More umbrellas had sprouted like mushrooms, coolers were being dragged into place, and towels were laid out in the last remaining gaps. If she moved now, she’d only trade one crowd for another.
The second incident didn’t give her that luxury anyway. The boy had returned to digging, throwing great arcs of dry sand into the air. It happened so fast that Claire had no time to shield herself; a spray of sharp, sun-baked grains hit her legs, her shirt, and worst of all, the open mouth of her thermos.