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with the Redgraves—and I have a feeling that’s more to do with Caroline than Ryan or his folks—but the idea opened a can of worms for Sandrine and me. To be honest, I’m looking forward to an official get-together, but what I’m not up for is Sandrine tagging along.
    I’m such a shit.
    I won’t deny it’s lost on me why she would even want to attend. Personally, I’ll be more than willing to give Sandrine space with her sons and their father when the time comes for them. The bottom line here is that Amalia rarely goes out, and we’ll naturally be scrutinized like I’ll be scrutinizing Ryan’s parents, but my ex-wife will get the worst of it. She always does. Her every word will end up dissected and analyzed, and in turn our daughter will be on pins and needles. That will drive me absolutely crazy. We could all use one less thing to worry about, and unfortunately for Sandrine she’s it .
    Sandrine : Why the hell wouldn’t I want to go? I know what Nate is poking at, and he’s doing a terrible job at beating around the bush about it, too. He doesn’t want me to go . It’s a total disregard for our relationship and my place in his life. It’s complete disrespect to my feelings. I’ve been living with him for ten years. Ten years . That’s longer than that crazy woman was married to him. Amalia left him. She. Left. Him. Actually, she kicked him out, and he was paying all her damn medical bills and raising her love child . I’ll never understand how a distinguished man like Nathaniel—so polished and educated—could have fallen for an insensitive, conniving bitch like her . She’s such a mad woman, but I swear to God, it’s hilarious now, and he’s a fool! I get shivers from thinking how dense Nate can be, and her daughter— their daughter he says. I mean, Caroline’s nice. She tries with me, and she did turn out well-bred compared to who she’s been living with her entire life, but this kinship with Nate is a direct link to Amalia. Sometimes I wish he were a widower instead.
    Sofie : I think I was nine when I started a bucket list—although I don’t think I knew it actually had a name. I wanted to win an Oscar, and I practiced my acceptance speech in the bathroom every night. It was always after supper and right when I was expected to clear the table and wash the dishes. I knew how long the speech should be, too. It had to be long enough that my mother tired of waiting, and I’d come out to find most of the work done for me. Now, I put more realistic things on that list like driving Caroline’s ass to this beach house. She was all freaked out about it, but I wasn’t giving up on the cause. She’s been fretting the entire time, but both Uncle Nate and I agree this can only do her a lot of good. I mean, when the hell was her last holiday, anyway? She came to Maine when she was like what, six? It’s a wrong I had to make right, and I can’t help it, either. I’m addicted to putting my nose in that girl’s business, but maybe if she just learned to live a little…
    Amalia : Eighty flawless paintbrushes of joy for my spinner— black tubes only and separated by sheens, of course. Seventy-two miscellaneous lipsticks in my vanity drawer and three Lady Dangers at my disposal in a precious and vintage, milky-white hobnail compote. I have to say that orange-red lips and my complexion are a match made in heaven. Drat . Did I slip one of my velvet patinas in the glossy section? I think I did. Well I’ll have to unload the spinner and start over. I don’t mind. I like it when Caroline’s not home. That girl is always rushing me.
    Angel Mae : This an easy job. No smelly and big, old people, or mean and never happy kids. So far I only watch Miss Amalia. She busy with make-up. She not want to go for walk, or sit outside with cold tea, and I know not why. She so beautiful. She dress up very fine and smell very nice—like roses and expensive perfume. But she only want to stay inside. Mr. Nate tell me