All of These Things Read Online Free PDF

it is okay. He say he pay for me to be companion and must follow Miss Caroline’s notebook. I don’t think Miss Caroline ever leave Miss Amalia before. I hope they like for me to stay long time.
    Caroline : I should call to check on Mom again. Shit! This water is cold .

Chapter Four
    “C’mon, Caroline!” Sofie calls. “I opened another bottle.”
    Sofie’s voice penetrates clearly through the raucous of the wild Atlantic, and I whirl halfway round to see her standing at the brink between our rental property line and the beach. She’s waving me in with inflated gestures as she drags a large Adirondack chair and abruptly slumps into it.
    “On my way!” I holler, but I’m not sure if my voice reaches her.
    The heels of my feet sink into the dense, pewter sand and disappear under a surge of glacial suds. Gazing out to the lighthouse, I realize it’s the same picture I stored in my mind’s eye when I was six. The hamlet serves as a perfect feast for my inner child, but nostalgia manages to pick up turbulence inside of me. If I try hard enough, I can repress my memories like York’s inescapable morning fog shrouding the red glow of Nubble Light. Our path from the cottage to the white tower is obstructed by secluded coves and rocky shores. They separate us from the lighthouse, but I can still make out the figure of an artist settled nearby. His presence reminds me of the strange man at Catherine’s House and our odd exchange. I take a deep, healing breath of the briny air.
    Sofie’s legs are tucked under her and a Pashmina is around her shoulders. Strolling back to our temporary home, I catch a glimpse of a scarf set aside for me, too—because, to be fair, that’s also the kind of person Sofie is. I smile, noticing how much I’ve been doing that since we arrived in Maine.
    “What?” Sofie asks. “Why are you smiling like an idiot?”
    “Nothing, just… Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t believe this is our first trip.”
    “So, you’re fine with this, now? Because I feel like I’m racing against time and that ridiculous itinerary of yours.”
    I sigh heavily. “What are you talking about?” My question becomes lost at the sight of downy pastels stretching out over the noisy gulf like arms to the setting sun.
    “The one with all your goals and cut-off dates,” she says. “Let’s toast.”
    A proffered arm bids me another glass, and I’m alarmed that this is my third goblet today.
    “To our first day back at our playground by the sea,” Sophie announces.
    I raise the glass approvingly and laugh. “You know we were never actually here together.”
    “That’s because Uncle Nate was smart enough to keep our mothers apart.”
    I nod. “But Mara sure loves Sandrine,” I say, sipping the Chardonnay.
    “Two peas in a pod.”
    “It’s too bad, though. I probably could have used a partner for my sand castles.”
    “Oh, I’m sure of it. Your castles must have sucked.”
    I scowl, but I’m accustomed to her taunting and realize how much I would have missed Sofie’s gibes if she had gone away without me again this year.
    “So,” I say, “what’s this itinerary you’re referring to?”
    “You know— engaged at twenty-eight, married at twenty-nine, babies in your thirties . Ryan’s right on track. He’s such a good little puppy,” she utters and follows her words with a cackle.
    I look at her askance.
    “First of all, there has never been such a list, and second—the part about me having babies—that’s still to be determined. My genes are a little daunting, if you haven’t noticed by now.”
    “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about your Mr. Rogers anymore. Let’s talk about Jay, instead. What do you think?”
    I’m tempted to stand and champion Ryan, but the wine has turned my legs to goo. I abstain, melting further into the chair.
    “He’s really nice,” I say. “And cute!”
    “I agree,” Sofie cuts in, brimming with impatient zeal. “He’s real, you know. And