He starts to speak, then stops and slips me an apologetic look that breaks my heart.

Gently, I say, “There’s medication, Dad. It can help your memory.”

But he’s waving a hand no before I’m done. “No doctors. No pills.”

Frustrated, I try, “Research is—”

“No,” he insists and, dismissing the subject, lifts his head to a trio of gulls that are flying toward pickings on larger stretches of beach.

Anne is pregnant, I want to say. You’d have a grandchild growing up here. Don’t you want to be part of that? But this isn’t my news to share.

Following his gaze, I, too, watch the gulls. The beauty of their flight soothes our moods. And it’s pleasant, sitting here with him, cushioned in the smell of the sea. I tell myself to be silent. Only there’s so much I want to know. And having him alone is an opportunity.

Casually, like it’s just popped into my head, I ask, “Paul represented Elizabeth, didn’t he?”

His eyes fly to mine, faded blues alert. “Why do you ask?”

“No special reason. I was just thinking about her business, like what happened to it after she went missing.”

“Like? Like? I hate that.” I begin to fear I’ve lost him, when he mutters, “The thing shut down. It wasn’t worth much.”

“Ever?”

“Once. But a few bad moves killed it. Bad moves,” he repeats before seeming to catch up with the thought again. “She fell behind.”

“Did that upset her?”

He considers, then nods.

“Enough so that she would deliberately jump from the boat?”

“Boat?”

“That night. Was it suicide?”

He lowers his legs from the chaise and pushes himself up. Standing, he braces his good hand on his lower back and leans sideways to ease a crick. When he straightens, he is facing the bluff. Quietly, he says, “I don’t remember,” and turns tormented eyes my way. “Wouldn’t I remember something like that? She told me everything else. I’ve never been so close to someone.”

“You loved her,” I say, giving him permission to admit it.

“I loved her,” he repeats.

“Why didn’t you marry her instead of Mom?”

He considers that and shrugs. “She doesn’t want me. Besides, I want family. She wants work.”

That makes sense, given the way she treated her husband and son, but before I can ask more, he is on his way to the stairs. With a foot on the first, he stops, considering the right side of the bluff, then ours on the left.

He gestures at ours. “Why is this side so bad?”

I remember his articulate discussion of beach erosion yesterday, but clearly he doesn’t. “That side has plantings to keep the bluff from eroding.”

“Why not this side?”

“Because … because it just doesn’t yet. I’m happy to do it. Would you mind?”