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her face, not looking at all now.
    “There we go.” There was a stiff click. “I got it. Scrape free.”
    Excited, Ron pulled at the door, only to have it open a crack and slam shut. “Oh hell! Catch chain. What?” Puzzled, he stood back. “Seems whoever was here last left through the garage, and I have no garage door opener. Is this overly complicated, or is it me?” He kicked the door as hard as he could; it thundered back angrily. “Fine.” Ron said smashing the window. The catch was unreachable so he finally kicked in the door.
    “Mamma.”
    “There, there.” Jenny calmed Kip. “It’s just Daddy, making a mess. Come on now.” Jenny picked her daughter up and carried her through the wreck-of-a-front door.
    Glass crackled under her blue canvas shoes. “Honey, can you clean this up? We could get cut, Jes—”
    “Yeah.” His voice carried from somewhere above.
    Jenny glanced back to the door: wood ripped apart, brass hardware hanging, the chain still intact. “Our new home.” She sighed. “We’re off to a bad start.”
    “Mamma, snack.”
    “Soon,” she soothed. “We have to unpack first. Let’s go look about, come.” She led Kip around the first floor. The kitchen had dark blue accents and opened into a dining room and a small living room with a back patio. Everything was blue or white. White curtains, blue sofa, white lamps, blue ornaments. It was quaint, but there was an odd smell Jenny couldn’t quite place. “Ron, where are you?” At the very end of the room, she turned a corner to find a set of dark-blue, carpeted steps.
    “Just come up. Hurry! You’re missing it.”
    The second floor Jenny only glanced at—a family type room and some smaller bedrooms. On the third floor was a luxurious master bedroom with a hot tub en suite and a perfect view of the ocean. “You here?”
    “Keep going, honey.”
    Trekking up to the fourth level was slow. Pregnancy made her more puffed than usual as she climbed the white-paneled staircase. The occasional family photograph created a friendly feel. Near the top, she noticed a black-and-white photograph of a young woman standing on the end of the jetty, her back to the photographer. It gave her a chill: so isolated, so forlorn.
    “You made it, finally! Come see. Look.” Ron pointed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
    They stood abreast before the large window that spanned ceiling to floor, wall to wall, in a hexagonal shape. Beyond, the ocean was grey, ragged in the wind. Waves crashed boundlessly upon the ashen sands. From off the sea, a storm was raging towards them, pressing against the glass, the wind echoing through the room.
    “Wow.” It was depressingly beautiful. Jenny felt the dynamism, the force of the water, the flimsy shelter of the beach. Rocky Shores , she thought. She looked left, all the way down the beach to where the black jetty jutted into the waves like a long, crooked finger.
    “Did the rain just start?” she asked.
    “Yeah, suddenly. As if it knew we’d be up here to see it.”
    “There goes our romantic walk.”
    “It’ll calm down. It does this.”
    Jenny just watched in overwhelmed silence , her family by her side.
     
    * * *
     
    “Are we done?”
    “That’s the last of the suitcases.” Ron washed his hands under the kitchen tap.
    “I finished unloading the cooler. We have enough food for a few days, but then I’ll have to go into town. What would you like tonight?” Jenny opened the fridge and scanned the shelves. “Frozen sausage and pepperoni pizza, or frozen lasagna?”
    “Hmmm . How about pizza? That’s quicker.”
    “I was in the mood for that, too. I don’t know what it is about frozen pizza—totally disgusting, but great at the same time.”
    “I know. I could eat a whole one. In fact, I’ve eaten two myself before.”
    Jenny pulled the pizza from the cardboard box, cut the plastic wrap off, and put it on a cookie sheet.
    “In college; I was drunk,” Ron continued. “It was the Super Bowl. I got a