Not the coast guard’s flashlight cutting across the water.
Just the fries going soft in my hand while I stood at the edge of the sand and felt, for the first time, that something was deeply, horribly wrong.
My whole life split in two.
Claire and I had driven her six kids down to Pelican Cove for one last weekend before school started. We weren’t married yet, but that didn’t matter much to me. I already loved those kids like they’d come from my own bones.
The youngest still called me « Mr. Ryan » in that cautious way kids do when they’re not sure you’ll stick around. The oldest, Noah, was nine, and he had a habit of watching me from across the room with his arms crossed, like he was conducting some silent interview I didn’t know I was failing.
Around noon, the line at the drinks stand near the pier had gotten long, so Claire said she’d stay with the kids while I went. She kissed me on the cheek and said, « Go before it gets worse. »
