“Take your time. If you want to see anything, just let me know.”
Naomi walked slowly.
She stopped at the central case.
A necklace rested inside.
Small compared with the Carter commission.
Moonstone.
White gold.
Quiet.
Naomi liked it immediately.
A sales associate approached.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The designer used asymmetrical settings so the stones don’t look too perfect.”
Naomi smiled.
“My grandmother would have liked that.”
The associate had no idea who she was.
“Would you like to see it?”
Naomi looked toward her.
“How much?”
“Eighty-six thousand.”
The associate said the number plainly.
No warning.
No judgment.
Then:
“But you don’t have to be considering purchase. I’m happy to take it out if you just want a closer look.”
Naomi felt something in her chest shift.
“Please.”
The associate unlocked the case.
Placed the necklace on velvet.
Naomi touched one moonstone.
Cool.
Smooth.
Beautiful.
She did not buy it.
That delighted her.
Because nothing happened.
The associate did not change expression.
Did not become colder.
Did not suddenly lose interest.
Instead she explained the designer’s process for another five minutes.
Naomi thanked her.
The associate smiled.
“My pleasure.”
At the door, the receptionist returned Naomi’s coat.
“Have a wonderful afternoon.”
“You too.”
Naomi stepped outside.
Rain had begun.
Almost exactly like the night ten years earlier.
Marcus no longer drove her.
He had retired to North Carolina and sent photographs of fishing boats she pretended to admire.
Naomi stood beneath the awning.
She looked back through the glass.
A young woman in a department-store jacket had just entered.
The same associate walked toward her.
Warm smile.
No hesitation.
Naomi waited.
The customer pointed toward a diamond ring.
The associate opened the case.
Simple.
Ordinary.
Exactly what it should have been.
Naomi smiled.
Then walked into the rain.
The necklace beneath her coat was not the blue diamond commission.
She rarely wore that now.
Around her neck rested something much smaller.
Two tiny gold earrings had been converted years earlier into a pendant.
Seventy-nine dollars.
Four installments.
Her grandmother’s gift.
Naomi touched it as she walked.
Evelyn had been right.
Price and beauty were never the same thing.
Neither were wealth and worth.
Neither were status and dignity.
The most valuable lesson Maison Bellamy ever learned did not come from the rare blue diamond in its private atelier.
It came from a woman standing beside a glass case asking a very ordinary question.
May I see it?
The answer should never have depended on who she turned out to be.