To Willa, Tamson was a creature from a different world—a world of silk and perfume and shiny cars. Tamson is thirty-one, three years my junior, and has spent her entire existence as the gravitational pull of our family. She is beautiful in that effortless, infuriating way that makes other women feel like background scenery. Tall, willowy, with hair that behaves even in humidity and a smile that she can switch on like a high-voltage lamp.