On my first night in my new beach house, Mom called and said, “Prepare the master bedroom. Your sister wants it.” Dad added, “You don’t have children. Four bedrooms is more than you need.”
“Pack the master bedroom. Your sister wants it.” I was standing barefoot on the second-floor balcony of the beach house I had owned for less than twelve hours when my mother said those words. For a second, I thought I had heard her wrong. Beyond the dunes, the ocean was almost black, except where moonlight…