The neighbors shake their heads at the loud music and raucous laughter from the Wolfe house. They regard as most unseemly such a party only hours after burying two of their own and eight friends besides. They should be mourning, the neighbors tell each other. They should be grieving.
The Wolfes are mourning, of course, they are grieving. But grief cannot restrain the shared laughter at their reminiscences of Marina, and of Harry Sebastian, and of the twins. The twins, above all. Who founded this borderland family and who are already the stuff of legend. And whose graves will be forced opened by the next hurricane and their bones borne away to the sea.