The Virginia Quarterly Review, April 1st, 2002
Neil and Karen rise at seven, before their children and before his parents, and creep through the old beach house as quietly as possible, the sand on the kitchen linoleum sticking to their bare feet. On the porch, where no one will hear them, they put on their shoes and step down onto the sun-bleached shells of the driveway.
In the car, Karen rolls down the window and lets the warm wind blow over her. The beach road is still quiet, though the parking lot of the diner across from the Winn Dixie is full. As they drive past the diner, inside, Karen can see a waitress, her hair pinned into a bun,...
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