A couple of weeks later I was in a large house on the outskirts of Los Angeles, lounging by the pool. My grandmother lounged next to me, in a one-piece suit with a large straw hat over her face.

“It’s important to stay out of the sun, honey. It’s a killer,” she said as she sipped at a rum and Coke.

“I know, Grams.” I smiled at her, my own straw hat hiding my face entirely. “I don’t want freckles, and I get them if I’m out in it too much.”

“It’s that ginger gene from your grandfather’s side. Your poor dad had it bad. I used to slather him...