They Told Me to Skip the Reunion. When They Arrived at the Nantucket Mansion, the Concierge Asked One Question.

The call came on a Tuesday afternoon while I was alphabetizing the poetry section of my bookstore, my hands dusty from old paperbacks and my mind peacefully occupied with the simple rhythm of arranging words in order. When my phone lit up with my sister’s name, I felt the familiar mixture of hope and dread that accompanied any family contact.

“Hey, continue reading …