Honest to Pete. Did she think art would count for more than actual learning? We argued over her mediocre grades, but John always took her side. “As long as you’re doing your best, sweetheart, we don’t care about your marks.” Which was a total lie. Juliet had had the highest GPA of any child from Stoningham in a generation! She got into all eight Ivy League schools! Sadie never even made the honor roll, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t smart. She just didn’t try.

Then, that boyfriend. Did she think I was blind, the way she looked at Noah Pelletier? He was a nice enough young man, but I knew about teenage boys and what they were after. She only rolled her eyes when I talked about unwanted pregnancy, as if she already knew so much more than I did.

That was her attitude about anything. Whatever I said, she treated it as if she was vastly more intelligent than I was. If Juliet thought I was the best mother in the world, how dare Sadie dismiss and avoid me, or worst of all, simply tolerate me? Endure me, as if I was such a burden, such an embarrassment?

Art school. Honestly. It would’ve been one thing if she’d gotten into . . . wherever one goes if one is good enough. Rhode Island School of Design, or Savannah College of Art and Design, with a plan toward historic restoration or something like that. Instead, she went to Pace, a school I’d never heard of, so she could become an artist. Oh, she had talent, not that it meant anything in the cold, hard world.

Then Juliet got pregnant. Again, I was included in every detail. She brought me to a few appointments so I could hear my grandchild’s heartbeat. I came down four days before her due date and pampered her, and when she went into labor, I went to the hospital with them, right into the labor room, so welcomed and included, so needed. I held her hand and told her she was strong and amazing and I loved her so much, and when the baby finally came out, Juliet clutched my hand, crying tears of joy.

A girl.

They named her Brianna. “After you,” Juliet said. “I know you never loved your name, so we took letters from Barbara Marie Johnson and made Brianna. So she’s your namesake in a special way, Mommy.”

Was there ever a more perfect daughter?

And so, as Sadie drifted like a butterfly, living her New York dream of art, poverty and waitressing, my older daughter continued to be my pearl. When Brianna was one, they moved back to Stoningham. Juliet called me several times a day just to talk and invited John and me for dinner a few times each month, and came to our house most Sunday afternoons.