hand.
“No,” I said. “This year, you’re not coming in.”
My cousin Blake laughed from behind a stack of luggage.
“Come on, Nora. Don’t be dramatic. It’s tradition.”
I looked at the vans, the coolers, the matching red sweaters, and the children already running toward the dunes as though the house belonged to them.
“Tradition,” I said, “is what you call taking something long enough to mistake it for ownership.”
Aunt Patricia’s smile disappeared.
“Your grandmother would be ashamed.”
Sheriff Callahan cleared his throat.
“Actually, Ruth filed a written statement
