Rose hadn't shared any of this touching history with her daughter. There were no framed copies of Bobby's theater posters hanging on the walls of their apartment. Both of his Tonys seemed to be missing—Carrie had looked for them once—and of course there were no pictures of Lu Lawson. In fact, there were no pictures of any family members anywhere in the apartment. For years Carrie had wondered why, but that was another subject her mother didn't like to talk about, and Carrie had learned to keep her questions to herself. She'd had a few vague memories of the father who had died when she was three and the grandmother who had dropped out of her life at the same time, but if asked, she couldn't have described either one of them. And when she was growing up, she thought she was okay with it. At least, she hadn't thought about it much.

Then when she was thirteen, a gala revival of The Lady was planned in London. This was nothing new; her father's shows were always being revived, but this time the producers had invited Carrie and Rose to be the guests of honor at the opening night party. Rose had sent her regrets immediately. And Carrie had suddenly realized that she was not okay with that.

“Why can't we go?” Carrie demanded. She waited for her mother to start listing the meetings that could not be missed, the volunteer programs that must be supervised, the fund-raisers that must be attended, the speeches that must be given. But Rose surprised her. Instead of going on about her obligations and promises, her mother said, “That opening night won't be what you think. You're not missing a thing.”

“But they're reviving The Lady. Zoe's mother says it was a big hit.”

“Back in its day.” Her mother dismissed the show with a shrug.

Carrie found herself springing to the defense of the father she had never known. “It won a lot of awards.”

A tiny frown creased Rose's perfect forehead. “Theater people like to give each other awards,” she said. “That's how they know next time they'll get one. It really doesn't mean much.” She paused, then she added, “It's all about ego.” Ego was the vice the nuns had warned Rose about when she was a child, and in Carrie's life it was a four-letter word. But even in the light of this damning pronouncement, Carrie didn't back down.

“But the shows must have been good if they won.”

Rose sighed. “Your father wrote musicals, honey,” she said gently. “People thought they were entertaining in their day, but from what I've heard, they haven't aged very well. It's not surprising—most musical comedies back then were pretty silly. They still are. It's not exactly a profound medium.”

“But they do my father's shows at City Opera. They do them in London and Japan and all over the world. That's not silly.”