In Dreams 13
The afternoon sun is warm on his face and the wet sand under his bare feet yields in a way that is very satisfying. She’s ahead of him, maybe by twenty feet, palming the top of a floppy straw hat so the ocean breeze doesn’t carry it away. He feels like he probably already chased it down once or twice. She’s got a thin piece of blue fabric tied around her waist in a makeshift skirt and a white bathing suit on. Her pale Irish skin has turned warm and new freckles dapple her shoulders and back.
A little warm hand squeezes his and jerks his arm. He looks down to find a little girl, no more than four-years-old, with shoulder length strawberry blonde locks, wispy and curly at the ends, like baby hair. She is hopping on one foot, and with great determination, her mouth set in a concentrated line. He loves her so much it makes his chest hurt.