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mother would sit on the porch, rocking the tiny baby in her arms and telling all who approached that Shelly was her gift from the sea.
    “Daria?”
    Daria started at the sound of Chloe’s voice. She sat up on the bed, freeing herself from the memories.
    “Shelly’s back,” Chloe called from downstairs. “Come have some cake.”
    “Coming!” Daria called, relieved that Shelly had returned safe and sound. She ran her fingers through her hair and headed downstairs to hug the young woman who was both her joy and her heartache, her blessing and her burden.

2
    T HE PLANE CAME TO A STANDSTILL AT THE GATE, AND R ORY unfastened his seat belt and stood up to reach into the overhead bin. He pulled out the backpack and handed it to his son, who was still buckled into his seat and looked disinclined to leave the plane. Zack stared out the window, tapping out an imagined drumbeat on his knee. He was fifteen years old and annoyed at the prospect of spending the entire summer with his father on the East Coast. It had been a painful flight, at least for Rory, who had vainly tried every ploy he could think of to get his son to talk to him.
    “Come on,” Rory said. “Let’s go find our rental car and get on the road.”
    With a loud sigh, Zack unbuckled his seat belt and followed Rory down the aisle.
    “Welcome to Norfolk, Mr. Taylor,” the flight attendant said as Rory passed her to leave the plane. She’d chatted with him off and on during the flight from Los Angeles, telling him how True Life Stories was her favorite show on TV. He doubted that was true, but as host and producer of the popular show, he was accustomed to the adulation. Women tended to know him from television, men from his days on the football field. Eitherway, he attracted attention, and even that seemed to irritate Zack. “We can never go anywhere without people staring at us,” he’d said when the third or fourth passenger on the plane had approached Rory for an autograph.
    “Welcome to Nor-fuck,” Zack said now, under his breath, and Rory pretended not to hear him.
    They checked in at the car-rental counter, and there was a subdued flurry of excitement between the two female clerks as they recognized their customer.
    “You reserved a Toyota FJ Cruiser,” one of the clerks said as she checked his reservation.
    “You did?” Zack sounded incredulous.
    “Sure,” Rory said. He’d specifically requested a Cruiser. It would give them room for their considerable luggage, plus, he knew a Cruiser would please Zack. If Zack was pleased, though, the boy was determined not to show it.
    The Cruiser was cobalt blue and looked new. Rory spread his map over the steering wheel and studied the route they would take to the Outer Banks. “It’s an easy drive,” he told his son, who said nothing in reply.
    It was only an hour and a half from Norfolk to Kill Devil Hills, and Zack was no easier to talk with in the car than he had been on the plane. Rory gave up after a while, deciding to simply enjoy the scenery on this much-changed road, with its antique stores and vegetable stands. Zack pressed the scan button on the car radio, hunting for a station that was not too “pitiful.”
    Rory had his hopes pinned on this summer. He’d been divorced from Glorianne, Zack’s mother, for nearly two years, and he and Glorianne had joint custody of Zack. Technically, at least. Rory was supposed to have Zack for weekends, holidays and summers. But several months ago, Glorianne had married the movie producer with whom she’d been having an affair during her marriage to Rory, and she now had a housein Beverly Hills, along with every other material possession she could desire. Rory found himself unable to compete with the glitzy, seductive new life-style Zack was enjoying in Glorianne’s home. Zack was at that age where possessions and grandeur mattered. He was slipping away from his father, and Rory hoped that this summer would bring him back. Rory knew that behind his