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Cynthia didn’t make it down to Eagle Cove’s beach very often anymore. It might have even been years. But it spread out before her from her deck perched on the high bluff overlooking the Oregon Coast so she didn’t miss much that happened below. She could watch the long waves of the Pacific roll in from far away, stutter on the offshore reef and then break relentlessly on the beach. The drumroll of the waves onto the sand was the backdrop to her life that she missed when traveling even a mile inshore.
The cliff face gave her a true, on-the-edge vista, but behind her the house and the deck would outlast her. Unless of course the big Cascadia quake struck and the whole bluff fell into the ocean, in which case she and the old house would go together. At ninety-four, such possibilities didn’
