The sun was bright. The air smelled like salt and coconut oil. Kids were shrieking happily out in the waves. A teenager nearby tossed a football back and forth with his dad. A little girl in pink floaties marched past me like she personally owned the Atlantic Ocean.
Nobody gasped. Nobody fainted. The world kept right on turning. I laid out my towel, took off the cover-up, folded it, and set it beside my bag.
The Man Who Walked Toward Us
That’s when I noticed a man a few yards down the beach looking my way. He was maybe in his sixties, lean, tan, gray hair, a weathered face that had clearly spent a lot of time outdoors. He said something to the woman sitting beside him, and she turned to look in my direction too. My stomach dropped so fast it nearly made me dizzy. Here it comes, I thought.
Ava noticed too. I heard her whisper to Chloe, “I told you.”
The man stood up. And then, to my complete horror, he started walking straight toward us. I felt heat crawling up the back of my neck. My first thought, ridiculous as it sounds, was that my top had come untied. My second was that he was about to say something well-meaning but humiliating, the way strangers sometimes do when they think they’re being kind.
He stopped in front of me, glanced at my grandchildren, then back at me. For a second I genuinely thought I might cry before he’d even said a word.
Instead, he smiled. “Nora?” he said.
I stared at him. “Yes?”
A Face From Forty Years Ago
His whole face softened, the look of someone who already knew he had the right person. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “I told my wife it was you, but I wasn’t sure. It’s been — Lord, over forty years.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
He laughed. “You probably don’t remember me. Richard. I went to Westview High, three grades behind your brother Paul.”
The name rang a faint bell, but nothing solid. He nodded like he’d expected that. Then he glanced over at my grandchildren.
