Chapter Nine
The water lapped along the sand, a dirty froth from the salty brine and the seaweed that lay in brown clusters like something dropped by aliens on a night visit to the shore. Combing the beach for black-shelled muscles and tiny doodads the ocean regularly gives up, the beachcomber walked in from the shore to the old wooden porch, looking up occasionally as though they were waiting for someone in particular. After having found handfuls of little trinkets, all the collected treasure was dumped in a beach chair. Then sitting in the Kennedy rocker, sleep took away the afternoon and dreams replaced the real world . . .
Savannah was on the beach running naked, kicking up sand, falling in the water. The waves splashed over her sandy skin. With her legs spread towards the ocean t
