My daughters run across the hard-packed sand, their blonde hair—Maureen's hair—streaming out behind them. They are three little replicas of my wife. As always, the worry grips my heart with icy ... [+]
He didn't see the woman standing next to him until her face, white and round as the moon, was peering into the car. Her gray hair, long and thin, danced in the wind.Her hand moved in circles, signaling to him to roll down the window."You come here a lot," she said. "I see you when I walk the beach at night.""Where are you walking?" he asked."Oh, it doesn't matter," she said, lifting her long fingers toward the Atlantic. "I don't keep track of my steps, but they still count."He wondered how many calories per step her small frame wore off as she battled the salty wind."What do you do when you co