Camille stepped back, stunned by her daughter’s vehemence. “Ah. The queen has spoken.” She turned to Billy. “We’ll just hang out here.”

“No,” he said. “I’m taking charge. You’re coming with me. And Julie can stay home and Snapchat or Instagram with her friends, or whatever it is they’re all doing.”

“Good plan,” Julie said, sending him a grateful look.

Camille felt torn. She really, really wanted to get out for a bit. She really, really wanted a cocktail at the Skipjack Tavern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive. I’ll be even more okay once you quit worrying.”

“I’ll never quit worrying.”

“We’re leaving.” Billy handed Camille her bag. Then he ushered her out the door. “Let’s walk to the village,” he said. “The weather is fantastic.”

The promise of summer filled the evening air. The lingering warmth of the day emanated from the brick sidewalks, and sunset colors glinted off the canal and the bay. The air smelled of the coming season—blooming honeysuckle, cut grass, and the rich, lively odor of bounty from the sea. The sky was beautifully clear, and the laughter and conversation that bubbled from the crowd in the village were filled with energy.

Founded by Dutch and English settlers three centuries before, Bethany Bay combined the old-world charm of both cultures. The squared-off, gabled rooflines and old colonial homes blended with the seascape surrounding the town. It was an authentic snapshot of a place that had been treated kindly by time, retaining the character of the past in its very soul.

First Thursday was a bustling event, with locals coming out to socialize, and the come-heres taking in the small-town charm. Visitors from the cities—D.C., Dover, Bethesda, even New York and north Jersey—had escaped early for the weekend. Bethany Bay was not as popular as Rehoboth and Annacock, an unfortunate name for a lovely town, but for those who made the extra effort to reach the remote spot, the rewards were many. Development was held at bay by the fact that the entire region was surrounded by a wildlife preserve, and the inner core of the village consisted of listed and registered structures.

The sound of an ensemble playing under the gazebo on the village green added a festive touch to the evening. Fairy lights surrounding the gazebo and hanging from the cherry and liquidambar trees created an irresistible atmosphere.

The seaside town was the backdrop of her childhood, a cocoon where she felt safe. A refuge. The place where she had made her life in the wake of an unspeakable tragedy.

Yet sometimes it felt like a walled fortress with her stuck inside, unable to escape.

Just for a short while, the small-town festivities took her mind off Julie. She and Billy dropped into various shops and galleries that lined the main street. The art ranged from borderline kitsch to sophisticated originals to purely magical. At the Beholder, owned by her mother’s best friend, Queenie, they munched on almond toffee and checked out the latest offerings—nature scenes printed on copper or aluminum. The gallery occupied what had once been a customs house, dating back to the eighteenth century. The light-flooded hall and grand hearth created the perfect setting for displaying art.