Sometimes it was on the sand just for the splash. Sometimes it was into a shallow pit he’d dug, creating a miniature swamp. Once, it was directly onto his own towel, soaking the corner where a paperback lay.
Each time, Claire found herself glancing toward the mother, waiting for even a flicker of concern. It never came. The woman’s eyes stayed locked on her laptop, fingers moving in quick bursts, pausing only to sip from a water bottle.