The boy’s energy seemed to double after their exchange, as if her attempt at restraint had been some kind of challenge he needed to meet. The first new incident came minutes later. He’d found a stick somewhere along the tide line and was now dragging it through the sand, carving looping patterns that crossed towels and beach bags without discrimination.
Claire didn’t even notice him approaching until the stick scraped over the edge of her own towel, leaving a streak of damp, gritty sand across her ankle. She looked up sharply, but the boy had already bounded away, too busy “drawing a racetrack” to notice.