“You are so wrong!” Lu shook her head. “The way that man fell for you—it was typical Bobby. Rose had been wanting a child for years and he'd been saying no. Then she finally got pregnant—I never believed it was an accident even though she said it was—and after you were born, Bobby took one look at you and it was like he'd invented fatherhood. He went straight from the hospital to FAO Schwarz and bought out the doll department. He insisted that he and Rose had to move to that huge apartment on Park Avenue because their old place only had one room for your nursery. He wanted you to have your own suite. I don't know if you remember it; it was all done in pink, and—”

“I've seen pictures.”

“He said it had to be as beautiful as you were.”

Then Carrie felt her eyes fill up, which was totally insane because she'd never known her father. “He said I was beautiful?” she breathed.

“You were his princess. He would have spoiled you rotten if he had lived.” Lu paused. “Sweetheart, by the time you were three years old, Rose and Bobby had gone through a lot of ups and downs—their marriage was like a roller coaster. But you were always the up—for both of them.”

Chapter 29 - New York 1974

ROSE WALKED INTO the pink bedroom that her husband had created for their baby daughter when they moved to Park Avenue. Normally the home decorating was Rose's job, but Bobby had insisted on doing over the baby's two rooms himself. Instead of hiring the chic decorator Rose always used, he had asked his favorite set designer to come up with a “palace for a princess.” So there was an overdone child's bed with a silly silk-and-lace canopy. The swagged curtains—also overdone and silly—were pink silk too. The furniture, covered with fussy ruffles, looked like mounds of pink whipped cream. In Rose's opinion the whole thing was a pink cliché, but Bobby loved it. And little Carrie was only three years old, so she wasn't expressing opinions on the décor.

Rose looked over at the bed, where her daughter was taking a nap. She liked to come into Carrie's nursery and watch her sleep. It was a time when Rose could think. She'd been doing a lot of that lately. She'd been doing a lot of remembering too—and it was all because of the small person with the head of dark curly hair sleeping in the ridiculously canopied bed. Rose moved quietly to a rocking chair and sat, carefully, so she wouldn't make any noise and wake the child. She leaned back and closed her eyes. And began remembering.