Sally dug her heels into the sand. Warm, gritty. The ocean was steel blue—not the green, foamy water of the southern states. Waves broke far off; only small ones reached shore.
Footprints stretched along the waterline. The tide took them as it came in. Some filled with water before they were gone.
There were no people.
A nudge at her right hip. A turtle was pushing past. She lifted it, set it on her other side.
“Sorry, little guy. I was here first.”
It turned back toward her. For a moment, it stayed there—then corrected itself and continued down the beach. Determined.
“Good luck,” Sally called after it.
The sun cooked her head. She ran a hand through her hair. Still no hat.
She looked left. Then right. The shoreline curved away in both directions.
No boats. No birds.
“I wonder if they’ll come back.”
