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At lunch the strangeness continued. When Penelope went to gather ingredients for a salad, she discovered that all the vegetables in the refrigerator had become bruised or shriveled overnight. An overpowering scent of roses wafted out of the pantry as soon as she opened it, and a bag of holy basil loose-leaf tea dropped from the shelves onto the floor.

Penelope made herself a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and brewed a cup of mango and bergamot tea. Enid wandered into the kitchen and weaved around her legs when Penelope sat at the table. "What are you trying to tell me?" she asked the kitchen, but it didn't respond.

Later in her sewing room, while stitching blue lace to the inside of a wedding gown, Penelope pricked her finger with the needle three times before she laid down the project and decided to work on something less frustrating.

She'd thought the tea would help to calm her, but something else was brewing today. Eventually whatever it was would reveal itself. Organizing and cleaning usually relaxed her mind, so for the next hour Penelope worked in the sewing room. She had always loved this flamboyantly colorful room with its cramped shelves and cubbyholes that stretched all the way to the ceiling. It was like a hive of treasures stowed away in what might have appeared to be chaos, but Penelope knew where every golden ribbon was spooled, every bolt of silk tucked away, every piece of dreamy lace lying in wait. There were dozens of hues and almost any fabric imaginable, from shiny turquoise satin to delicate ivory chiffon to sturdy black cotton. There were demure floral patterns, one with tiny tulips running along one edge, and outrageously bright florals the young Southern women liked to don in the summer. Soft wools, in oyster and charcoal and tan, whispered of fall and winter when days were short and nights required extra comfort. Spools of thread for any task were organized by colors of the rainbow, and her four sewing machines were parked in each corner of the room where they awaited their next project.

Fabric and thread and sequins—Penelope understood these much more than people. People were complex and frayed when you least expected; they wore holes in themselves from repeated wear and tear, even though they had explicit instructions for how to care for their well-being. Their colors changed and faded over time, and you could start with one version and end up with an entirely different one years later.

Penelope suspected whatever was going on today had to do with her family, but rather than try to sort it out, she straightened bolts of fabrics and rummaged through boxes of pins, ribbons, and fabric tape. She cleaned up stray spools of thread and rewound yarn that Enid liked to bat around the room while she worked.

Then Penelope draped the female dress form mannequin in the indigo-and-black bohemian-style dress she'd sewn to give Mattie, Lilith's daughter—and Penelope's only niece—on their next visit. Mattie's upcoming twenty-fifth birthday was on Halloween, and Lilith and Mattie often visited during the holiday so they could celebrate. It had been two years since Lilith and Mattie visited, missing the past few birthdays and holiday seasons. Penelope had repeatedly invited them, but Lilith had a dozen excuses that all sounded valid while simultaneously sounding empty of truth. Most often she said Mattie didn't have any time off since whatever job Mattie worked seemed to be closed only on Christmas and New Year's Day, which left no time for travel. Because Halloween fell on different days every year, for the past two, Mattie's job had kept her away. Penelope hoped Mattie's birthday this year would be different; maybe she'd see them both soon.

During Mattie's childhood and teenage years, Lilith had dropped off her daughter in Ivy Ridge every summer so Lilith could have some alone time. For those three months in between school years, Penelope and Mattie were an inseparable pair, looking every bit the part of mother and daughter, and Penelope missed those days. She missed the sounds of Mattie's rapid footfalls on the staircases, of her laughter echoing through the kitchen. She missed seeing Mattie outside in the garden with her easel and even missed wiping smudges of paint from the counters and floors when Mattie tracked it inside, oblivious to the trails of colors she left behind. After Mattie's high school graduation, her visits only happened during the holidays since she spent her summers working odd jobs in whatever city she and her mother were living in at the time.

Penelope fiddled with the fabric on the dress. Although playful and curious, Mattie had also been a serious child, often taking on responsibility and soberness like an adult, the opposite of Lilith. Penelope wondered if Mattie hadn't felt forced to be the responsible one since Lilith lived life like a hummingbird, flitting from here to there, never landing anywhere for long.

Penelope hoped that with a few extra silver threads and a string of tiny tiger's-eye stones sewn into the waist, Mattie would try on the dress and dance through the house, laughing the way she used to as a young girl. Penelope turned the mannequin to face the falling sunlight so it could watch ribbons of coral and amber light the sky, as if she were sharing the moment with Mattie too.