Empire Falls

who introduced himself as Mr. Miller, met them at the bottom of the ramp .
    “This fella here was the tip-off,” Mr. Miller said, smiling at him. “Ballplayer, eh?”
    Now it was Miles’s turn to admire the man’s apparent prescience—until he remembered he was wearing his mitt, which the soft sea air and salt spray on the lower deck of the ferry seemed actually to be softening. For the first time since his father had given it to him, he was able to close it with one hand .
    “We sure appreciate your making an exception for us,” his mother said as Mr. Miller gathered their bags from the train of luggage bins being off-loaded from the ferry. He seemed to know which ones were theirs without asking, which made Miles wonder if this was because they were shabbier than the others. “I know you don’t normally take children.”
    “Well,” Mr. Miller said, loading the suitcases into the back of a station wagon whose engine had been left running, “you had a friend in high places.” Then he quickly added, “Besides, this young fella’s mostly grown up anyhow, right?”
    It happened they were staying on the other side of the island, near a fishing village, and when Mr. Miller pulled the station wagon into the long, narrow drive that led to Summer House, which sat on a bluff overlooking the ocean, the fear Miles had noticed before on the ferry crept again into his mother’s eyes, and he wondered if she might instruct Mr. Miller to turn around and take them back to the dock .
    In addition to the main inn there were a dozen or so cottages, which Mr. Miller told them were sometimes rented by artists and movie stars. The one Miles and his mother were to occupy was set slightly apart from the rest and had a rose trellis up one side. Miles liked it the best of all the cottages because it was closest to the path that led down the bluff and over the dunes to the beach. They were warned not to stray from the path because of the poison ivy .
    What Grace liked best about the cottage was that in the early morning when the wind shifted, they awoke to the sound of pounding surf. Miles knew how far away the water was, but the waves crashed so hard that every morning he went to the front window to make sure the world hadn’t tilted during the night. He half expected to look out and see the waves foaming right up to the porch steps .
    They stayed out of the inn’s dining room because Grace had gotten a quick glimpse of it when they checked in, enough to know that it would be very expensive and to suspect she didn’t have anything nice enough to wear. The cottage’s galley kitchen was equipped with a small refrigerator, and Grace bought a box of cereal and a quart of milk in the village for their breakfast. By ten o’clock each morning someone from the inn appeared with a wicker basket full of sandwiches, fruit and soft drinks for them to bring to the beach. Only there, among the dunes, did his mother seem truly to relax and enjoy herself .
    At thirty, Grace was an attractive woman, and even in the company of a nine-year-old boy, she was regarded by many of the male guests with admiration open enough to be noted by their wives. One man stopped by their blanket and introduced himself, wondering why the two of them never appeared in the dining room in the evening, even offering to buy Grace a cocktail later that afternoon if she felt like it, and if her young companion could find a way to amuse himself for a while. Grace rested her chin on the knuckles of her left hand, pretending to consider this proposal, while her wedding ring reflected the sun, until the man shrugged and said, “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” She offered no opinion as to whether you could or you couldn’t .
    Evenings, the day’s sun still glowing on their skin, they showered off the sand and salt at their cottage, dressed in shorts and tops and sandals, then strolled down the dirt road into the village for dinner at the least expensive restaurant they could find, a place called the Thirsty Whale, which specialized in takeout but also served food on a small deck under beach umbrellas. A college-girl waitress took a shine to Miles and taught him how to eat steamer clams, which were served in wire baskets along with two cups of liquid. In the first was a hot broth containing juices of the clams themselves, but this, she explained, was really for cleansing them of sand. The second cup contained drawn butter for dipping. The clams were