I’m on a road trip this weekend, to Colorado, to finish cleaning out Emily’s apartment and deal with her things. Good gosh, she’s got a lot of things.
Had. Sorry, I’m still thinking of her in the present tense. I’m at the point now where it seems as if—oh, that she’s just on a somewhat longer than usual vacation, and any minute now she’ll walk through that door, or call my cellphone. And then I remember: no, she won’t.
Read it. And then spend some time with someone who will value it.