“You all must be hungry,” Philippe said. “I had a meal prepared for you and it is waiting on the patio.”

My mother gave Philippe a hug. “You always take such good care of us. You make us feel like family.”

“Some people who come are only guests. Others are family. Come.”

Philippe led the way. That wasn’t really necessary. I knew this resort halfway around the world better than almost anywhere else on earth.

We trailed behind him and into the hotel’s main lobby. As we passed the desk, the two clerks there waved and called out greetings. My father went over and shook hands with both of the men. I did the same. They, too, were disappointed that my sister wasn’t with us. It kind of made me feel worse about it.

“Come, your meal is waiting,” Philippe said.

We continued through the lobby, past the little waterfall, past the dining room, and out onto the patio, which over looked the pool and then the beach. The shimmering sand was almost white. Beyond that was the ocean. It was so spectacular it always took my breath away. There were a few sail boats out, their brilliant colors contrasting with the deep blue of the water, and beyond that were the village fishing boats coming in with their morning catch. There wasn’t even a cloud to stain the rich blue sky. It all looked like a postcard.

There were a few hotel guests in the pool, and a few more were lying around in lounge chairs. Beyond that, the beach looked nearly empty. I figured there were people out there, but they were hiding in their cabanas, resting or reading or sleeping. That was my plan—to go out there and have a midday nap.

To the far left, directly on the beach, were the hotel bungalows. Lots of people liked to stay in the hotel itself but we always stayed in the bungalows. For one thing, you were right there on the ocean, not separated from it by a set of stairs or a lobby or even much sand. You could just run right out and jump into the water. And best yet, because our bungalow was the farthest away from the hotel, we had the most privacy of anyone. It almost felt like we were in our own little world when we were down there.

On the patio, Philippe stopped at a table and pulled out a chair for my mother while Dad and I sat down. Without even being called, two waiters magically appeared carrying trays. They set two big bowls of fresh fruit in front of my parents, and in front of me one of them placed an enormous stack of pineapple pancakes! The table was set for four, and they were ready to set down pancakes at Beth’s place, but Philippe waved them away. Quickly, wordlessly, he gathered up her place setting.

“I hope they’re still your favorite,” Philippe said.

“They are! All I need is some syrup.”