Claire’s gaze flicked back to the mother, expecting some sign of alarm. But the woman simply brushed her sandy palms on her shorts, pulled out a sleek silver laptop from her tote, and began typing without so much as glancing at her son.
Claire found herself wondering; was she truly that unbothered by him sprinting straight for the water? Or was it that she didn’t care? Either way, it was a kind of detached calm Claire couldn’t decide if she envied or resented.