Another runaway bride, she thought, and wondered if it was genetic; if all of the women in her family got itchy feet at the notion of being wives and mothers. Her own mother had done, at best, an indifferent job. Vivian Morgan had always been more interested in her tennis games and her clothes and the parties she threw and attended than in her three children. When, in the midst of an argument, Annette had flung the eternal teenage-girl accusation at Vivian—I don’t know why you even had kids!—her mother had rolled her eyes,
