The van turned west up 83rd Street, heading for the airfield. The baby was asleep against her chest; Laura hugged her tighter, feeling depressed and angry. She didn’t know how she could make it any clearer to her mother without being bluntly rude. If she could say: Mother, your marriage was like one of these cheap houses; you used it up and moved on.... You threw my father out of your life like last year’s car, and you gave me to Grandmother to raise, like a house plant that no longer fit your decor.... But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t force the words out.