Six

Rachel had taken the news with the maturity fourteen year olds appear to have these days that I’m sure no fourteen year old I knew when I was fourteen had. Myra and I had talked about how we should tell her, and yet neither of us could tell if the balance we sought had been achieved. Surely no child can contemplate the divorce of his or her parents with ease, and yet being too casual and dismissive or too attentive and mollycoddling would surely add to the strain of the circumstance.

Life seems to be a continuous balancing act.

However, if Rachel felt any need to give us the feedback we craved, she denied herself. And us.

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