Every Friday afternoon, a sacred tradition was born in the Sterling household.
At three-thirty sharp, Damon and Lily would walk down the scenic bluff trail to the Seaside Gables Cottage.
Clara would be waiting on the sun-drenched wooden porch, surrounded by blooming red geraniums and climbing jasmine.
On the white wicker table sat a silver tray with warm blueberry scones, homemade strawberry jam, and porcelain teacups filled with sweet herbal tea.
Today, Lily sat across from Clara, excitedly showing her a gold star sticker on her spelling test.
"Look, Aunt Clara! I spelled 'butterfly' and 'mountain' right on the first try!"
Clara adjusted her reading glasses, her weathered face breaking into a radiant, proud smile.
"I never doubted it for a second, my clever girl," Clara said, kissing the child's forehead.
Damon sat on the porch railing, sipping his tea while listening to the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore below.
For years, the sound of the ocean had brought only nightmares of the storm and the car sinking into the dark bay.
Now, the sea sounded like peace.
"How is your garden growing, Clara?" Damon asked with genuine warmth.
"The tomatoes are nearly as big as my fists, Mr. Sterling," Clara laughed, shaking her head.
"The soil on this cliff is blessed."
Lily dipped her scone into the strawberry jam, taking a big bite with a happy hum.
"It tastes just like the cake from the party, Daddy," Lily giggled, frosting on her chin.
Damon laughed, reaching over to wipe her cheek with a linen napkin.
"It’s better than the party, sweetheart. Because this time, nobody is telling you to keep your hands off."
