Chapter 10 - GOOD BONES
By the middle of July, the porch steps of the Oak Island cottage had been freshly painted a crisp, clean white, and the gutters were clear of pine needles and salt-crusted leaves.
Ethan had driven down alone the weekend before, spending Saturday sweating in the July humidity with a paint roller in his hand while we listened to old baseball broadcasts on a portable radio. We hadn't talked about Vanessa, or mortgages, or private schools. We had talked about David, about the way he used to mix paint, and about how the ocean salt always found a way into the wood no matter how many coats of primer you applied.
Now, on a warm Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on the screened porch with a glass of iced tea, watching my grandchildren—Lily’s two kids, who had driven down with their mother for a peaceful, unpretentious weekend—build a sandcastle near the dunes.
The screen door hummed softly in the breeze.
The floorboards creaked beneath my bare feet.
The yellow tile in the kitchen still had that chipped corner near the refrigerator, a permanent scar from a skillet dropped twenty-two years ago.
I looked down at my hands, resting on the wooden arms of the rocking chair. My skin was dotted with age spots, my fingers slightly swollen at the joints, but my grip was steady.
David had been right about the house on our first walk-through.
May you like
It had good bones.
And so did I.
