My mother called at 8:17 on a Monday morning, just as the last of my guests were checking out and the dining room staff were clearing the breakfast buffet.
The sun was already high over the water, bright enough to scatter diamonds across the Atlantic. Below my balcony, children from three different branches of my extended family were dragging rolling suitcases toward their cars, still sticky from syrup and sunscreen, still laughing about the bonfire we’d had on the beach the night before. My son Alex was helping Aunt Carol carry a cooler to Uncle Benjamin’s truck. My daughter Mia stood beside the koi pond with her second cousins, solemnly explaining which fish she had personally named over the weekend.
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