She glanced to the curb and noticed that all the chairs and tables she’d left were gone. Score one for the free market.

Ivy closed the door, and as she turned, she heard the puppies mewing. She peeked behind the box and saw that Mama Dog had stood. “Need to pee?”

She carefully scooped up Mama Dog, they went out the back porch, and she set the dog in the sand. Thankfully, Mama Dog took care of business, and they were out of the cold quickly. “I’m going to have to stop calling you Mama Dog. Giving you a name is not bonding. Everyone deserves a name.”

The dog licked her face.

“Yeah, yeah. I kind of like you too.” She scratched the dog between the ears.

Back inside, Mama Dog drank water, ate a half bowl of dog food, and then settled back down with her puppies, who quickly wriggled toward her nipples as they mewed complaints of her absence.

“What’s your name, Mama Dog?” Ivy asked.

The dog looked up at her.

“The Liberty T. Mitchell brought us together. What about Liberty?” It had a ring. “Libby?”

Libby closed her eyes, unimpressed.

“If you don’t like it, I’m open to suggestions. And be thinking about names for the puppies. We can’t call them Thing One, Two, and Three for the duration.”

Ivy opened the door to Ruth’s art studio and flipped the switch. The overhead bulb spit out a paltry amount of light, which cast shadows on at least fifty paintings wrapped in brown paper and leaning against the walls. In the corner was a paint-splattered easel standing on a canvas drop cloth, as well as a folding table covered with brushes, paints, thinners, and rags. In the other corner was a crate packed with filled sketch pads.

She reached for a small painting and carried it into the living room. After laying it on the table, she unwrapped the brown paper and discovered a rendering of the Seaside Resort with a 1950s vibe.

The painting was a bold blend of blues, whites, and aquas splashed on the canvas in a haphazard way that somehow came together to create a festive feel. Parked in front of the triangular Seaside Resort sign (NO VACANCY) was a powder-blue Buick with a white convertible top.

Ivy could see why Dani wanted to examine the paintings. “I had no idea, Ruth. I wish you’d told me.”

She felt Ruth so closely she turned to double-check and make sure her grandmother wasn’t standing there. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.”

Outside the ocean crashed against the shore. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she blinked twice to stop the flow. Refusing to feel sorry for herself, she shifted back to the decluttering job at hand. Stepping away from the painting, she glanced up the stairs and then began to climb. She opened the door to her old room. Like every other corner of the house, it was filled with salvage from the Seaside Resort. But beyond the clutter, she could see hints of her old life here.