The beach. There it was. I was the first in my group to reach the end of the boardwalk. The dunes hovered over me like buildings. Wind blasted my cheeks, giving me a slight chill.
I kicked off my flip-flops and pushed them to the side where a group of shoes were. The soft sand tickled my toes. I wanted to bury my feet in it and never come out. I always considered the beach one of the most soothing places in the world.
Children hurried by me, kicking soccer balls. The ocean was getting closer by the second—that beautiful blue painting.
I unfolded our chairs and set them down on the darker sand. It wasn’t as soft, but I still rubbed my heels across it.
Seagulls soared over my head and cawed at one another. A few landed and tried to steal food from beachgoers.
Phone in hand, I approached the foamy water. A warming sensation overtook my bare feet. The waves there were gentle, but they grew in size further out. The water was choppy that day, with whitecaps and waves having too much fun with each other (if you know what I mean). Seriously, Dad? That was not sailing weather!
Feet stopped beside me—Mom. She captured the ocean’s essence with her camera and said, “Now that’s a nice picture. All we’re missing are some dolphins.”
I took a deep breath. “Mom, why can’t you go sailing with Dad? I mean, you like it more than me.”
She laughed. “Oh, honey, I want to.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Mom scrolled through the pictures she had so far. I couldn’t tell if she was paying attention.
A much larger wave crashed into our exposed legs. The water suddenly felt colder.
Mom moved her camera so it wouldn’t get wet. She winked at me. “I think that’s a better question for your dad.”
“What are you talking about?” I was so confused. “This has nothing to do with me. Only you.”
“You’re wrong, sweetie.” Mom bumped me with her shoulder. “There’s a reason why your dad wants to take you out on Oceania.”
Oh great. Now, my own parents were hiding something?
Dad had stored Oceania at the beach overnight. Mom and I saw him carrying it out to the water with the help of a friend I was sure he just met—a friend who loved sailing as much as him. Dad had a weird habit of talking to strangers he knew shared similar interests.
Like any other Laser sailboat, the Oceania was small, flat, and white with black fittings. When ocean waves hit it, it bounced up and down like a rocking chair.
Dad’s new friend was about his age—forty-eight. Both men wore their best swim shirts, shorts, and caps.
Dad worked on setting up the boom and sail.
The man kept him company by chatting up a storm.
Mom left, allowing me to ponder my thoughts. I knew Dad wanted to spend time with me, but there was definitely something else at stake.
There was a pit in my stomach. I distracted myself by collecting seashells. The ocean chucked hordes of them onto the beach. My favorite seashell was the sand dollar, but I could never find a complete one.
I kneeled and clawed through the sand. There were no sand dollars, just a bunch of clams and whelks.
I gulped when I saw the scattered clouds become better organized and draw closer. The wind picked up. Hair blew in my face, but I pulled it out. Why was my dad so crazy?
“Teuila, ready?” he called. Dad tossed a yellow life jacket over his torso.
Well, that was it. It was time for my life to end.
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