..”“Slept with you.”“Yeah, but it’s not like she hasn’t slept with Melody, too.”“What? Oh my god!”“Oh shit. I shouldn’t have sai... that. Sandra, you’ve got to forget I said that. I’m going to kill myself.”“Before you or after you slept with her?”“Well, we ... um.”“Oh my god, together? And then you went to her alone? She’s not only brokenhearted, she’s jealous!”“Of Lissa?”“Of you.”“Why would Melody be jealous of me?” This was way too confusing for my pea-brain to figure out. In fact, I couldn’t. I found Amelia sitting in their living room, a grand old room decorated in lemon yellow, large, formal furniture, and elegantly decorated with Degas and Monet paintings. Amelia, dressed for bed in her pale lime cotton pajamas, looked lost.I sat next to her and draped my arm over her shoulders. “How are you doing?”She stared at the drawn curtains, amber and red lights playing an eighties disco-like show through them.“Will Uncle Harold be okay?” she asked. “What happened to him?”“He’s had a heart. More

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