He was never fond of my grandparents, either, and it was a sign of how much he loved both me and Mummy that he spent every summer in Windemere House on Beechwood Island, writing articles on wars fought long ago and putting on a smile for the relatives at every meal. He was never fond of dogs, and it was a sign of how much he loved my mother that he let our golden retrievers sleep on the sofas and walked them three miles every morning.
He was fond of board games and let me win, fond of boats and taught me to kayak, fond of bicycles, books, and art museums. Dad was a middling-successful professor of military history. June of the summer I was fifteen, my father ran off with some woman he loved more than us. You could say it means endure, but that's not exactly right. The word means almost the same as it did in the previous sentence, but not quite. It is true I suffer migraines since my accident.
I used to be pretty, but now I look sick. I used to be blond, but now my hair is black. I own a well-used library card and not much else, though it is true I live in a grand house full of expensive, useless objects. I live in Burlington, Vermont, with Mummy and three dogs. 2 My full name is Cadence Sinclair Eastman. We live, at least in the summertime, on a private island off the coast of Massachusetts. So much in love that equally desperate measures must be taken. It doesn't matter if one of us is desperately, desperately in love. It doesn't matter if there's a cluster of pill bottles on the bedside table. It doesn't matter if trust-fund money is running out if credit card bills go unpaid on the kitchen counter. It doesn't matter if divorce shreds the muscles of our hearts so that they will hardly beat without a struggle.
Our smiles are wide, our chins square, and our tennis serves aggressive. The Sinclairs are athletic, tall, and handsome. 1 Welcome to the beautiful Sinclair family.
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