“And Pops, he’s forcing the sale. He’s really going to go through with it. My friend in the clerk’s office said he’s already begun filing the paperwork to have Ann removed as executor. That’s the first step.”

“He can’t. I mean, we talked, and I didn’t think—but then again, what do I ever know? I mean, why would he do that without telling me?”

“I guess he’s really got his sights set on that house.” Carol passed the vape to Poppy, who grabbed it with greedy hands.

“Fuck.” Poppy let the news sink in along with the THC, hoping it might loosen up the knot in her gut. Part of her wished she’d stayed in Panama. What would have happened if she’d never returned, not ever?

“He wants the house, and he’s legally entitled to do this,” Carol said. “But here’s the thing. Before I pulled the listing, I was working with a developer. He wants to buy the property so he can create a service road. He’s been circling your house like a vulture.”

“A what? A service road?”

“Right through the property. Where the barn is. See, if he can put a road there, he can develop condos along the water because the lot is large and pie-shaped—”

“No!”

“He’s got investors and deep pockets. Guys like him don’t care about places like yours. I haven’t even told him I gave up the listing to keep him at bay. If Michael forces the sale, he’ll be outbid. Poppy, the house will be destroyed.”

Poppy leaned back against the couch, the weight of the world on her chest. Aparigraha did nothing for her. “Did you tell Michael?”

“I’m telling you.” A seagull alighted on the armrest of a plastic armchair in the sand. For some reason, when Poppy looked at the bird, she thought of her mother. A message? “You know, you always complain about not ever being told anything, of being left out. But don’t you see? As far as I can tell, you’re the only person in your family who can fix this. You’re the glue.”

WHEN POPPY RETURNED TO THE HOUSE, her face was red and puffy from crying. The sight of the home at the end of the driveway, still intact, still theirs, brought on another jag of tears. She imagined the violence and noise of bulldozers tearing it down, the chimney tumbling one brick at a time. She saw a pile of shingles, shattered beams, broken glass, downed trees, the barn reduced to the slab of pavement it sat on. This would be no place for her parents’ ghosts to return.

She ran into the house. “Brad!”