Ivy’s grandmother, Ruth, had lived and died by numbers. She’d always been counting the days until opening season, the days until the season closed, the dollars and man-hours required to keep her hotel in the black, and the miles per hour of the winds when a hurricane loomed close to the shores. The last hurricane that hit in December was the “widow-maker,” as Ruth had said on the phone. It ripped and soaked Ruth’s hotel beyond the point of salvaging. Ivy had vowed to return home as soon as the Christmas rush was over.

The wind whipped across the long bridge, forcing her to tighten her grip on the steering wheel to keep the tires aligned. Thick gray clouds unspooled over the bright full moon.

Across the bridge, Ivy stopped at the Wendy’s and ordered up two bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and a diet soda. There’d be no food at Ruth’s cottage, so the extra burger could double as breakfast until she figured out what stores were open in the off-season.

Ivy glanced in the van’s rearview mirror, which tossed back a reflection of smudged mascara and a riot of black curls. As she stared at her likeness, Ruth’s voice echoed: Your shift starts at seven. We’ve got three parties this weekend, so no time for friends. We made it through another season.

She grabbed a handful of french fries and gobbled several as she pushed through the drive.

It was another eight miles down the main road until the left turn by the mattress store at Milepost 8 took her down a side street to the beach road. A half mile south, she expected to see the Seaside Resort, but the barren, leveled land threw her off, and without the landmark, she drove past Ruth’s cottage.

She was a half mile gone when she realized her mistake and did a U-turn. After she’d retraced north, she slowed and pulled onto the naked lot. In the last two weeks, the demo team had erased all traces of the bright-aqua main building, the twenty-four bungalows, and the neon SEASIDE RESORT sign.

Ruth had said she was going to sell the valuable beachfront property a day after the storm.

“It would take a lifetime to pay off the debt, and I’m too old. I’m letting her go,” she’d said.

“To who?” She’d been in New York a dozen years, but the guilt over leaving always resurfaced when she talked to her grandmother.

“There’s a developer.”

“The land’s worth a fortune.”

“I know. And it’s enough to pay off my loans and give me something to live on.”

“If it’s not enough . . .”

“It is,” she said quickly. “Besides, I’ve been moaning for years that I’d like more time. Now I have it.”

“I can be down there tomorrow.”

“No rush, Ivy. I know how busy it gets in the restaurant at the holidays. Come when you can. Being here won’t change much.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Ivy had grown up in that hotel. Stood behind the front desk when she could barely see over the counter. She’d swum in the long rectangular pool after hours more times than even she could count, eaten all her meals in the kitchen, and skateboarded on the parking lot in the off-season.