“Oh God. He’d asked me to come home last summer but I was in the middle of moving to Panama. Maybe he meant to tell me.” She rose onto her knees and sank back down into child’s pose as though she’d been dealt a body blow. Brad folded himself over her, and rocked with her as she cried. “Didn’t he know I would have come back to help if I’d known?”

“Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was worried you’d feel obligated.”

“They were my parents!”

“What could you do?”

“Do you think Ann knew?”

Brad didn’t say anything. Ann did know, she could tell from Brad’s expression. How could she not have told her?

What else didn’t Poppy know?

TWENTY-SEVEN

Michael

Michael could see that the listing agent, Carol, was one of those Cape Codders who seemed out of place in an office, but he understood why she was there: you have to pay the bills somehow. She’d been completely unruffled when he stormed into her office. He guessed she bartended on the side. She had a bartender’s confidence, like she could deal with anyone’s bullshit. He could tell from her Dennis bracelet and the WFLT tattoo on her wrist that she probably went three, four, five generations back—one of those locals who don’t even think of the Cape as part of America.

This time of year, the windows of the tiny real estate office were covered with tattered and yellowed printouts of last summer’s listings that still hadn’t sold. Some of his friends were Realtors, but it wasn’t as profitable now that people used sites like Airbnb and HomeAway to rent their houses, instead of relying on agents to manage their rental listings.

“I was told the title was clear,” Carol said.

“Clear as mud. I’m an heir.” The word “heir” seemed too fancy for a guy like him, but he said it with confidence, even though it had been over a decade since he’d publicly identified himself as a member of the Gordon family or had any reason to say their name out loud.

“Mr. Gordon, if you are—”

“Davis. I’m Mr. Davis.” The title “Mr.” sounded foreign to his ears, as if he were saying his father’s name. Hardly anyone out here went by their titles, like teachers. “Michael,” he said.

“I’ve seen you at the Pig. Trivia nights. You’re friends with Deedee?”

“You could say that,” Michael said. The Outer Cape in the winter was a small place. “How do you know her?”

“Kayaking.”

It was no surprise that they knew each other through kayaking. What did anyone do out here before kayaks were invented?

“Still,” Carol said, “if you aren’t in the immediate family, you don’t have a claim at this point.”

“I am a member of the immediate family. I was adopted. It’s a long story.”