Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
“Your dad promised one, right? I mean, this one is from me. It’s my gift to you for today, but the other one is not.”
“Oh.”
“I really wished he could have given you the bag I’m about to show you. It wasn’t my bag to keep, bad vibes to keep a dead woman’s purse and all, but he couldn’t bear to look at it. I had it cleaned and properly stored so time wouldn’t damage it. I put it away and didn’t think about it until he and I had a conversation shortly before I left for Milan about what you wanted for your birthday.”
“I don’t understand,” Frankie told her, not sure what to make of Carina’s rambling. That wasn’t like her. “Are you nervous?”
“I just really think he should be the one to give it to you, but I still don’t think he can even hold it.”
“Hold what?”
Suddenly, Carina tittered around the display of bags only to grab a high back chair that she placed beside Frankie. “Sit. You should sit.”
“Okay,” Frankie replied slowly, more unsure than ever as she watched her stepmother fidget with her fingers and painted nails. “You’re kind of freaking me out here.”
“I don’t mean to, I just—”
“It’s another bag, right? Why are you so nervous?”
Carina, exasperated, threw her hands wide. “Because it isn’t just another bag?”
“That was a question. I’m so confused.”
“It’s way more than just a bag, Francesca. Give me a second. I wanted to give you the other one last because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to outshine it.”
With that, Carina headed into the opened doorway of the safe room. Something rustled, and shortly after, she came back out with a Hermès dustbag, gray in color. Unlike the way Carina usually handled her bags, even if they were precious or rare ones in the collection, she held tight with both hands to the dustbag and whatever it kept hidden from sight. Coming over to Frankie’s seat, she kneeled and placed the grey suede on her lap.
“It’s not just a bag; it’s your mother’s bag. She had two that she used a lot, apparently. The one she had when the accident happened...it couldn’t be saved. This one, though, had been left at home because she only used it to carry her art supplies and things.”
“My mom?”
Carina only nodded.
“How long have you had it?”
“First, it was never mine. You don’t keep a dead woman’s bag when you’re screwing her husband, even if he is your new husband. That is bad juju, okay.”
Frankie gave her a look. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It was just there in a bunch of stuff that your father couldn’t bear to look at unless he was inebriated. I asked if I could store it for you, in case you might want it when you got older, and he said yes. Probably because he didn’t want it in the closet with the rest of the things there.”
Frankie peered down at the dustbag, letting her hands roam over the structure of the bag from what could be felt on the outside. “It’s definitely a Birkin. Size says it’s a... 25.”
Carina laughed. “That is really a skill you have there.”
“You said you had it cleaned?”
“The outside. It had a couple of scuffs, a bit of paint stains. There’s still a bit of that on the bottom. It’s a well-loved bag, and honestly, I couldn’t bear to let them do anything to the inside.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” Carina murmured. “Do you want to be alone to open it up, or...?”
Frankie shook her head. “No, stay.”
Apparently, Carina had waited a long time to see this moment through. Probably adding to her own pain and struggle in a marriage that had sometimes looked more like a warzone than a happy home.
Loosening the strings of the dustbag, Frankie took her time to open and then slide the soft fabric down around the bag to expose the handles first. She gasped at the off-white alligator leather.
“It was a birthday gift from her own father,” Carina told her. “According to your father.”
The bag finally sat fully exposed on Frankie’s lap. Her eyes watered as her fingertips explored the texture, knowing at one point in history, her mother had done the same thing. She didn’t search for the imperfections Carina had warned about. Those didn’t matter. Even if one day, she had her own collection of bags and investment pieces, this was priceless.
Irreplaceable.
“Okay, so now open it up,” Carina said.
Frankie’s gaze jumped to her stepmother. “What?”
“There’s a couple of things inside. I put them back once I got the bag back. Just...take a deep breath first.”
“Um, yeah, okay.”
Frankie undid the silver hardware before pulling the bag open. The first thing to waft upward made her eyes close. A sweet vanilla scent that somehow transported her to a place that didn’t exist. Yet, somehow, she could smell her mother as if she had that memory locked somewhere deep inside the recesses of her mind. Except her mother died days before her first birthday. There was no way...