Stunning. The Maine coastline was simply stunning.
We’d returned from Europe the previous week and spent a few days in Boston. It felt so good to see Mochi again. Then we packed the car, Mochi snug in his travel cage on the back seat, and left for the Breakers.
The drive along the Maine seacoast felt like drifting through a painting. The road twisted beside rocky shores and sunlit pines. To our right, the ocean glittered like scattered diamonds, blue and endless. Seagulls soared above us, crying out against the hush of wind and waves.
Daniel was driving. I leaned my head against the glass and took it all in.
“It’s weird how few houses and towns there are out here,” I said. “Back in Massachusetts, something’s built on pretty much every inch.”
Daniel glanced at me, then turned his attention back to the narrow country road. “Maine is one of the least populated states in the US.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“In the summer, yes. In the winter, it can be a bit gray and lonely out here. Especially at the Breakers.”
We curved around another bend in the road. Suddenly, a massive home rose on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It had sharp white gables and lush green grass.
“Is this it?” I sat up. “It’s amazing.”
Daniel smiled. “No, honey. That’s not the Breakers. But we’re close.”
We passed through the small town of Camden. Nestled in the natural shelter of West Penobscot Bay, its harbor was crowded with white-sailed yachts and weathered lobster boats rocking gently in the tide. The streets of the eighteenth-century historic district were lined with grand old buildings and green parks, giving the town a quiet, timeless charm that felt almost too perfect to be real.
A few minutes later, we turned onto a narrow private driveway marked by a worn “Private Property” sign. The road cut through a dense stretch of woods, where sunlight filtered through tall pines pressed close on either side as if they were guarding whatever was hiding ahead.
“Is this all part of the Breakers?” I asked.
Daniel nodded. “Privacy had always been important to my family.”
After another short ride, sunlight broke through the trees. When we emerged into a clearing that opened onto the water, I gasped.
The mansion rose from an island just offshore, wrapped in the gleam of the Atlantic.
The Breakers.
The sun glinted off the ocean and shimmered across the mansion’s large windows. A stone road, paved over massive boulders, connected the small harbor to the island on which the Breakers sat, like a ship made of stone, anchored in the sea. The home was enormous and intimidating, with steep gables, limestone trim, and the kind of grand, old-world presence you’d expect from a Vanderbilt estate in the Gilded Age. Everything about it was meticulously redone. Not haunted or crumbling. Not like something from an old horror film. It looked expensive. New. Alive.
“I...” I started as Daniel eased the car to a stop.
“May I present to you—the Breakers.”
We stepped out to take in the view from the shoreline. The sea air was cool and salty.
“It’s...” I shook my head. “It’s the most stunning castle I’ve ever seen.”
Daniel laughed. “It’s not a castle. More like a summer estate. It barely has twenty-five rooms.”
“Twenty-five rooms!”
How could this be the home he grew up in? I knew Daniel was wealthy. I knew his family was old Boston money. But this—this was ridiculous. I blinked in awe for a bit longer. Then we got back in and began driving across the road toward the house. The sea churned gently next to us, licking at the massive boulders under the pavement. No rails. No buffer. I looked out my window and suddenly understood how his parents had died here. A rogue wave could easily swallow a car. I could almost see it: the narrow strip of road vanishing under a wall of water, the ocean roaring as violent, angry waves slammed against the rocks. Today, the sea only whispered, soft and glittering in the sun.
Daniel must have noticed the way I was staring.
“It’s okay,” he said, reaching for my hand. “We’ll never cross this road during a storm.”
I nodded. “Are you okay?”
Something in his voice was off. The way he held my hand. It felt more like he was the one who needed the reassurance. His eyes gave him away too. They didn’t look fearful, exactly, but uneasy. Like he was bracing for something. But how could he not? We were driving over the road that had taken his family.
