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352 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2014
“What would sixteen-year-old Rinnie say to that fear-struck four-year-old girl?”Margo “Rinnie” Gardener is the middle child in an upper-middle-class family living in suburban Cincinnati. She leads a privileged life, growing up in a beautiful house wearing beautiful clothes—but as Rinnie gets older, her fairy tale world turns dark. Her parents divorce, her father drifts further and further away, and her mother takes everything out on Rinnie. As she struggles to cope with her changing reality, Rinnie turns inward until she seizes control of the only thing left in her power: her own body.
“I guess I'd kneel down and hug her. And tell her, very softly, that she's not alone, that I'll protect her, that I won't leave her. I'd tell her everyone gets scared and that it's OK to cry. Crying is a way to call for help.”
Silence. “Rinnie,” Mr. Algrin whispers. “You are that little girl.”
”I'm hungry,” I say…When Rinnie is about nine:
“Shh, I can't think when you whine, Rinnie.” …
I want to hold Mommy's hand, but it's lost under the pile of clothes. …
“How much longer, Mommy? I want to go. I'm hungry.”
“Hush.”
...She doesn't feel my tugs on her coat, and when I pinch her ankle, her happy blouse smile is gone. The lines between her eyes frown.
“What is it you want? Can't you be still for a minute? All these pretty things to look at and you have to misbehave.”
“I want to go. I'm hungry.”
“Then go. Find a place to play over there,” she points. (32)
“What's wrong?” I ask.When Rinnie is fourteen:
“My heart is sad,” she says. …
Water runs into the tub. “You have rabbit eyes, Mommy! They're pink! A bath will make you feel all better.”
“Oh Rinnie, go away. Life is falling apart in here.” (83)
“Look, Mom, now you can have your coffee whenever you're ready. You don't have to wait for us to get It. There's sugar and cream and a little napkin, too,” I say.And on it goes, worse and worse until I felt frightened for Rinnie's safety. One of the worst incidents made me want to fling the book across the room because of the injustice of it all. (It also hit pretty close to home, because my mother sent me to anger management and to a therapist for being “difficult,” too, when she's the one that really needed those things.) Until she gets to high school, no adults—none with any power, at least—seem to be on Rinnie's side. Even her grandparents dismiss her stories and say she is “exaggerating” things. By then, though she still seems as happy and normal on the outside as ever, it's clear to the reader that Rinnie is coming undone at the seams. She fears that revealing the extent of her mother's abuse would constitute a betrayal, and sadly I empathized with her: being open about your mother's problems can feel like a betrayal, even when she's the one who's betrayed you by taking said problems out on you.
“OK, smarty-pants.”
Here we go.
This isn't going to work. Mom's voice follows the back-and-forth rock of her head.
“I'm not ready for my coffee. I've only been up ten seconds. And by the time I get ready, the coffee will be cold. I want one of you girls to bring the coffee when I ask and check back fifteen minutes later. If the cup is empty, then it is time for the second cup. What's so hard about bringing me hot coffee? Two cups please.” (162)