The majority of the pictures were poorly shot photos of Amelia and Natalie on the beach. I surmised that Fritz had taken them, because he wasn’t in any of them. Natalie looked to be a year old, like she had only just learned to walk. She was wearing a bikini that was covered with watermelon slices and a matching watermelon sun hat. In one photo, her feet were buried in the sand with only the tips of her toes peeking out. She was laughing. In the next photo, Natalie held a handful of sand and appeared to be dropping her sand into a bucket of water. Next, she was back at the waves, adding water to her bucket. In another photo, she was splashing in the waves. Wet sand covered her legs and arms completely and was also caked into her hair. Amelia, who was visible in the background, was sitting on a beach chair reading a magazine. She looked well groomed, as though she had just had her hair blown out. No sand on her face or body.

For some reason, Amelia (I assumed it was Amelia) had also chosen to include a photo of Natalie crying. I never include photos of children crying. It’s a rookie mistake. The kid looks bad and the parents look worse. In this case, the child was crying and Amelia appeared to be at a loss, lacking any maternal instinct. From the photo, I was able to see Amelia’s limitations. As soon as her child started to cry, as soon as she had something unpleasant to contend with, she was inclined to hand the child off.

“Natalie, you were a beautiful baby,” Amelia said to her daughter, who’d taken her place back on the arm of the sofa.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” I said. Amelia missed so many opportunities to boost Natalie’s self-confidence.

“That was the year we went to Florida for my father’s seventieth birthday celebration,” Amelia said. “We spent every day at the ocean. When we got back to Brooklyn, Natalie kept asking for the water. She was always a water baby.”

“I like the water too,” Lucia said.

“Me too,” I said.

“Lucia, want me to show you around the house?” Fritz asked.

I was surprised by Fritz’s question. Surprised that he was engaging with Lucia to such a degree. Maybe he saw this as his only opportunity to question her without Amelia hovering over his shoulder. Maybe he wanted her. I had a much better body than Lucia, but I wasn’t nineteen. An image of Fritz and Lucia in the master bedroom flashed through my mind.

Lucia followed him up the stairs.

Amelia appeared irritated. She was unwise not to follow them. She turned to Natalie, picking up on their earlier conversation: “It’s really important to me,” she whispered. “I need your help.”

Natalie didn’t answer, which probably infuriated her mother.