Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four Two jewelry boxes sat atop the dresser in my Malibu bedroom. One was made of dark brown wood and looked like a mini-wardrobe with drawers and pull-out cupboard doors. It held most of my daily jewelry. The other was smaller; a silver box decorated in the Art Nouveau style with swirling flowers and leaf detailing. It held my real treasures, pieces that were valuable to me. A ring with my birthstone I received when I was born. A necklace made of natural pearls from Aunt Rose when I graduated high school. A diamond bracelet from Dad for my sweet sixteen. The box also contained a few pieces that were my mother’s—pieces I never wore but kept because they reminded me of her. Something else lay at the bottom of the box, buried underneath my other treasures. Something that did
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