“If you knew Luke at all, Dad, you’d approve. Trust me on that, too.”

“The boy never had an ounce of ambition,” he said. “He’s doing the same job he did as a kid. We wanted better for you than that.”

“He was filled with ambition,” Sydney said. “He earned a scholarship to college that he turned down to stay here to take care of his sick mother. Doesn’t he get any credit for that?”

“Why didn’t he go after she died?” Allan asked.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t due to a lack of ambition. I can assure you of that.” Sydney hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder and slid her feet into flip-flops.

“Where are you going?” Mary Alice asked.

“Into town to check on Buddy.”

“And then?”

“To Luke’s.”

“We haven’t seen you in weeks,” Mary Alice said. “We were hoping to have dinner tonight.”

“If that’s what you wanted, maybe you could’ve been a little nicer to my friend.” Sydney headed for the stairs, and they followed her.

“When will we see you?” Allan asked.

Sydney grabbed her purse, keys and cell phone off the counter. “I don’t know.” She headed for the door but stopped herself, knowing she couldn’t leave them like this. If the accident had taught her anything, it was to leave nothing left unsaid. Turning to them, she studied their faces, hating how dramatically they’d aged in the last year.

“I love you both very much. I never would’ve survived everything that happened without your love and support. A long time ago, I made the mistake of allowing you to tell me how I was supposed to think and feel, and a decent, honorable young man was terribly hurt by my choices. I won’t make that mistake again.”

The moment she was buckled into her car, all her bravado drained away, leaving her shaken and rattled. She’d just stood up to her parents for the first time in thirty-six years. Declaring her independence should’ve left her feeling exhilarated. Instead she was sad that she’d needed to do it in the first place.

Ned walked the length of Ocean Road twice before he stopped at the gravel drive that led to the Sturgil place. Old Wendell Sturgil had been a school friend of his a hundred years ago. Now Wendell’s son lived in the family home, married to the daughter of the only woman Ned had ever loved.

Francine Tornquist had stolen his young heart the first time he laid eyes on her, fresh off the ferry to work the summer at the Beachcomber damn near thirty-two years ago now. From his perch at the cabstand, he’d seen her struggling with bags and had insisted on walking her and her luggage up the hill and across Ocean Road to the hotel.