When a string of runners passed her, the birds took flight at once, their laughter carrying over the sound of the waves and the stiff breeze. Violet did a quick count, mentally untangling the wings into individual bodies, and noted their particulars—all juveniles, mostly females.

She continued on her route, making notes and occasionally pausing to dip her toes into the water. The time passed quickly as it always did when she was enjoying herself. When she reached the yellow chair-rental stand that signaled the turnaround point of her route, she adjusted the brim of her visor to block the sun, then headed back the way she came, continuing her observations until she reached her starting point. She made a few last notes on her sheet, including two birds she couldn’t easily identify, which was rare for her, and finally tucked her clipboard into her backpack.

Back at the foot of the walkway where she’d left her shoes, she took the water hose looped over the handrail and rinsed the sand from her feet and legs. As chilly water ran down her calves and cooled the skin of her feet, something rustled behind her.

She turned just in time to see a large brown pelican stretch out its wings and take flight from the back of the bench. The magnificence of seeing the bird’s huge, prehistoric wingspan up close blotted out all else, and she stood still, watching the bird as it soared away from her.

It swooped low over the beach, then glided even lower over the rolling waves, its wings flapping only once or twice as the ground effect kept it aloft. Finally it came to rest on the water, pulling its wings into its sides and bobbing on the surface. Violet’s skin thrummed when the pelican cocked its head and glanced over its shoulder to where she stood, hose dangling in her fingertips and her toes turning cold from the flow of water. She reached behind her and turned off the faucet, keeping her eyes on the pelican.

A burst of conversation came from her right. She dragged her gaze away from the bird and took a step back as a family bustled by juggling four folding chairs, two inflatable rafts, a large cooler, and a string bag holding all manner of sandcastle-building gear. Two children, a boy and a girl, trailed the parents, their faces shiny with sunscreen and glee.

When the boisterous parade finally passed, Violet closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air. It invigorated, energized. It whispered and sang. It’s not just the sand that’s healing, she thought. It’s the air too.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze snagged on something lying on the handrail at the top of the bench, right where the pelican had perched moments before. Fish bones. Though much smaller than those sitting on her top step this morning, the skeleton was unmistakable. Her eyes darted to the water, but the pelican was gone.

* * *

When Violet arrived at Two Sisters a couple hours later, her skin and hair fresh from a shower and dressed in her usual drawstring khaki skirt and cool, loose-fitting linen top, Trudy was already hard at work, bent over the long table in the back, her green banker’s lamp illuminating her work space. Violet recognized some of the items spread out on the table—the long piece of driftwood from a few days ago, clumps of dried seaweed, and the ever-present tangle of fishing line—but there were some new additions Trudy must have found on that morning’s scavenge: a bouquet of sea oat pods, a bundle of reedy grass, and a handful of clam shells.