Three years later, I went back to the parlor.
The house on Gull Point had been sold. But the new owners, a tech couple from the west coast, had invited me to see what they'd done with it. They'd kept the parlor. They'd kept the de Kooning. They'd restored the chaise.
I stood in the parlor and looked at the chaise. The one where my grandfather had lain. The one where his family had torn itself apart.
"You okay?" the wife asked. Her name was Jenna. She was thirty-four. She wore a linen shirt.
"Yes," I said. "I haven't been here in a while."
"We love the house. It's got so much character."
"It does."
"Did you grow up here?"
"No. But my grandfather did."
"He's the one who built the shipping company?"
"Yes."
"He must have been an interesting man."
"He was."
She smiled. She walked m
