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Chapter Seventeen Carolyn and Sarah somerville, december 1986 on the morning of december 1, i returned home from sarah’s preschool to find a large moving van parked in my designated space. Cursing, i swung the car around and began searching for a place to park. When i finally got home twenty minutes later, two burly moving men were maneuvering a kingsized mattress into the apartment next-door. from inside, a woman—white and from boston, judging by the broad sound of her “a”s and nonexistent “r”s—was telling the men to be “cahful with the furnityah.” i had not seen or heard anyone in the next apartment for months, but apparently, new people were now moving in. since thanksgiving,the weather had turned sullen.Heavy gray clouds blocked out the sun and blustery winds sent trash and clumps of dead leaves skittering down the sidewalk. the following sunday, i bundled sarah into the car and drove aimlessly around the city. i’d wanted sarah to put on a sweater under her winter coat. the sweater, a used wool cardigan i picked up on sale at the Goodwill in Cambridge, was gray with black piping at the bottom. i thought it looked cute. My daughter hated it. “Mommy, do i have to wear this?” sarah pointed to the sweater with a disdainful finger.“it’s black.” “it’s not black, sweetie. it’s gray.” “it’s black. it’s got black lines on it.” sarah and i are both stubborn people. although part of me understood her desire to have some measure of control over her life, the mother in me worried that she’d catch a cold running around without appropriate winter clothing. “those aren’t lines, honey. they’re called piping—it’s a special kind of fancy embroidery, see?” i held the sweater up in front of her. “Come on, now. Hold out your arm so Mommy can put it on.” “no.”sarah crossed her arms over her belly, squinted her eyes, and stuck out her lower lip.“No. it’s black. it has lines.” i could see where this was heading. “tell you what. Why don’t you at least try it? once you put it on you’re going to feel nice and toasty warm. don’t you want to feel toasty warm?” 89 90 Chapter Seventeen sarah hated to be cold. she’d lived her whole life up to now in tacoma where it rarely got below 40 degrees, even in the winter. i could see the “toasty warm” concept had caught her attention. “Come on baby. Put out your arm so you can try it on.” When she let me slip the gray sweater up over one arm, i thought i was home free. but suddenly, she pulled away from me, snatched off the sweater, and threw it to the ground. “What on earth is your problem?” at this rate, we’d never even get out of the house. the prospect of spending an entire day shut up in my apartment with a grumpy five-year-old was more than i was prepared to handle just then. “Pick up that sweater this instant, young lady. Pick it up or there will be consequences .” “but Mom.” “but Mom nothing. if that sweater is not picked up by the time i count to five there’ll be no tv tonight.” Her lower lip quivering, sarah picked up the sweater, dropped it on the kitchen table, ran into the bedroom, and hurled herself face down on the bed. “i hate this sweater. it’s got lines and it itches. i won’t wear it. i won’t!” Her whole body shook as she sobbed into the pillow. by now i was pretty close to crying myself. God, Carolyn. What kind of mother are you, anyway? First you throw a glass at your ex and nearly put Sarah’s eye out. Then you drag her off to the other side of the country. No wonder the child is cranky. i took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. “don’t cry, darling. Mommy doesn’t want you to be miserable.”When i was five, i’d gotten a roy rogers cowboy outfit for Christmas and had wanted more than anything to wear the outfit to school. sitting next to my own daughter, i remembered how frustrated and powerless i’d felt when i was forced to wear...

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