She said I didn’t understand, that she had a different relationship with her children than I did with mine. I should certainly hope so. I would never have let my children behave that way, and especially not at eighteen years old. I took a deep breath to keep myself from getting worked up, picked up another drying towel, and started in on the goblets. People with dishwashers didn’t have these conversations. They were missing out.

“She has sabotaged every relationship she has had since Mason,” I mused.

Tilley nodded. “You’re telling me.”

“But surely she didn’t know about Thad.”

“But we told her,” Tilley said, crossing her arms, all pretense of drying the dishes now over.

I rolled my eyes. “That girl just never listens.”

“Mother! Don’t say that!” Tilley snapped. “I’m standing right here!”

And, just like that, she was gone. My sister, who had been so lucid and clear a heartbeat ago was gone again. Thirty-seven years and it still broke my heart every time. Thirty-seven years of doctors telling me they couldn’t find a cure—or, even, a diagnosis. Thirty-seven years of answers like, Well, it seems akin to delusional disorder, but not quite consistent with that. And IT appears to be triggered by stress. The ones who made me the maddest were the doctors who said she was faking. Who would fake such a thing?

“Not you, darling,” I soothed. “You’re the best girl I know.”

She smiled just a little. “Really?”

I took her hand and said, “Let’s get you to bed. It has been a big night.”

She nodded. “And tomorrow I have a date with Robert.”

Robert. Even though Tilley’s boyfriend had died almost four decades ago, it was easier to agree with her, I had learned from experience. The whole town had, really. My heart swelled with pride and gratitude that Cape Carolina, like our family, had fallen into step with Tilley. If she showed up as herself, fine. If she appeared as Queen Victoria, great. If she discussed gardening tips, they were thrilled. If she wanted to wax poetic about her fictional wedding plans with her deceased boyfriend, they nodded and smiled.

“That’s right, dear. And you will look positively beautiful.”

As I helped her into her nightgown, made sure she brushed her teeth, and tucked her in, Tilley said, “I do believe I’m a little tired.”

I had to admit that, in that moment, I felt a little tired, too. Tired from decades of this emotional roller coaster, tired from worrying about where my daughter’s life would take her now, tired from the spoils and secrets of more than six decades.

I walked silently down the stairs, skipping the squeaky spots that I had become accustomed to stepping around roughly fifty-five years ago. I opened the back door and stepped out on the deck, overlooking the night sky, the silent sound with its still marsh grass, and took a deep breath. This home, this land, this water, and this sky had held me for an entire lifetime. It had guided me through the most difficult moments and the most joyous.