What looked like driftwood was a piece of unused dock that had collapsed into the water, tethered by a rusted piece of wire anchored to who the hell knew what.
An all inclusive trip was out of the question, as was one of the resorts with a million activities for kids.
This was it. A chunk of sand next to a dilapidated cottage.
The waves were soothing, if Christine could take her eye off Phillip for long enough to let the mesmerization set in.
Her thoughts-how to give her little boy a better life-were anything but soothing.
There was a pail and shovel and a piece of rope with metal rings, obviously left behind by the previous cottage renters.
Phillip ran and flung sand and giggled.
He didn’t like the water because it was too cold, he said, and Christine was fine with that, as long as he giggled.
She closed her eyes and schemed. She wanted to laugh with Phillip years from now, when they were in an exotic place with warm water, tall roller coasters, and beloved characters in costumes.
She drifted to sleep. It had been a long drive, with a muffler dragging and rush hour in a town she didn’t know had a rush.
She woke, not knowing how long she had slept, or caring, her eyes immediately scanning the beach for her little boy.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.