Ocean View Farm. 1. There is an unspeakable pathos to a summer house, and it is hardest to avoid by dawn. It lay across Ocean View Farm, when Allison awoke in her childhood bed, like a spell. In the sodden light leaking into the little room where Pauly had played with his ancient set of wooden trains, still packed in their wicker basket in the closet. In the still air of her father’s study, where a fine layer of dust lay on the surface of the Stickley desk. Every window, holding a vista of horse pasture and wind-stunted field, filled with the drizzling dawn of receding storm. A framed composition, saturated with meaning, illustrating loss. Allison woke to the neurotic clucking of guinea fowl greeting the dawn. For a moment her body tried to find its way back into sleep. Then Dee shifted beside her, and sleep fled.
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