I thought bringing Noah back to the beach would help him feel close to his late father again. Then a woman kicked his sandcastle into the waves, and 20 minutes later, a lifeguard handed her a golden box that made everyone on the shore understand what she had really destroyed that day.
Noah carried the tiny American flag in his pocket all morning.
Not in his backpack.
Not in the beach tote.
His pocket.
Every few minutes, his hand would slip down to check that it was still there, the way people touch a house key before locking the door.
Noah carried the tiny American flag in his pocket all morning.
“You okay, Bug?” I asked.
He nodded without looking at me.
***
The beach spread ahead of us, bright and loud under the Fourth of July sun.
Children ran toward the water.
Umbrellas snapped open.
Someone’s portable speaker played a song Simon used to hate and secretly hum while pretending not to.
The beach spread ahead of us, bright and loud.
Noah stopped at the edge of the sand.
For a moment, he looked nine and ninety at the same time.
“This is where Dad built the dragon wall,” he said.
I followed his gaze to the wet sand near the tide line.
Last summer, that stretch of beach had belonged to Noah and Simon.
“This is where Dad built the dragon wall.”
Other fathers tossed footballs or slept under umbrellas. Simon built sand kingdoms.
He packed wet sand into buckets, carved windows with popsicle sticks, and let Noah decide whether each castle needed a moat, a jail, or a bakery.
“Every kingdom needs bread,” Noah had told him once.
Simon had nodded seriously. “Then we build the bakery first.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
For full cooking steps, turn to the next page or click the Open button (>) and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
