RELEASE DATE: 01 March 2022
Vivid blue skies. White sand. Emerald green water turned dark by sea grass: the perfect family holiday destination.
Except for the two stunningly handsome men drawing curious glances under the bridge, threatening the safety of her family with their presence.
She told them no before; this time, she must make them believe it.
A delightfully twisty story inspired by fractured fairy tales and the need for self-determination.
A Day at the Beach
“Honey.” My husband caught my eye and nodded behind me as the 6-year-old twins we were trying to corral squealed with delight.
I turned, pausing in my duties as Applier Of The Sunscreen to look for what had brought my husband on high alert. It was a beach between the Gulf of Mexico and Choctawhatchee Bay, anchored and shaded by the causeway overhead. The Emerald Coast Parkway ran the length of the Florida panhandle, from Fort Walton Beach to the bend of Apalachee Bay. It was the land of tourists, trinket shops, and our family’s favorite destination for escaping the oppressive summer heat of Lower Alabama.
Vivid blue skies. White sand. Emerald green water turned dark by sea grass and sparkling with tiny silver fish.
The sign said Redneck Beach and I said it was the closest I’d get to saltwater while my children were young.
If anyone asked, I said I was terrified of riptides. But what really scared me was the two stunningly handsome men drawing curious glances under the failing shade of the bridge. It was only nine; in an hour the sun would be too high to give the parking lot on the south of the bridge any shade. I should have checked the time.
The tide must be coming in.
“Just go talk to them,” my husband said. “You know how they are.”
“Why isn’t spear-hunting legal?” I muttered.
“Mom!” The oldest was ten and absolutely horrified. Our family was mostly vegetarian, not exactly a difficult thing to do when we lived in the southern United States with nine months of growing season and lived on a vegetable farm with an orchard. We kept chickens and ate the occasional fish or deer in the winter when neighbors overstocked their freezers, but beyond that our hunting didn’t go much past chasing blackberries in the brambles.
Grumbling under my breath I passed the twin I was pinning down to his big sister. “Finish putting sunscreen on him and don’t forget his ears! Your father’s people burn.”
My husband chuckled. Easily burnt skin was probably his only failing in life.
I kissed his cheek and went to face the music.