The sand was cool beneath her bare feet as Annie and Kevin traversed the path that led to the dunes and onto South Beach. The light breeze and the sunshine created an Instagram-worthy morning; the tide was growing high, curling in toward shore, its ribbons of white rising from the water and kissing the earth; the pinkletinks had passed their singing duties on to the island birds, now that summer was nearly there.

As Annie stood on the beach, the sun warmed her face; the presence of her brother warmed her heart.

Best of all, they saw no one else, no lone fisherman, no teenagers who’d cut school, no black dogs scampering between the waves. It was only them, their tiny family, now minus one.

“Before we do this, I have a couple of things to tell you,” Kevin said.

Whenever anyone led with that line, Annie braced herself. “Okay.”

He nodded, shifting the bag that contained the box of ashes to his other arm. “Jonas texted me. He said Taylor’s gone.”

“I know.”

“It’s for the best. My heart was never really in it with her.”

“I know that, too. It’s fine, Kevin. She’s fine.”

He sighed. “Remember when I asked you to pick Mom up at the boat? Remember that I said I needed time to breathe before she got here?”

“I do.” Annie couldn’t imagine what was coming next; she hoped it wasn’t something negative about Donna.

“It wasn’t because of Mom,” he said, as if reading Annie’s mind. He hesitated, then looked out over the water. “And it had nothing to do with Taylor. It was about me. I’d just received a call from my attorney. He told me my divorce went through.”

Annie bit her lip. “Oh, Kevin . . .”

He nodded again, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yeah, it kind of sucks.”

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Sometimes. Most times. I’ve had a few distractions, y’know?”

“But you’ve kept it to yourself all this time?”

He shifted the box again. “Yeah. We had other priorities.”

She looped her arm through his and followed his gaze. “Please don’t let ‘priorities’ stop you from telling me anything again.”

“I’ll try not to. That’s a promise.” Then he reached into the bag. Instead of pulling out the box of ashes, he withdrew a white, letter-sized envelope. “Speaking of promises, this is for you. It’s from Mom. She gave it to me when I brought her back from the hospital. The back is glued with sealing wax— she must have done that when she was still in Boston. She told me it was so I’d keep my big nose out of it.” He laughed as he handed it over. “She knew me so well.”