The Life and Times of Our Father

The house on the property our father bought stood atop one of the highest hills on Long Island and was condemned. The Spanish roof tile, laid in 1891, had proved too heavy and caved in. A car had crashed through one of the house's mock Tudor walls. Rusty beer cans floated in the wishing well. But the ocean was still out there, dark and roiling, as we were reminded whenever the wind blew west and brought the salt air.