Yet here she was, sharing it with a child who had no volume control and a mother who seemed to inhabit a different universe entirely. When the boy ran past her again, this time trailing a string of wet seaweed like a streamer, Claire exhaled through her nose and took a long drink from her thermos.
Not yet. She would not let this day turn into another confrontation. But the thin thread of her patience was fraying, one grain of sand at a time. The next pass was the one that did it. The boy tore across the sand again, this time trailing a half-full bucket that left a dotted trail of seawater in his wake.