Mary Jane rocked back on her heels, flattened a hand over her heart and gasped for breath. "Dad's mustache, Mom's wedding hat. Their clothes. Her swimsuit. I'm sorry, it's not that funny. I don't know why I'm"
"No, it's great," Daisy cut in with conviction.
As the eldest of the three Cherry sisters at age thirty-four, Mary Jane was too serious and too responsible too much of the time. Right now, her medium brown hair stuck out in a messy halo all over her head, she had dust marks on her cream-colored top and she looked like someone who'd been working harder than she should, for longer than she could remember.
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