that Carrie had to be laid up and we couldn't journey
north--while our mother gallivanted from here to
there, going to parties, hobnobbing with the jet set and
the movie stars as if we didn't exist at all! On the
French Riviera now. I cut that item from Greenglenna's society column and pasted it into my huge scrapbook of revenge. That was one article I showed to
Chris before I put it into the book. I didn't show him
all of them. I didn't want him to know I had subscribed
to the Virginia newspaper that reported on everything
the Foxworths did.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded,
looking up from the clipping he handed back to me. "The Greenglenna newspaper--it's more
concerned with high society than Clairmont's Daily
News. Our mother is a hot item, didn't you know?" "I try to forget, unlike you!" he said sharply.
"We don't have it so bad now, do we? We're lucky to
be with Paul, and Carrie's leg will mend and be as
good as ever. And other summers will come when we
can go to New England."
How did he know that? Nothing ever was
offered twice. Maybe in other summers to come we'd
be too busy or Paul would. "You realize, being an
'almost' doctor, don't you, that her leg might not grow
while she's in that cast?"
He looked strangely ill-at-ease. "If she grew like
average kids I guess there might be that risk. But,
Cathy, she doesn't grow very much, so there's little
chance one leg will be shorter than the other." "Oh, go bury your nose in Gray's Anatomy!" I
flared, angry because he'd always make light of anything I said that made Momma the fault of anything.
He knew why Carrie didn't grow as well as I did.
Deprived of love, of sunshine and freedom, it was a
marvel she'd lived to survive! Arsenic too! Damn