Inside the lobby, Mama hesitated, removed her glasses as she walked to the front desk, and rang the bell.

“Be right out!” a voice rattled from a back room.

“I always know where to find Ruth,” Mama said. “She’s a fixture behind that registration desk, just like I was as a teenager.”

The door swung open, and a woman in her late fifties appeared. She wasn’t tall, but a sharp stare made her seem like a giant. A thick shock of silvering curly hair was skimmed back in a ponytail and framed a deeply tanned face lined around her eyes and mouth. Her smile was automatic, practiced, but it froze when she saw her daughter and granddaughter.

Mama squared her shoulders again as if the first time hadn’t worked too well and walked toward the desk. “Mom.”

Ruth’s smile melted as she came around the reception desk and hugged Mama, who wrapped her arms around her mother’s sturdy, square shoulders. Ivy sensed that all the tension chasing her mother had been stopped dead in its tracks.

“It’s good to have you home,” Ruth said. “I’ve cleared out the spare room at the cottage for you and Ivy.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Mama swiped her fingers over her moist cheek. “Have a look at Ivy. She’s grown three inches since you saw her in June.”

The sound of her name prompted Ivy forward a step. “Hello.”

Ruth swallowed Ivy with her stare. “Last time I saw you, you barely came up to my knees.”

“I’m almost five.”

“Well, you were three when I saw you.”

“It’s been two summers?” Mama asked, more to herself. “Time’s gotten away from me.”

Staring at Ruth, Ivy saw her own stocky frame and thick dark hair mirrored back. Would her hair turn silver one day too? “Mama said I was four when we came last.”

“You were three. I have a head for numbers,” Ruth said.

“I can count to one hundred.” Ivy didn’t mention that she sometimes lost track in the middle and had to start over.

Ruth regarded Ivy’s quilt covering a short-sleeved T-shirt. “Hope you packed sweaters. It’s going to be cold for a few weeks.”

“I thought it was going to be hot here,” Ivy said.

“In the summer, it can get hotter than a fritter. By winter, it’s mighty cold.”

“I have a birthday party on Saturday,” Ivy said.

Ruth looked at Mama, who quickly wiped a tear from her cheek. “You didn’t tell her?”

“No. I thought I would say something after we arrived.”

“What’s that mean?” Ivy asked.

“We’re moving to Nags Head,” Mama said. “This is our new home.”

“I can’t go to the birthday party?” Ivy thought about the friends she’d left behind in Richmond, her room painted purple and yellow, and her preschool. “We’re never going back home?”

“No,” Mama said, turning away. “Richmond wasn’t working out for us, and we need a new start.”

Another new start. “I liked it.”

“You’ll like this place better.” The tones in Mama’s voice pitched a little higher.