The car left the mass of trees and drove over a bridge across an enormous marsh area. Herons and egrets stalked dinner in the tall grass. The tide was coming in, but it would be three hours before it peaked. A golf course was in the distance, behind the marsh.
Mom snapped photos of the wildlife and marshland. She jiggled in her seat. “Oh, these will look great on my blog.”
I shivered, seeing a build-up of clouds on the clear horizon.
A powerful gust of wind hit the side of the car, shaking it ever so slightly.
“Oh-ho! Just feel that wind. Today is a perfect day for sailing,” Dad said.
“That’s as if we don’t flip over,” I yelled. I squeezed the sunscreen bottle a little too hard. A mountain of gooey cream landed on my arm.
“We won’t,” laughed Dad. “I’m an expert when it comes to boats. Remember, I sailed to Oceania.” His overconfidence would cost us our lives. Summer break was already a bust.
The North Beach parking lot was full. Aside from the beach’s boardwalk, it also held the North Beach pool. Many beachcombers liked to rinse off in it after a long day at the end of the Earth.
We pulled in beside a red Jeep parked behind the pool’s gate and berry-filled bushes. Dad was the first one out. Mom was second, and I was third.
I texted my best friend. I wished I was with her instead of my crazy parents. Something about watching the words scroll across the screen was comforting. However, I snapped out of my trance when Dad thrusted his arm around my shoulders.
“Isn’t this exciting? You and your old man are doing something fun again. I remember when you were just a wee tot and danced on my feet at parties.”
I dug my flip-flops into the concrete, too embarrassed to speak. Rays from the sun heated my face, but I secretly hoped I was coming down with something. “Dad, I told you I wanted a relaxing summer vacation.”
“This is relaxing!” Dad flashed me a smile, but I could tell he was a little frustrated. He pulled Oceania’s best sail out of the Suburban. It was tucked away in a silver bag that had Laser on it in big blue letters.
Mom and I gathered the beach bag and chairs. Dad swung the sail bag around, so we ducked under it.
He almost hit a young couple, but they dodged at the last second.
The husband glared and growled, “Watch it with that thing.”
“Sorry.” But Daddy still grinned.
Mom captured a photo of us before we stepped onto the boardwalk. “Say ‘cheese.’” Bushes cushioned the boardwalk in blankets. That was just the beginning section. The center part was only twenty steps away.
Dad led the way.
Mom helped him with the sail. She handed me the chairs and grabbed the back end of the bag.
I wanted to run and hide, but at the same time, I had a weird urge to be on the ocean with my dad. I hated sailing, but it had been a long time since we spent quality bonding time together.
The boardwalk’s center section was just across a small road at the end of the bushes. It cut through a neighborhood. Each house was neatly buried in trees, like hidden treasure nestled in the sands of the Caribbean. Parallel to the boardwalk was a dirt path. Bikers preferred it over the wooden one.
The walk took a long time because the pathway stretched forever. It was hot, and the wood creaked under my shoes.
With each step, my internal thoughts scattered like feathers pierced from the sky by an arrow. Yet, the walk gave me ample time to explore my limited options: find my private little space on the beach or build my confidence and go with Dad. Each one had its pros and cons.
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