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“Let’s play outside,” I suggested, scratching at my satin dress reserved for special occasions.

It was a distant uncle’s wedding, and we children lounged in a large room with leather-bound volumes adorning the mahogany paneled walls. I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to be in here or not. It seemed like an Adult Place, like my daddy’s study, where I was never allowed to go in, never ever. A wedding reception was unfurling in the rest of the house and this was the only room unoccupied by adults.

“My mommy said we’re not supposed to run around outside,” my cousin Sahira objected primly, straightening the folds in her silver velvet dress with one hand and settling on a burnished leather couch. She was the oldest, beating me by almost six months, and therefore had the loudest voice. For a moment, the matter seemed settled, and a sort of lethargy settled upon us cousins, lounging on the plushy carpet.

I easily had the shortest attention span amongst my relatives.Two minutes later, I suggested again: “Can’t we just go outside and take a look around?” My voice contained a pleading tone. I didn’t want to upset Sahira, as she had the strongest headlock I had ever encountered.

“We can be explorers!” piped up the youngest cousin, just graduated from the nursery, to a collective murmur of agreement.

Sahira flounced her curls and said, “Well, I suppose that would be alright. But I get to lead.” She smoothed out the dress again, took her place at the head of the line and led us out of the room.

We trotted down the hall, passing various rooms where adults drank champagne, and toasting each other with silver flutes. Some of the older cousins allowed in the vicinity danced together in a roar of laughter and glamour. From the corner of my eye, I spotted my cousin Lorelei and suppressed a desire to call out to her.

When one is nine, he or she often idolizes those older, enchanting beings, and that is how I felt about Lorelei, who drove a silver convertible and dressed in the most spectacular, trendy fashion. She would take all of us on a drive with the radio blaring, kids giggling and almost spilling out of the car, but I nurtured the notion that I was special, that maybe Lorelei might like me best. My heart would almost burst with jealousy whenever Sahira got to play with her makeup or have those individual talks that I never seemed to receive.

To a tomboy like me, who could never seem to keep her clothing in one shape, or keep her face clean—it might seem odd that I adored her. But deep in my heart, there was a sort of feminine desire, a longing to be glamorous, and praised.

I wanted to hear all aunts gasp, “Oh, you’ve grown so beautiful! So tall and slender, and with the most perfect manners!” every family reunion instead of the little mutters I overheard—

“…Skinny as a stick and can’t stop fidgeting for a second. Linda, can’t you get that girl to wash her face? And such a dark and unattractive thing, too. Always running around outside!” And my mother, Linda, would sigh and say she tried her best, and all the aunts and grandaunts would sigh and say what a shame I was such a homely child, and not at all like my sister—

Then the conversation would stop.

Because my older sister, Caroline, died in a car accident when she was sixteen. I was only three at the time, and I couldn’t recollect a whit about her, not even a tiniest memory—but somehow, I convinced myself I remembered her, and she turned into a Lorelei, tall and beautiful, and with that unknown quality of glamor.

And I could imagine Caroline taking me on special rides in her bright scarlet convertible, listening to the radio and laughing. But those were just fantasies, those little daydreams that represent what your heart truly desires.

We were outside now, in a secluded part of the garden. I could still hear the party going on just beyond the hedge—but here, at least,