Though separated by several hundred feet of gravel and grass, the houses are clearly a pair. They were commissioned by Tom Aldiss and Elizabeth MacKay within months of each other and designed by the same architect. That was more than forty years ago, which is how long our families have been entwined.

Since the bluff stands high above the sea, cresting it offers a breathtaking view. I might have stopped to take it in, if the Volvo wasn’t already at the house. My father waits for Joy to climb out, then takes her hand and leads her to the front steps.

I’m not sure what they talked about in the car, or whether they talked at all. But the look Joy shoots me over her shoulder is definitely amused. I’m guessing she loves being coddled. I may have coddled her when she was little, but it’s been a long time since I led her around. Hell, she stopped letting me do it. Papa, apparently, is something else.

Wanting her back by my side—my family, my safety, my need—I climb out to follow, but pause with a hand on the roof of the car. The house stands above a fieldstone skirt, and is wide rather than tall, with turrets front and rear. Its sides are clad in cedar shakes—and yes, the shakes buckle in spots. Yes, several shutters could be straighter. Still, my heart trumpets, because this house is a handsome thing.

That said, I’m not quite ready to go inside and greet the memories waiting there like a party of long lost relatives.

Needing a boost before I confront them, I follow the timeworn path between heather the color of slate, to the staircase that leads to the beach. The wood here is just plain weathered, ragged both underfoot and on the handrails, but other than the splinter risk, it feels solid enough.

Walk, don’t run! my mother calls. So I descend one step at a time, inhaling more deeply the lower I get. At the bottom step, I do the little dance of kicking off my flip-flops, and sink into the sand. It is cooler than it will be in another month, and damp enough after last night’s rain so that I don’t sink in far, but it feels wonderfully familiar. Likewise the smell. There is nothing to dilute it here—no food, no people, no cars. It is pure ocean, pure … pure.