“You’re interesting,” I said, and kissed his cheek.

Mother stood. “I’ll be right back. I think I need more wine.”

When she left the room, Dad looked at us both. “You just have to love her the way she is.” He laughed and the room lightened.

Excerpt from Lillian Ashford’s Journal
New Year’s Eve 1960
Twenty Years Old

This is the year I met the man I will love forever; I know this. There are some things in life you know. I met him at Birdie’s Summer House; the place everyone knows changes everything.

I am only twenty—I understand that I’m not in the experienced category but this is not something someone needs to be taught to understand: Love. When He shook my hand, I held on to his longer than I should have. His voice, my God, his voice washed over me like water. When he walked away my body shook for hours. I have done nothing the past few months but think of him, his touch, his voice, his strong hands, his long back, and the small space behind his neck where his hair meets his skin, where …

I think I have gone crazy with Love. Is that possible? When can I see him again—oh when? I will return to Alabama no matter what it takes—I will find a job there and stay at the Summer House on the bay. I don’t care what Mother and Dad say; I don’t care if I must deny all that I’ve been taught. My best friend, Birdie, will be there for me.

If it is true what Grandmother told me—if it is true that I can mold my life with my words, then every year for the rest of my life I will write THIS: HE will love me. HE will always love me.

Always.

Six

Six

I finally dialed his number, Hutch’s number, to inform him that I knew a little more about those summers of ’60 and ’61. His voice mail picked up.

“Hey, you,” I said, rushing my message. “It’s Ellie. The weirdest thing has happened. I found Mother’s journal and there was a little bit about those summers in there. Not much, but maybe it will help you … .”

I couldn’t find the right words to say good-bye—I never can—so I hung up.

I stood in the middle of my attic studio because that is what I do when I need to think or to just be or to escape—I paint. The light was soft that day, the kind that comes when the clouds are thin and shielding without hiding the sun.