Perched there, looking at her parents’ heads from behind, she was suddenly remembering exactly how this had felt when she was young. Alfie and Sylvia were talking about which of the summer people had arrived, and as she listened to the familiar names, the quickly sketched updates, she could have been ten, or fourteen.Though she was feeling fully her age, thinking about her father. She and he had walked together down to Liz and Clark’s house this morning. It had been her mother’s suggestion—that Alfie show Frankie the project, the house Clark and Liz would move into eventually—Clark had been building it himself piecemeal over the last two years.She had the sense that her mother was getting rid of Alfie, and maybe of her, too, though she felt less sure of that. But either way, Sylvia seemed to want to be alone. She had clearly been upset about something from the time Frankie came downstairs.She and Alfie had hiked down through the meadow instead of using the road, because Frankie wanted to look at the pond along the way.The dock was still pulled up on the rocks.
