Connie Sitterley

In a shocking twist, a day goes so wrong and alters the lives of several beach friends in its wake. All that's left is to pick up the pieces. And each individual does in ways unexpected. One sheds tears. Some offer a shoulder, an embrace. One tries to help, only to hit a brick wall. One finds difficult acceptance. Still one harbors deep, stinging regret. Where do they go from here?

As turmoil swirls for some in the emotional waters of Stony Point, others take to the skies. Only fitting for Miss Moonchild Starbeam ... Elsa DeLuca. With two special guests in tow, she's no longer California dreamin'. Instead, she's there reuniting with a dear friend these early autumn days. But while Elsa might have flowers in her hair, her travel companion Celia has an aching in her heart. Which is why Shane's secretly made this long, strange trip, too.

After years of pursuing a denim design career, Maris Carrington never imagined trading her Chicago studio for a New England shingled cottage. But a forgotten home movie tucked inside a dusty attic box leads to an unexpected summer ... One of uncovering family secrets while settling her father's estate, one of inheriting a forlorn German shepherd, one of reconnecting with old friends on a weathered boardwalk, beneath starlit skies on a beach nestled in a crook of the Connecticut coast.

Mistakes. Everyone in the New England beach town of Stony Point has made one. Some mistakes are as big as the blue depths of Long Island Sound. Others, as small as a speck of sand. Some mistakes make their presence known, like the call of the gulls feeding on the bluff. Then there are the mistakes that whisper like the slightly swaying marsh grasses. More than anyone, Jason Barlow is ready to admit his mistake. But is it too late?

Behind every cottage door is a liar. Look past the tended lawns and screened windows open to the sea breeze and dusky porch lights shining on waning summer nights. And listen closely. Are those whispers of swaying marsh grasses? Or hushed secrets floating in the salt air? Walking the sandy roads, it's hard to tell. There. There's the imposing Barlow cottage on the bluff. Elsa's shingled inn by the sea. The Fenwicks' last-standing cottage on the sand. Cliff's ramshackle beach trailer. Celia's tucked-away guest cottage.

Home, for Joel Briggs, is the old New England farmhouse on winter road. From the front porch, he listens to the barred owls or watches the towering Christmas tree lit up in the yard. It's a quiet road, kind of like his life. Quiet. Until Faye Weston walks right into it.

Dune grasses sway atop the Barlows' craggy bluff. Hidden past a narrow path, there is a rickety stairway going down, down, down to the sea. Even in its neglect, the stairway is beautiful, with its sweeping views of Long Island Sound. Depending on the tides, those stairs lead to a tiny secluded beach. But for years, the stairs have been nearly forgotten. Until now.

In the dark of a summer night, everything can change. A moment can tip on edge. The salt air might stir. Or still. The waves might roll in. Or recede. A heart might fill. Or break. In two different cottages, the night is coming undone. As the sun sinks into the sea, as evening presses in, the summer calm is broken. Until an unexpected visitor arrives.

Jason and Maris. To the residents of Stony Point, they're simply known as the Barlows. Their home is a shingled New England cottage on the bluff, where salt air breezes stir and gulls cry and spirits roam. But like wisps of sea fog, darkness has touched upon their lives this summer. Will light and love return to their old weathered cottage by the sea?

How do you know when it's good-bye? When something's over. When it's the last perfect day of the summer. When it's the last time you'll see a face, hear a voice. The last time you'll close a shingled cottage's door. How do you know when you'll never be somewhere again, that you've had your last glimpse of a certain sea? For the tangled cast of beach friends in Stony Point, it's a question some of them face. Because as the golden late-summer sun shines, good-byes are due. But to whom?