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

Abby,” Tiffany said, her voice carrying that particular sweetness that always preceded something unpleasant. “Just calling about the annual reunion. We’re planning it for the second weekend in July.”

I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder, continuing to shelve books. “Oh good. Where are we thinking this year? Please not another wine tour—Dad continue reading …