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The room grew silent as Mother and Daughter washed away months of dirt and spider webs. A few sneezes filled the air as dust attempted to resettle over the gleaming piles of glass, but eventually the two had washed and filled over a dozen lamps. There were so many more to go.

"Mom."

"Yes?"

"Which is your favorite?" Bree asked.

Becca's eyes lit up. "This one." She touched the red one she'd pulled down that night and had lit. "Your Great Grandma Crane collected red glass and she had several pieces she no longer wanted. She gave them to your Grandma Shanks and she invited your Aunt Sally and I over to the house. There on the floor, were all sorts of red and orange glass ornaments, figurines, vases... just lots of red all over the floor. She told us to pick what we wanted, she'd already taken what had interested her. I saw these two lamps. This one," she pointed to the floral one she had deemed her favorite, "and this one." She reached out and touched a mosaic piece and grinned.

"As soon as I saw them I knew I had to have them for your dad, but I waited. I never knew what your Aunt Sally would want, but I had a feeling she wasn't going to take anything and I was right."

"Why didn't she?" Bree asked.

Becca didn't want to sully her sister-in-law in front of her daughter and tell her that Aunt Sally was a snob and nothing but the best was good enough for her and gifts without some kind of sign that showed wealth were meaningless to her... so she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Not her taste."

"Oh," Bree answered.

"Yeah," Becca replied. "Any way, I brought dad, my dad," she smiled, "the lamps and presented them to him in a grand show. He loved them and when I came back a couple of days later he told me how beautiful this one, my favorite, was. He lit it for me during the day, and shut off the kitchen light. It was beautiful, but he said I'd have to come over sometime at night and see it in the dark."

"Did you?" she asked.

"No, tonight was the first time. I wish I had though. I wish I had taken the time to see it lit up and watch him chuckle at its beauty. Your grandpa was like that. Simple things would make him laugh."

Becca wiped a stray tear and took a deep breath. "Which is your favorite?" she asked her daughter.

Bree looked over the exquisite pieces and touched one that was full of red kerosene. "This one. I always wanted him to get it down and light it for me. But I never asked."

"Why not?" her mother asked her as she stood up and fished a lighter from her pocket. She flicked it and the flame came to life. She extended the wick and it lit up. Once she dialed it down she set the globe back over the metal tines.

"He seemed unapproachable sometimes. I didn't want to bother him."

"I understand. He was like that. But he'd have lit one for you."

"Yea, I know. I just didn't want to bother him. You never knew when he'd be in a good mood or a lousy one... know what I mean?" Bree said quietly.

"Yes, honey," she ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, "I know what you mean."

"What's your least favorite?" Bree suddenly piped up.

Becca thought a moment. Her least favorite. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pointed to the one she hated. "That one," she said.

"Why?" Bree asked, picking up the bottom of the lamp. She admired the blue flowers and how the base was white glass and not clear or red like several others. A basket of blueberries was depicted on it and she thought it was beautiful. She lit it and settled the globe over the flame.

"See the crack?"

It was a thin crack and had never breached the depth of the glass, but it was there. A soft gray crack that could not be seen unless someone knew where to look. "There it is," Bree whispered and looked up at her mom. "You?" she asked.

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