She showed him how it worked, pressing the lever with her thumb and tugging the swollen door from the frame, revealing a staircase unlike any Michael had seen. It was so steep it was almost a wall, with only enough room on each narrow step for the balls of his feet, and the pine risers were riddled with scuff marks. “These are the captain’s stairs,” Ann said.

He lifted his leg to begin his ascent, but Ann pulled him back. “Later. We need to get going.” She swung the door shut with a disheartening thud.

Michael wanted to explore the house, but the girls explained that they’d stay only long enough to change into swimsuits and head straight to the beach. This was a family tradition, the first thing they did after their annual drive halfway across the country from Milwaukee to Wellfleet. But Michael wasn’t ready to leave.

The house had seemed peaceful and dark when they’d first walked in, as if it were sleeping. It wasn’t like any home he’d ever been in. It even smelled different, because it sat closed up all winter long. Now the house was already buzzing with life. Connie pulled the sheets off the furniture. Michael walked to the couch to help her, but his mind was still on those stairs. He wanted to know where he’d sleep—no, he needed to know. He’d spent too many nights not knowing.

Ed walked with purpose to the window and pulled up the heavy wood blind with a hearty yank of the yellowed cord. Dust rose and lingered like confetti in the abrupt sunlight, revealing four playing cards, all aces, nailed to the wall above the door to the sunporch.

“What are those?” Michael asked.

Ed smiled. “Oh, that’s the stuff of legend. My grandfather Cullen, he won this house in a game of poker.”

“He won a whole house in a game?”

“They were gambling out here. The homeowner, Hopkinson, he’d built the newer house next door to be closer to the cove. At the time, this was just the back house—his man cave. Anyway, Cullen was way up. Hopkinson was low on chips but he wanted to stay in for one last game. He had a winning hand, and you know what he did? He bet the house.”

“The house?” Michael couldn’t imagine being so reckless.

“Well, at that time it wasn’t worth a plug nickel. And Hopkinson, you know, he didn’t think he’d lose. He had four kings. But that was Cullen’s hand.” Ed pointed at the playing cards, pinned unevenly to the wall and stained from the long, rusty nails. “He’d tell that story to anyone who would listen.”