Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

tonight. You and Christina enjoy a quiet dinner alone. It’ll be your last one for the next few days.”

“But—what the hell will you eat?” Bram sputters. His face is flushed and his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“Dad—” Michael begins, but his father holds up a hand. Before anything else can be said, Adeline finishes the bottle and lets out a wail even more indignant than her protest at the meager baby food.

Feigning innocence, I say to Missy, “If you’ll show me how to mix it, I’ll fix the rest of her bottle.”

“Oh, she always cries like that,” Missy says dismissively as she takes the baby from me. “Don’t you, little miss piggie? Sometimes she’ll cry herself to sleep, she gets so mad. Tries to make us feel guilty for putting her to bed hungry.”

“Bram,” I say quickly, noting his glowering look with alarm, “let’s go upstairs and have our wine so they can get the baby down for the night.” I turn to Michael with a forced smile. “Why don’t you come upstairs with us, and your dad can fix a tray for your supper?” To Bram I say brightly, “You’ll come up with the perfect thing, I know, for two weary travelers, and we can have your special dinner tomorrow evening.”

I know he’s not happy, but what else can we do? Reluctantly, Bram nods and Michael lets out a sigh of relief. Glancing at his wife, he assures her he’ll be back in a few minutes to help with the baby. He leaves with us to go upstairs, but it’s Bram who has the last word. As I’m closing the basement door, he sticks his head back in to say to Missy, “That baby’s hungry. Fill up her bottle and she won’t cry herself to sleep.” Then he closes the door with a slam.

* * *

Since the production crew would be getting in later in the afternoon, I propose a picnic lunch on the beach before their arrival. Even as I make the suggestion, I’m not sure it’s the right move. Bram’s still fuming over the kids’ rejection of his dinner last night. He might’ve been less touchy if it’d only been Missy, but when he’d suggested that Michael take the tray to his wife then join us for dinner, Michael balked. Missy wouldn’t allow that, he’d said, then bristled when his father rolled his eyes in disdain. I’d been sitting close enough to give Bram a kick of warning, but he’d ignored me. “You mean she won’t let you join your family for a dinner she wouldn’t eat anyway?” he snapped. When I kicked him harder, he wisely shut his big mouth.

To my surprise, everyone thinks the picnic’s a great idea, and off we go. The day’s too perfect not to enjoy: not too hot for early June but still brightly crisp and sunny. We set everything out under beach umbrellas meant to keep us safely shaded. Bram channeled his disappointment over last night’s dinner into preparing a feast: fried chicken, deviled eggs, marinated veggies, and mini fruit tarts. I’m delighted that Michael invited his aunt Nellie Bee to join us. She and I haven’t had our beach time in over a week.

Even the ocean breeze is kind today, blowing in gently with a sharp salty tang. As we spread our blankets in the shade and unpack the picnic basket, the mood’s jubilant. Missy brought a walker-looking seat to put Adeline in, and Nellie Bee plops down by her. Stroking Adeline’s fuzzy head, Nellie Bee coos and carries on over her great-niece. With an indulgent grin, Bram says, “Between you and Grandma Chris, that little girl’s going to be spoiled rotten.”

“That’s what grandparents—and great-aunts—are for,” Nellie Bee responds tartly.

And that’s when Michael puts a damper on our bright, cheery day. As he passes around icy bottles of Perrier, he says nonchalantly, “Mom’s going to be even worse, I’m sure. She’s here and will be joining us in a few.”

I freeze over the paper plates I’m unwrapping, and Bram’s head snaps up. “I thought your mom wasn’t getting in until late this afternoon,” he says to Michael, frowning. Over breakfast (with Michael but not Missy, who doesn’t eat in the morning), Michael had once again squelched his father’s dinner plans by saying they’d be with his mother.

Misinterpreting his father’s frown, Michael peers into the basket. “No worries—you’ve got plenty. Even with the nanny coming.”

“Oh, look,” Missy squeals as she jumps to her feet to wave. “There they are!”

We turn our heads toward the wooden steps leading down from the villas to watch the two women approach. Even though she’s wearing an enormous straw hat and big sunglasses, I would’ve recognized Jocasta anywhere. No one else could make an ankle-turning walk down steep beach steps look like a Parisian runway. The white caftan she wears billows out around her in the breeze, and she reaches up to hold her wide-brimmed sunhat. The young woman trailing behind her appears to be in a uniform, and Nellie Bee nudges me with her foot. I dare not look her way, especially now that Jocasta has appeared before us. Both Michael and Missy hurry out to hug her as Bram gets to his feet, ducking under the umbrella. Reluctantly I rise, too, as does Nellie Bee, though with a put-upon grunt. I note with satisfaction that when Jocasta reaches out to Bram, he offers his hand instead of a hug. Although it’s been two years since I’ve seen her, she’s as stunning as ever. She’s older than me, almost Bram’s age, but looks considerably younger. When I’d lamented that to Nellie Bee, she’d smirked and said thank the good Lord for collagen and Botox.

Just as she did at the wedding reception, Jocasta turns the fawning charm on each of us, even me. “Oh, Nellie Bee—I’m so delighted that you’re here!” she cries, as if they were long-lost sisters. Her eyes sweep over me as she says, “And Christina, how lovely to see you again. You must share