A child and a dog frolicked in the sand, while the boy’s mother watched from the porch, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. In her wide-legged white sailor pants and navy boatneck shirt, she radiated old Hollywood glamour. Harriett had once envied such women—so perfectly turned out. In her youth, she’d imagined birds and woodland creatures doting on them, Cinderella-style, each morning. As she got older, she realized the secret wasn’t magic. It was underpaid servants.
