For the next three weeks, everything appeared perfect.
Then my sister, Vanessa, showed up with her husband, Craig, and their two teenage sons.
At first, Mom sounded cheerful when she called. “Your sister wants to stay for a few days,” she said. “The boys love the beach.”
A few days turned into two weeks.
Then Mom stopped calling me.
When I called her, she answered in a whisper.
“Ethan, honey, maybe you should come.”
That was all she managed to say before the call disconnected.
I drove down from Boston that afternoon. When I turned into the long stone driveway, I saw Craig’s black pickup parked crookedly in front of the garage. Beach chairs, coolers, and dirty towels were scattered across the porch. One of the front windows was cracked. Music pounded from inside.
Then the shouting reached me.
I opened the front door without knocking.
