With his window down he could smell the tangy scent of the ocean as it permeated the air. The high-pitched cries of a flock of seagulls drifted toward him from the beach. The pink gingerbread-style house that sat on the corner of Seaview Avenue and Ocean Street had been there for as long as he could remember. He tooted his horn and waved at the owner, Mrs. Kingston, who was outside watering her rosebushes. She squinted at first, then began to wave enthusiastically as soon as she recognized him. Yes, this was what he’d yearned for while he was overseas. Home. Hearth. A feeling of being connected to his community. He began to slow his Jeep down as the Trask home came into view, its bright yellow color a departure from the classic Cape Cod–style homes surrounding it. The historic house was built by his great-great-grandfather, sea captain Adam Trask, for his young bride. He’d built a widow’s walk on the second floor so that his bride could look out to sea for his return.
