Catalogued

Kelsey was fine with it; what she missed about Aunt Beth was the woman herself - and not the money in the estate. She would let them tear each other apart over this account and that collectible; she took the photo albums and the letters and simply went home. "Yes, it's a little odd," Kelsey had said (about the boxes of letters that had little numbers written on them - catalogued and tidy). She was a fan of odd things, Aunt Beth among them, and refused to participate in any speculation about it. They had snickered amongst themselves that like calls to like, and Kelsey had born that nobly, too (for there was no arguing that this was true). It was the weekend after the memorial that she made a fresh pot of coffee and sat on the living room floor to read and look at the photos. When she made the discovery that her aunt had catalogued her photo albums as well, with pages corresponding not to the number of leaves, but to the letters, she fell down that rabbit hole with no hesitation. That Aunt Beth had been a dependable beauty with a rapier wit had not been wasted on the larger world ... and on Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, Francoise Sagan, Saud bin Abdulaziz Al Saud to name just a few. The letters began with "Love Most Exceptional", "My Most Beautiful Darling", and "Reason That I Live" (also to name just a few). Kelsey made an agreement with herself to read them all and look at the pictures documenting the adventures before reaching out to Sotheby's for a consultant to place them in collections and museums (if appropriate), and she would keep the sets that really touched her. This peek behind Aunt Beth's curtain was precious, dazzling, and worth millions.