Twenty One

She held on tightly as it sank

So far out from the shore,

And lay entangled in the mire

Upon the ocean floor.

Andrea felt the sand between her toes as she walked along the beach with her trousers rolled to the knees. A cool breeze lifted her gaze to the ocean. The morning was clear and the rising sun loomed large and red on the horizon, sending rays of shimmering scarlet across the water. Andrea deliberately strayed into the surf to let the sea wash over her feet. A wave rolled toward the shore and spilled bits of shell and seaweed on the sand. Gulls riding the currents above called out to the ocean while ahead on the beach, a sandpiper picked at a speck of life the tide had brought ashore. The bird scurried aside when she ap­proached.

Before Andrea, half buried in the sand, an object glowed pink in the morning sun. She stooped to extract a channeled whelk, rinsing it in the flow. Andrea ran her fingers over the pearly mouth of the shell; not one chip marred its luster.

"Look," she said, turning to her companion.

"Beautiful," he said, seeing only Andrea's eyes. He folded her fingers over the treasure and drew her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. "I love you, Andrea. I always have."

Andrea looked at the flecks of hazel in his pale blue eyes and, forgetting the shell, surrendered to his embrace. She felt his warm lips on hers and his arms lifting her off the beach.