I think it was Mom’s idea. I think she’s trying to cheer us up because we’re still so sad about the baby bunny.
Mom was going to come too but then she decided not to. Probably Mom and Dad got in a fight. Probably they did it when we were outside so Polly wouldn’t worry about them getting a divorce. I worry too but nobody knows it because I keep it in my stomach with everything else.
I like Mom and Dad best when they’re at the beach because Dad’s happy and Mom’s pretty as a piece of driftwood. Dad doesn’t say it and Mom doesn’t tell the story, she never tells the story in front of Dad, but I know we’re all thinking about it. When we were little, Polly and Tana and I used to say to each other, You’re pretty as a piece of driftwood and Why thank you! and Oh marry me! and we’d pretend kiss and roll all over the sand laughing until we couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I still whisper it to Polly, You’re pretty as a piece of driftwood, and she falls down laughing, even though it isn’t that funny, not like it used to be.
When Dad’s gone on his long walks looking for driftwood, we play the dot game. We lie down on our stomachs and watch him get smaller and smaller, then we try to guess which dot is Dad. We say, That dot’s too tall! That dot’s too fat! That dot has a dog! Mom tells us to go play but we can’t, we have to keep watching so we can say we were right, we knew that dot was Dad. When Dad’s gone too long I’m sure he’s drowned in the ocean and I have to say the words that will undrown him. Please don’t let Dad drown, please don’t let Dad drown.
Sometimes Dad walks us around the tide pools—Not tide poles, Tana says because Polly’s always saying it wrong. Dad holds Polly’s hand so she won’t slip on the slimy rocks and I pretend slip so he’ll hold my hand too. The game is to find something in the water and say Look, Dad! Look what I found! so Dad will come over and say Hey, a starfish! Hey, a sea anemone! Sometimes when he’s being funny he makes up the names. Hey, a wallahooza! Or, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a fine specimen of blechy. Things like that.
Dad just came in to kiss us good night. “Other cheek,” I say because he never remembers to kiss both.
“I’m waking you girls up early so get some sleep.”
There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep. I’m too excited about the beach and too worried about Gordy and the bunnies. And now I’m worried that I won’t fall asleep until late and then I’ll oversleep and Dad will leave without me! Please don’t let Dad leave without me, please don’t let Dad leave without me. Please don’t let Gordy or the murderer kill us, please don’t let Gordy or the murderer kill us. Or anyone. Or anyone. Please don’t let the moms throw their babies out of the nest, please don’t let the moms throw their babies out of the nest. Please don’t let the dads eat them, please don’t let the dads eat them.