The beach gradually comes into focus. Terns sprint between
tide pools on comically thin legs, startling small crabs back into their glistening
sandy burrows. The color of the sky and the front of her weathered house are
the first images with which she can associate words. Others follow as her head
clears.
“Low tide,” she whispers.
She sits in knee-deep water that will
be over her head in a few hours. She faces the shore. Summer heat bakes the
sweat and salty air onto her forehead. Water laps gently at her legs. Sand oozes between her
tingling toes, circulation impaired by the ties that bind her to a partially submerged
chair. Minnows dart beneath the water’s surface, alternately visible in cloudy
shadows, hidden by reflected sun.
It is afternoon in the tropics. Lightning flashes in the
distance. Roiling hot and cold rivulets of air slap the surface of the ocean
and disrupt its gentle rhythm. Gulls and wind chimes are the only sounds for
miles. Beach grass sways in the breeze. A crisp envelope on her lap bends beneath her fingers. He
has found her.
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