked up, his face was professionally blank. “Can you trace the providence?”
I looked at him, confused. “What’s providence mean?”
“Where it comes from. Can you establish the path of ownership? You might have received a certificate when you bought it.”
“It belonged to my mother,” Mom said.
“Where did she get it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Hmm.”
Mom and I exchanged a glance. She leaned forward. “Why does it matter?”
He laid the necklace down, turning it over and pointing out astamp on the back of one of the metal settings. “Do you see the mark here?”
