Agnes is making improvements at her new school. Nothing earth-shattering, but she’s more communicative and less surly, which I was able to see for myself when they came to visit over Christmas. I took her to FAO Schwarz. Being the weird kid that she is, she wasn’t impressed at all by the holiday displays, but Yves thought they were fantastic. Lucy and Yves are getting married, too, next fall, in the early-Romanesque chapel in his family’s village, where Lucy has just made an offer on a fabulous four-hundred year-old house that just needs the tiniest bit of work. She’s three months pregnant; if you look closely, you can just make out a little bulge. We went shopping at Baby Gap because London is sooooooo expensive, and she bought twenty color-coordinated outfits in ascending sizes. Lucy will always be Lucy. Watching her select the tiny pajama-sleepers, I couldn’t help but feel bad for Agnes. The new baby will probably be perfect. Will Lucy love it more? As we made our way down Fifth Avenue toward the tree at Rockefeller Center, Lucy and Yves got ahead of us in the throng, and I found myself alone with her. I asked. “Are you excited about the new baby?”
She shrugged and stared at the sidewalk, and I felt a little tug as she slipped her hand in mine. I gripped it tight.
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