Firefly Summer

She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.

—Proverbs 31:25

At the bottom of the steep wooden steps to the beach, they kicked off their sneakers and sandals and threw them in a pile. “Just like home,” Whitney said, shaking his head.

“I’m going to find a heart stone for Mom,” Sailor announced.

“Me too,” Piper added.

“Me, three,” Easton said with a grin. “I need to make up for dropping the pickle jar.”

Whitney listened to their voices calling back and forth over the sound of the thundering surf and looked down the beach. People were still walking along the water, playing Frisbee, and fishing; there was even a small group sitting around a campfire, but it was definitely getting dark.

“Dad, can we build a campfire again sometime?” Easton asked.

“Yeah, that was fun,” Remy added.

“Sometime,” Whitney replied.

“Can we make s’mores, too?” Piper asked.

He nodded and switched on his flashlight. “Okay, so the rule is: Everyone stays away from the water,” he commanded, shining his flashlight onto each child’s face to confirm they understood. They all nodded, but as they walked toward the sound of the crashing waves, Whitney reached for Piper’s hand and felt an odd shadow fall across his heart. “East, I want you to hold Birdie’s hand.”

“Oh, Dad,” he protested. “I don’t need to hold hands.”

“Yes, you do.”

“How’m I going to hold my flashlight and my pail?”

“Birdie will hold your pail.”

Easton groaned. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I know you’re not,” Whitney said.

“Don’t worry,” Birdie consoled her little brother. “We’ll work together and find the best heart stone.”

“Okay,” Easton said, his face brightening. He handed his pail to his sister, switched on his flashlight, and reached for her hand, and as the small group trooped along the water’s edge, their bobbing flashlights looked like fireflies blinking in the darkness.

They walked in silence. The only sounds were the wind and the waves and the faint click of smooth stones and shells dropping into their pails. Twenty minutes later, Whitney looked back. The campfire was just a dancing flicker of gold, and the lighthouse looked as if it was miles away. “Time to head back,” he announced.

“Nooo,” Sailor protested.

“I haven’t found a heart stone yet,” Easton moaned.

“Five more minutes,” implored Remy.

“C’mon, Daddy, just a little farther,” Piper pleaded, pulling him along.

Whitney relented. “Okay. Five more minutes, but then we turn around. We still have to walk all the way back . . . and the tide’s coming in.”

Piper pulled him to a stop and bent down to examine a tiny gray stone that had been worn into the shape of a heart. “Look at this one!” she exclaimed. “It’s perfect!”

“Let me see,” Easton said, shining his flashlight onto her palm. He nodded and then lingered, searching the sand, hoping there might be another.

“C’mon, East,” Birdie said as the rest of the family’s flashlights bobbed away.

“Just a minute,” Easton said, pulling his hand free. He stepped closer to the water, and as he shone his flashlight onto a line of stones that had just washed in, a gentle wave circled his ankles and drifted out, pocketing his feet in cold, wet sand.

“Dad said to stay out of the water,” Birdie scolded.

“I’m fine,” he said, shining his flashlight onto another line of stones.

“C’mon, East. It’s dark and you’re too close to the waves.”

“Hang on,” he said, spying an aqua green stone glistening under the clear water. “I found one!” he shouted, but as he bent to pick it up, it tumbled away.

“Easton, let’s go,” Birdie commanded.

“Just a minute. I have to find it again,” he said, crouching down to search the swirling water.

Birdie started to walk away, but hearing a loud thundering sound, turned back. A huge wave was rumbling out of the darkness. “Easton, look out!” she shouted.

Easton looked up, saw a wall of water churning toward him, and started to stand, but before he reached his full height, the rogue wave crashed over him, pulling him under.

“Easton!” Birdie shouted, rushing into the surf, plunging her arms into the frigid, frothy water, and looking around wildly, frantically searching . . . searching . . . praying for him to reappear. . . but there was no sign of him anywhere. She felt a powerful undertow wrap around her legs and try to pull her out to sea as swirling sand rushed from beneath her feet.

“Easton, where are you?” she screamed again and again, the icy fingers of terror gripping her heart. “Da-ad!” she cried, looking down the dark beach, but her voice was drowned by the wind and the crashing waves.

“Oh, God, help me!” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.