Beachcombers

Mom said when she brought us beachcombing? She told us to always believe in something more. She told us to look at what was right in front of us, and we’d see that even a grain of sand was a miracle. That even a bit of glass was a message, that the universe was full of tricks and clues and signs.

She was aware of the two men in the room, both of them carrying their burden of history, their charms and flaws, their heaviness and guilt, for no adult was ever really without guilt of some sort.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea —e. e. cummings, “maggie and milly and molly and may

what was her life about? Did she mean nothing?

Perhaps every family is odd.” “You can’t build a straight house out of crooked wood, but you can build a very cozy crooked house,

Being a nanny is nothing like being a mother!” Sydney exploded. “You worry all the fucking time! Vigilance, intelligence, all your best intentions, none of that matters! It doesn’t stop when you go to sleep, it never stops! You are going to be so swamped if you take on Harry. You won’t sleep at night, you won’t know what to do when he gets sick, hell, you can’t even take him on a fucking carousel! It’s hard work, sometimes it’s hopeless and heartbreaking! You feel like you never get anything right! But look at you, you think you know how to be a mother!

This sister thing, Marina thought, is as complicated and incomprehensible as particle physics.

The waves had already washed away her footprints. But the tide had left something: a small creamy rock shaped like a heart, polished into a dull gleam by sand and water. Emma picked it up and held it in her hand. Her mother would say: The sea has given you a sign.

I officially declare the opening of the First Danielle Fox Memorial,” Abbie pronounced solemnly.