I picture David Green meeting someone I was literally married to and not taking a very keen interest. I try to imagine him only now meeting someone I’d been married to for five years, and I just can’t. It would never happen. If I as much as mention a third date, Dad wants me to bring the guy over for dinner at home. We’d never set foot on a beach like this—would never in our lives be able to afford even the coach-class plane fare—but we have something much more valuable. I glance up at West and feel a pang of sadness for him.
This is true.
