So I had the cooler in one hand, the tote in the other, and a blanket jammed under my left armpit. The cooler knocked against my knee with every single step.
And up ahead of us, my husband was moving at remarkable speed.
“Come on, Claire!” He turned around and walked backward for a few steps. “Everybody’s already here!”
I Stared at Him
The previous summer, on that exact same beach, he had stopped twice between the parking lot and the water to complain that walking on sand requires “twice the energy for half the distance.”
Now he was crossing it like a man who’d spotted an oasis.
Mason noticed me struggling.
He tucked the soccer ball under his chin, reached over, and pulled the blanket out from under my arm.
“I’ve got the blanket, Mom.”
He draped it over his shoulder like a cape. It dragged in the sand behind him, collecting approximately a pound of beach.
