“We got an Airbnb,” Josh says. “We synced it with the renters fall vacation; I went through with a contractor Kate knows.”

“You should have said something,” says Tess, turning to Kate.

“We wanted to get an idea of the work it might need,” Josh says. “The roof is shot; the living room floor is slanted. We would fix it up. I could do most of that work myself.”

She’d been proud, Kate, watching Josh move through the rooms, crawling underneath the house to check the ductwork, taking notes. It felt thrilling, a thing they’d do—a thing Josh would do—for all of them.

“You’re not a structural engineer, Josh,” Tess says.

“He’s done most of the work on our house in Richmond,” Kate says, emboldened. “He’s learned sort of an insane amount from YouTube. We’d get it into shape, make twice as much in fifteen years.”

“The place will most likely be underwater then,” Henry says.

“That house is a teardown,” Tess says. “No amount of DIY is going to make it otherwise.” She pulls her sweater tighter, arms crossed and hands up by her shoulders. “We’re asking people to pay for a plot of land ten minutes from the beach that, for now at least, is still worth a lot. In five years the storm and flood insurance could be prohibitive.”

“Tess,” says Martin.

“I was in touch with the state about it,” Henry says.

“Jesus Christ,” says Josh.

“It’s relevant,” says Henry, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “You’re all so busy thinking about how to get the most bang for your investment.”

“We’re not giving the only asset we have to the state,” Josh says.

Henry stands up, arms crossed. “The state has money. They could buy it. The house is backed up to a federal preserve. They could restore it as wetlands.”

“It’s an acre, Henry.” Josh looks back at Kate. “The wetlands will not be saved because of it.”

Henry’s hand goes toward his face then out in front of him. “We could make an effort, though—a contribution.”

Kate says: “What about the contributions we could make to send our kids to college?”

“You think you have more say because you have kids?”

“The stakes are different for us,” Kate says. “As parents.” From the corner of her eye she sees Tess look at Alice. Alice gets up and goes into the kitchen.

“You think your kids won’t benefit from your giving a shit?” says Henry.

“We give a shit,” says Martin.

“The state would pay, is all I’m saying,” says Henry. “It might be below market, but there are things to consider beyond your fucking bottom line.”

“Exactly,” Kate says. “Like our family, our mother—like keeping the house in our family.”

“Most of us,” Tess says, “live in New York.”

“But it could stay the place we go,” Kate says. “It could stay the place we go when we all come together. I don’t know how to ask you to understand that there is value to that for us.”