“They did plans like this for land all over the Cape. Most of them came later than this one, and they were seldom followed up on. This one was forgotten after the Hilyard House burned, but these things retain their weight.”

“What good does it do us?” asked Janice.

Dickerson tried to say something, but Douglas was doing the talking now, and he talked right over his father. Since Dickerson’s heart attack, Douglas had done so much talking, and done it so fast and so well, that Dickerson didn’t even try to top him.

Douglas took his putter from the corner and used it like a pointer above the map. “The genius who laid this out divided the island like a pie, with everybody getting a quarter-acre. If we don’t alter the roads or lot-lines, just combine lots to build bigger houses, we have a strong case. I’ve already gone after several building permits on my side of the island, just to test the waters.”

“What did Uncle Rake say about that?” asked Geoff.

“That’s when he started his eminent domain drive,” answered Doug. “He wants the town to take the whole island.”

“He’s getting senile,” grunted Dickerson.

Douglas dropped a golf ball onto the floor. “If the town rejects Rake, then it’s up to you, Geoff. Convince him to sell, and you’re in for a fee of a million five—six percent of projected construction costs—plus payment for your piece of land, which may be worth two mil more.”

Geoff looked at Janice. Through the telepathy of marriage, they heard the arguments without speaking them: Imagine the prestige. Imagine the income. And it wasn’t like he’d never thought of it himself. He had moved to the Cape to create buildings that respected the Cape’s history and ecology, whatever that meant. Here was his chance. Besides, if the island was going to be developed, who better to design it?

But Janice knew what else he was thinking, and she said it for him. “This would kill Uncle Rake.”

Dickerson grunted, as though his daughter’s remark might kill him. “Nothing could kill Uncle Rake.”

“I need to think about this,” said Geoff.

“Take a week,” said Douglas.

Janice looked at her brother. “Does he get this offer in writing?”

“In writing!” Dickerson half-rose from his chair, then dropped back as if reminding himself not to get angry. “This is family, kids.”

But Geoff did not notice Dickerson’s effort at self-control. He pointed at the painting. “They got it in writing.”

Douglas tapped the ball across the rug. “You don’t know of anything else they got in writing, do you? Like a book?”

Geoff didn’t, and he didn’t puzzle over it, either. There was too much else to think about.

iii.

In real estate, three things mattered—location, location, and…Cornhill Road in Truro, views of Cape Cod Bay and Little Pamet marsh, walk to beach, older home, needs TLC. Geoff and Janice had read the ad when they were first married. They liked the idea of having a place thirty miles from Jack’s Island, forty from her father’s house. Now the house was an even older home—a living, breathing money pit—but it had appreciated so much that they called it an antique.

They unloaded the car, then gave the kids flashlights, and off they all went toward the crest of Cornhill.

“Nothing makes a kid happier than a flashlight,” said Geoff, “except being up past bedtime.”

“Nice to be a kid again.”

“Nice to have nothing to think about.”

Janice took his arm. “Too bad it’s not the case.”

“Too many things to think about. That’s one of the nasty things about pushing forty. That and less sex.”

She stopped and put her hands on her hips.

“Just a joke,” he said.

She was one of the better things about pushing forty.