My stepmother called and told me, “You’re banned from the family beach house. I changed every lock.” She sounded almost delighted. I simply replied, “Thanks for the update.” What she didn’t know was that my mom had placed the house in a private trust under my name before she passed away.

smell of antiseptic. The thin blanket over my mother’s legs. She had insisted the window be cracked open even though it was chilly outside, because she said the moving air helped her pretend it carried the ocean.

“Rebecca,” she had whispered, her fingers cool and fragile around mine, “you have to listen carefully. The beach house is not just a house.continue reading …