didn’t take long, although there was a brief interlude when a man walking in front of them was berating his wife. Both parents forgot their crying toddler who had sat down in the sand.
Valerie picked up the girl and waited. The two kept walking. Honestly. “Excuse me! I believe you forgot someone?”
At her shout, they turned.
The woman went white. “My baby!” Tears running down her face, the woman ran back and reclaimed her child.
Valerie turned to the man. “As someone who raised a couple of children, I suggest you postpone fights until your child is safe and out of hearing.”
The man scowled at her, glanced at his crying wife and girl, then scowled again. “Yeah. Right.”
As the two hurried away, Valerie gave way to her feelings in a flurry of Arabic.
“Uh, Mom? Translation, please?”
Ouch. What she’d said hadn’t been nice. But Luca was occupied with watching a beachcomber with a metal detector. “Roughly, I called him a ringworm-ridden, dickless, son of a donkey then compared him to a filthy, turd-soiled shoe.”
“Spot on, Mom, spot on.” Hailey’s laughter could lighten any irritation.
Valerie smiled. The gods had blessed her with two magnificent children…and a grandson, as well.
At the car, she gave Luca a big hug before fastening him in his car seat. “After all the bird chasing and fresh air, he’ll be asleep before you reach the highway.”
“Maybe before we even get out of the parking lot.” Hailey hugged Valerie.
When Valerie didn’t get in her own car, Hailey gave her a confused look. “Aren’t you leaving now?”
Valerie motioned toward the stores on the boardwalk. “I’m going to visit a friend who owns one of the stores.”
“Ah-hah, and there’s the reason you wanted Foggy Shores.”
“Exactly. It’s also quieter than the big beaches.”
“It was great. Good choice.” Hailey grabbed a last hug. “Love you, Mom.” She popped in her car, and then they were gone.
Valerie felt the ache as the distance increased. “Nope, don’t even start with whining.” The goal of a parent was to raise his or her offspring to be happy, productive adults, which meant the children eventually left the nest.
There were times she wanted a culture where three generations lived under one roof. Then again, she’d fled her parents as soon as she possibly could.
Life was full of odd balances, wasn’t it?
Boxing up mugs behind the counter of Linda’s small beach store, Natalia breathed in the spicy scent of potpourri, the lighter fragrance of sand candles, and, best of all, the wonderful briny air off the beach.
I love this place. The store carried handcrafted items made by Floridian artisans and was always full of sunburned, cheerful tourists. The only dark spot in all the brightness was knowing she owed her job to Mistress Olivia.
Back in January, after Uncle Bartolo had shouted at Natalia for what seemed like hours because she was slow at doing the accounting books, Olivia had found her in tears. After the Mistress made a phone call, Linda had offered Natalia a job.
“There you go. They should be safe for your trip home.” Natalia handed the Canadian shopper a well-padded box containing two etched coffee mugs.
“Thank you so much.” The woman joined her friend.
Natalia glanced at the few people scattered through the store. Two were considering the beach tote bags. Near the right wall, a blonde woman and a couple were checking out paintings of Florida beaches.
A Tampa woman made the next purchase—a beautiful sea grass basket Linda had woven. “It’ll hold my yarns and be lovely in my living room.”
When she left, the man and woman took her place. The man held…one of Natalia’s paintings from the wall.
She barely contained a squeak. “Um, you chose a pretty one.”
“Isn’t it though?” The woman’s smile was so happy. “We’re from North Dakota, and when we’re snowed in next winter, I’ll enjoy this and remember there really are warm places on this earth.”
The man tucked his arm around his wife and kissed the top of her head so lovingly a pang of longing ran through Natalia. “We’ll make it back here someday. Maybe not next year, but someday.”
“And, in the meantime,” Natalia cleared the hoarseness from her throat, “you’ll have a lovely memory of the beach to look at.”
“Exactly.”
As they wandered out, holding hands, Natalia stared after them, heart full. They’d bought her painting.
She’d sold other paintings—and every single time, she experienced the heart-stopping surprise that someone valued what she’d painted.
Her family never had.
She shoved the dismal thought away. Wasn’t it wonderful her painting of a pelican resting on a