What My Sister Remembered Read Online Free PDF Page B

away from us all and chose to go and live with the Lattimores.
    A year and a half ago, Aunt Helene had called before Christmas and invited me to spend the holidays with them out in California. Mom didn’t want me to go. She put down the receiver in disgust and muttered something about fancy ladies making a nuisance of themselves. Alex was still home then, and all of us were eating dinner in the kitchen while Mom talked on the phone.
    “What was that all about?” Alex asked.
    “It’s her, the great lady. She’s on my neck again.”
    “What does she want?” My dad helped himself to another hamburger.
    “She wants Molly to go out to California by herself and spend the holidays with them.”
    “I want to go,” I yelled. “Lots of kids my age go on planes by themselves. And they have a big, beautiful house with lots of toys, and Mrs. Lattimore says Beth has her own bathroom, and she has a great big dollhouse.”
    “You have a dollhouse too,” said my mother angrily.
    “But Mrs. Lattimore says Beth’s dollhouse has lights that go on and off, and a little refrigerator that gets cold, and you can actually keep food in it. Mrs. Lattimore says she has a dollhouse family made out of china, and there’s a little Jacuzzi ... ”
    They were all quiet, watching me. Finally, Alex asked, “Why do they want Molly now, after all these years?”
    “Something about a therapist thinking it’s a good idea,” said my mom, still angry. “Naturally, she tried to act like they’re dying to have Molly out, but they’ve never shown much interest before.”
    “Mrs. Lattimore calls me sometimes,” I reminded her, “and she sends me birthday presents, and every Christmas they send all of us beautiful presents.”
    “We send them beautiful presents too,” said my dad. “A lot more beautiful and expensive than we should, but your mother has a bee in her bonnet about keeping up with the Lattimores.”
    “For God’s sake, Walter,” my mother yelled, “they sent us all cashmere sweaters last year. What am I supposed to do? Send them a calendar?”
    “Yes,” my dad said. “They’re in another league from us financially. You don’t have to be ashamed of what you are.”
    “Can I go?” I asked. “I want to go.”
    “No,” said my mother. “You’re going to stay home. We’ll have Christmas dinner here with the family.”
    “I want to go!” I yelled. “I want to go! I want to go!”
    “I think she should go,” Alex said. “It’s not right to keep the girls apart. That’s probably what the therapist said.”
    “I don’t care what the therapist said,” my mother yelled. “Molly is too young to go by herself.”
    There was a lot of yelling, crying, and slamming of doors, as there often is whenever my family discusses something controversial. But I know how to handle my mother, and generally I get my way.
    “Stop babying her,” Alex always used to say to her. “She’s a spoiled brat, and it’s your fault. You never babied us the way you do her. We always had to pick up after ourselves, and we always had chores. She doesn’t lift a finger around here, and she always gets anything she wants.”
    Jeff says that Alex was always a little jealous of me. He says Alex was the baby before I came to live with them. I can’t remember because I was only three at the time, and my brothers always seemed like grown-ups to me.
    Maybe Alex picks on me sometimes, but I can always handle my mom. I just stop talking to her. She can’t ignore me for more than a day. Then she’ll follow me around and try to reason with me. Maybe she’ll try to bargain. But if I can keep up the silent treatment long enough, she’ll give in.
    Not that year. I cried and stopped talking to her for a week. She went through the first two stages—ignoring me and reasoning with me. But she didn’t give in. I heard her crying one night in her bedroom, and my dad said, “Maybe you ought to let her go, Karen. Maybe it would be all for the