So I agreed.
The first day was difficult.
I refused to go near the water.
We stayed on the boardwalk.
Michael bought coffee.
I pretended not to notice families walking past us carrying towels and beach toys.
Then we passed a café with outdoor seating.
A woman was standing near the railing talking to a server.
She looked around fifty.
Maybe older.
She was wearing a faded turquoise cover-up.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I stopped walking.
There had to be thousands of turquoise beach cover-ups in the world.
I knew that.
Then the wind lifted one corner of the fabric.
And I saw it.
A tiny yellow sun.
Crooked.
Hand-stitched.
Exactly where my mother had sewn it.
I crossed the terrace without realizing I had started moving.
“Excuse me.”
The woman turned.
“Where did you get that?”
She glanced down.
“This?”
“Yes.”
Her expression shifted.
“I’ve had it for years.”
