“Mom I got one!” Caroline produced another sand dollar fragment, this one bigger than her hand but still nothing like a whole item.
“Good job, honey.” A bucket of similar selections sat on shore.
“I’m going to take it back and show Daddy.”
“I’ll come with you this time.” I turned in the water so my body faced in. We swam in to shore, where Scott buried his sunburned feet in the shallows and Sam dug an industrious hole of increasing proportions.
Scott asked, “Did you find the bed?”
“Daddy! You can’t put beds in the water!” Sam’s shovel stopped so he could study Scott. His face asked if he should laugh at this obvious joke.
Caroline said, “He means the sand dollar bed.”
“I gave up. And,” I added, “bed has many meanings, Sam.” Sam screwed up his mouth and flung the shovel at Scott for introducing another conundrum into his life.
“So you spent an hour out there and didn’t even get one?” Scott unburied one foot and tried to rinse it in the surf.
“I was too busy just looking at stuff. Are there any of those yellow tailed fish in by shore?”’
“Then, what was the point?” He looked down at the raw skin that stretched from his toes to his ankles.
“Well, I thought up a good sand dollar story.”
“That’s something. Did you even see the dolphin?” He stared out across the Gulf.
“No! Where was it?”
“Right out there near you guys! It’s still there. I’ve seen its dorsal fin a couple of times.”
“Aren’t you going to look?” Scott crossed his arms.
“No.” I climbed into Sam’s hole. “I think I’ll just write a story.”
My husband made a finger-fist telephone. “Hello, Fancy airport. I’d like to schedule a flight for my wife.”
“Daddy!” Sam went after the shovel. “You can’t have an airplane on the beach!”
Come take an airline flight with Trifecta this week.
Jessie Powell is the Jester Queen. She likes to tell you about her dog, her kids, her fiction, and her blog, but not necessarily in that order.