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73 Why I Mother You the Way I Do That afternoon, I have to admit, there were no thoughts of you. I was in high school, making my way past the buses to a waiting car—a boy who would not be your father—when the line of traffic stopped. The girls, classmates, sisters, had darted between buses and into the highway, trying to cross the field to their home. They both lay twisted in the road. My science teacher, Mr. desaro, took off his suit coat and laid it over susan’s face. He was crying because he only had one coat. By the time they let us pass, eve had been covered with a white sheet. The ambulances had come. red lights flashed, but their mother was still pushing her silver cart through the grocery. The sheriff was walking up behind her. as she reached for a gallon of milk, he moved to touch her arm. ...

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