When he got home he found that Tony had left, as instructed, on the morning bus, to Humboldt. It made him feel odd, their parting on a note of anger. After dinner he went to his study, intending to call Tony’s dormitory. The phone rang first, cutting off his good intention. It was Lindy’s brother, Bobby.

“Mitch, that stretch of beach you have up near Bragg?”

He felt a jab of irritation. It was more than a stretch of beach; it was a private cove sheltered by towering rocks. They had some vague idea of building a summer home on it, or a retreat for when he retired.

He felt a sudden thrill. If they won the case, in any reasonable amount, he could probably quit now: deep-six the traffic, the parking, depositions, conferences, office-coffee and phony secretary-smiles.

Ridiculous. To do what? He was only forty-three. At fifty, maybe, sixty, sure. Anyway, they’d need the beach. “You can’t sell it, Bobby. It’s the only place in the world with fresh air. Water’s thicker than blood.”

Bobby told him that an owner a half-mile north had won a zoning variance for a mobile-home park.

Mitch felt sick. “They’re out of their minds. Trailers?”

“Not trailers, mobile homes. Some of them go for thirty thousand bucks. Anyway, for him, it’s done. And you better beat the Coastal Commission. They’ll freeze the beach. You got access from the highway. You ought to try for commercial zoning, before it’s too late.”

“What, for a hotdog stand? On our beach?”

“You might as well, if there’s going to be one around the point anyway.”

He had something there, but their beach was unique. “I’d sell this place first,” he blurted. Now why the hell had he said that? His brother-in-law was an earnest study in tunnel-vision, and now that he had been stirred up, would never let it drop.

Sure enough, Bobby shifted gears. “Why not?” he asked softly. “It’s too big. Tony’s grown. You know what I can get you for it?”

They had bought their home for $60,000 fifteen years ago, when Tony was five. They had thought they had paid too much for the sloping land. To redo the house, which clung to the rock by its fingernails, had taken massive loans. He had infused his own sweat to save the plumbing and his cash to cling to land that wanted to slide. He had built, against architectural advice, an enormously expensive sunporch suspended over Raccoon Strait. It had turned out beautifully.

The challenge of perfecting their niche in the hillside was gone. He never worked on the place anymore. When a pipe burst now he groaned and simply called a plumber. But he didn’t want to know what they could sell it for, not at all.

“How much?” he heard himself ask.