Each time, the load was too much for him. He’d stagger halfway back before the bucket tilted and dumped its contents into the sand long before reaching his mother. Claire couldn’t help but watch the effort, half amused, half dreading the mess, while the boy’s mother continued typing away, utterly oblivious.
On one of his pauses, the boy stopped near Claire’s towel. He glanced down at the larger bucket she was using to keep a few things inside, her sunscreen, an extra bottle of water, and a rolled-up towel, and his eyes lit up. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice unexpectedly polite, “could I borrow your bucket? I want to make a bigger sand castle.”