I change into my suit, and tuck sunscreen and a towel into a beach bag Trish got for me that says, Rosé All Day! On the way out, I nab a chocolate-chip cookie I made for guests and pour some freshly made lemonade into a to-go cup.

“So strange,” I say to Sonny, “actually grabbing things as if I’m the guest.”

I begin to head out the door but stop, seeing the Cottage Rules sign and thinking again of my parents. As if pulled by a magnet, I rotate toward their bookshelves. I scan the shelves.

Which one? I think.

The names of books and authors my parents loved fill my eyes. I look up and down, left and right, and then I see it: The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher, one of my mother’s favorite books.

I pluck the paperback from the shelf and slip it into the beach bag.

“C’mon, Sonny,” I say, finally heading out the door, calling upstairs, “I’ll be at the beach, Esme!”

“Que tengas una tarde maravillosa!” Esme yells.

I catch my breath as Sonny and I head toward the beach. The weather has finally cleared, and it is a stunning day on the lakeshore. The water is flat, the wind calm, the sky that deep blue that makes your heart ache. I take Sonny off his leash, and he bounds down the stairs, races across the sand and runs into the lake, barking at me to hurry up.

I lay my towel down and nestle my beach chair in the sand near the dune. I head to the lake, take a deep breath and dive in, yelping as I go under. When I come up, Sonny is dog-paddling around me, his smile even bigger.

I jog back to my beach chair, Sonny following, and dry off. As soon as I finish, Sonny shakes, covering me in water and sand.

“You’re a mess,” I say.

I try to dry him off, but he takes off in a happy sprint, running this way and that, in joyous circles, the chilly water having exhilarated his soul. I plop into my beach chair, and Sonny sprints toward me and stops right in front of me. He lowers his head into the sand and begins to dig furiously, tossing sand all over me.

“Sonny!” I yell. “Stop!”

He looks up at me briefly, before continuing. He digs until he finds wet sand, and then he turns and turns before plopping into his hole. Sonny looks at me, his face and fur thick with sand, and yawns. He sighs, lowers his head and falls fast asleep.

I shake my head, stand and brush the sand off my body, and then plop in my chair again. And then, like Sonny, I sigh, too.