After she got home from the grocery store, unloaded groceries and fixed herself a pitcher of iced coffee, it was after two. The beach was lined with hundreds of people who’d set up colorful umbrellas and beach chairs. Children splashed in the surf. She heard strains of music, and watched as the bald runner she’d seen over the previous week paused again at the water’s edge to catch his breath and drink from the metal flask he wore at his waist. She wondered idly if he lived nearby.

Papi’s shed had yielded an ancient folding beach lounger, the kind with woven plastic webbing. She went back inside, changed into a bikini, tucked the Jazmin Mayes file in her beach bag and set the chair up in the shadows of the Australian pines.

After a moment’s hesitation, she walked down to the water’s edge, letting her toes sink into the soft sand, feeling the turquoise waves lapping at her ankles.

Drue set off walking to the south, stopping occasionally to tilt her face toward the sun, enjoying the sensation of sweat prickling her neck and shoulders and back.

She still couldn’t get used to the inactivity of her new life, of sitting all day in an overly chilled cubicle, talking on the phone, typing, reading and assessing deadly dull legal documents. Her past life seemed like a dream now. Had she ever really spent her days skimming over the water on her board, living for those brief moments when her kite filled with air, taking her aloft? Even on the worst nights, when she was tending bar and fending off drunken good ol’ boys at Bozo’s, it had been worth it, because she knew that the next morning, weather permitting, she’d wake up and head for the beach.

When she reached the rocky breakwater barely half a mile down the beach she was abruptly reminded of just why her life had taken such a dramatic turn. Her knee ached and she was already out of breath. Two months earlier, she would have happily scrambled over the rocks and kept going. Instead, she turned and started trudging back toward the cottage.

Her thoughts turned again to Jazmin Mayes.

She didn’t look up from her pondering until she was only a few yards from the cottage. Her lounge chair was now nearly obscured by the deepening shadows of the pines. Which was why she was startled to realize that someone was sitting in her chair.

“Oh!” He jumped up as she approached. “Sorry, I, uh, well, sorry.”

It was the shirtless jogger she’d been watching for the past week. He clutched his water bottle in his left hand and a damp shirt in his right.

“That’s okay,” Drue said, laughing. “Don’t look so guilty. You must live around here. I see you running past here almost every day.”