In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Chapter Twenty-One Carolyn and Sarah somerville, January 1987 When sarah returned to boston in mid-January, she appeared to have taken her six-hour plane ride in stride. “look, Mom. they gave me wings,” she told me, pointing to the silver pin fastened to her coat.“i’m an official flier now.” on the way home from the airport, we stopped at Mcdonald’s to celebrate. as sarah described her visit, i restrained myself from asking too many questions . i didn’t ask if my former husband seemed happy or whether any new women were staying in my old house. and sarah, wise beyond her years, did not say a word about her father’s domestic arrangements. We stuck to the safe subjects—her trip to see the amusement park at seattle Center, the two dogs her father had purchased, the new backgammon set he’d given her for Christmas . at the age of five my daughter was already developing a separate identity —a life that was hidden from me and over which i had no control. Welcome to the Wonderful World of Divorce, Carolyn. My big news was that i had found a new babysitter. the following sunday, sarah and i climbed the four flights of stairs that led to verena lopes’s apartment . on our way up, i prepared myself to endure the usual drama involved in the babysitter handoff: sarah’s anxious tears, the babysitter’s reassurances, the mixture of relief and guilt i felt on my way out the door. but verena, an outsize woman who wore ribbons in her hair and vibrant tropical colors even in the dead of winter, had a personality as cheerful as her wardrobe. by the time i left for my gig at Wally’s Jazz Cafe, the two of them were sitting at verana’s kitchen table, chatting away like old friends. However, it seems that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. the relief i felt at having found a good babysitter was more than balanced by the irritation caused by my next-door neighbors. although the noise they made during their sexual encounters did not disturb sarah in the least, their loud moans, howls, grunts, and groans were driving me crazy. Maybe i wouldn’t have been so upset if i was in a relationship, but the sad truth was that my love life was nonexistent. it was not that i lacked opportunities. the men i met at Wally’s dropped hints on a regular basis. but i really, really, really did not want to be 107 108 Chapter Twenty-One hurt again. i’d been through enough relationship angst to last me a lifetime, and the thought of going through another breakup terrified me. at the same time, i was lonely. so lonely that when dee smith, a trombone player i’d met at Wally’s, called to say he had a present for me—an album by J. J. Johnson—i suspended my “no musicians” dating policy. i thought that dee, with his sexy dreadlocks, scholarly manner, and boundless energy, might be a kindred spirit. that sunday, after our regular jam session, dee stopped by my apartment. i’d arranged for sarah to spend the night with verena, so the coast was clear. but from the moment he walked through my door, i began to suspect that things were not going to turn out well. removing a small film canister, a razor blade, and a pocket mirror from his trombone case, dee placed an old copy of downbeat on my kitchen countertop, laid the mirror on the magazine, and shook out a pile of white powder onto the mirror. He cut the powder into a series of thin lines, and when he was done, he turned to face me, his soulful brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Come on, baby,” he said,“let’s have a real party tonight.” Producing a rolled-up dollar bill from his shirt pocket with a flourish, dee inserted the dollar into his nose, closed off the other nostril with his index finger, and snorted up a line of cocaine. “no thanks,” i told him.“i’ve never been much of a cokehead.” dee’s handsome chocolate face furrowed into a pout.“Have you ever tried it?” as a matter of fact i had. i’d only tried it once but had hated, really hated, the sensation of having something in my nose. i also really hated the way cocaine...

Share