The Beach (takes place during and after What Dreams May Come)

"She's awake. And very lucid. We just had a long conversation. She'd asking for you now, though," Ada explained, and Sheldon noticed the uncharacteristic way Ada rubbed her fingernail down the side of her thumb. He tilted his head in confusion.

"Oh." Amy scrambled up, and he watched her rush toward the bedroom. He stood himself and picked up their dirty mugs to take to the dishwasher.

"Dad," Ada reached out and put her hands on the mugs, "I think you should go with her."

That night, the evening they told her, the evening they'd come home to find Mom frozen at the dining table, Ada was awoken by a particularly horrid dream, already sobbing. Then there was light knock on the door and a hand starting brushing her hair. But when she looked up, it was Dad.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she sniffled.

"Vulcan hearing," he said. "And I've been listening for your cries in the middle of the night for fifteen and half years now." He licked his lips in the dark. "Would you rather have your mother? I could wake her."

Yes. She wanted her mother very much at that moment. But she could not ask for that, could not ask for her mother now, her mother who was more affected than she was, her mother than she knew without asking was only just asleep after many restless hours. In that insistent, Ada decided she would not complain or mop about; Mom didn't need that worry, too, and Grandmother wouldn't approve of such behavior. She would square her shoulders and she would accept this burden not just because she's didn't have the choice, but because maybe her strength would give her mother strength, too.

Lying in action, Ada shook her head at her father and sat up to curl closer to him, and she let him hold just as he had when she was a small child, his arms wrapped around her, her head tucked under his chin. Once she was there, though, Dad was enough, and Ada cried in silence with him rubbing her back.

She knew they were jealous, they had told her so with wide eyes and whispered voices. "You mean you'll have a key to both apartments? And you can come and go between them whenever you want? Think how easy it would be sneak out!"

Ada just shook her head at Sophie and Harper over lunch in the cafeteria. It wasn't like that. And not just because Grandmother was dying and she was going to give up her bedroom to hospice care and spend the nights sleeping in Uncle Raj and Stuart's guest room until . . . until the inevitable. It felt selfish to talk too much about her grandmother's cancer. Almost every one had experienced cancer or death or some other tragedy in their families; she was not alone in her class. Plus, she knew that Grandmother would not want to be the stuff of gossip and drama.

Only Jacob had understood, how packing a bag of clothes and sleeping in a bed and room that weren't really yours was not something to enjoy. Even if you loved the persons whose house you were going to, even if you had slept in that bed dozens of times before . . . it was the feeling of being uprooted. Plus, she could not share the couple of times her father had come in at midnight, after some particularly bad turn of Grandmother's illness, leaving one crying woman to hold another. As much as she adored her uncles, as warm as their hugs were, they wouldn't do. They weren't her father.

"I hated spending the night at Mom's," he'd said, as they sat together on Leonard and Penny's back porch on Friday night. "And it wasn't even about my mom, you know? It was about being forced into this other bed, without a choice." Nodding, Ada let him continue. Somehow, years ago, he'd found peace with his parents. "It's a lot better now, I don't have to spend the night. We can just go to lunch and a movie or something."

She wondered if he'd add the obvious, the open secret that Bernadette periodically came to spend the night at his house. But he didn't. Younger Jacob had loved to tease her about her lack of knowledge when it came to sex and relationships, older Jacob just assumed she knew everything he did. Because she did. Then he said, softly, "I'm really sorry about your grandmother, Ada."

"Thank you," Ada replied.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No." Come over at night and keep me company.

He wouldn't even have to speak, just as they weren't now, sitting in silence after such a deep conversation. It was strange, this silence with Jacob. She didn't really understand it, but she always appreciated it later. She supposed it was the mark of true friendship.

Now, four weeks into the half-existence, Ada found herself at home, reading on the sofa with Belle, wishing this was not her new normal. She still came home first and did her homework as before, but Mom usually left after a few words to spend the evening with Grandmother. Ada would help Dad make dinner, and they'd try to keep conversation going while Mom sat at the table and picked at her plate. Even things had changed with Belle. Now that And was sleeping downstairs at Raj and Stuart's, this was only time for cuddles on the couch with her cat before she left again. Her feline friend was forced out of her old bedroom and had taken up in her parents' bed. Ada wondered if she'd ever get her back.

"Ada?"

"Hmmm?" She looked up, startled, at Dad's approach.

"May I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure."

"Would you mind sitting awhile with your grandmother? I want to get your mother out of that room. I'm - I'm worried about her." He looked away at the end, which Ada knew belied both his embarrassment at sharing his emotions with her and how very worried about Mom he was.

"Of course." Ada nodded and closed the cover of her iKindle. "Now or later when the night shift nurse comes?"

"Now. I don't want to wait for the nurse. I'm hoping I can get her to enjoy the sunset. Plus you know she never relaxes when they're here, either. Do you think I should reheat some dinner for her?"

Lifting Belle off her lap and standing, Ada asked, "Do you think she'd eat it this time?"

Dad sighed, and Ada heard the weight of the world in it. She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, and she saw his eyebrows go up in surprise. It was true that Mom looked awful lately, but Dad wasn't looking that great either. It felt like an endless chain of worry in this place now: Mom worried about Grandmother, Dad worried about Mom, Ada worried about all of them, and - based on the sheer quantity of baked goods presented to her every morning for breakfast - Raj and Stuart worried about her. She said softly, "What are you going to lure her out with?"

Dad looked at her for a moment and then answered, "Book Club."

Ada smiled. God, her parents. Such nerds. "That should do it."

After her parents left, her father's plan having worked just as he hoped, Ada settled into the old rocking chair with her book. She thought about reading aloud to Grandmother as she had early in her illness, when Grandmother would listen thoughtfully and occasionally interrupt to ask Ada her thoughts on a particular passage. But now she seemed to be either asleep or not quite aware. The moments of lucidity were becoming less frequent and shorter in duration.

Losing track of time between the pages, Ada read silently, the words forming pictures in her brain, just like she was rapidly scanning the frames of a comic book. Just as she's always seen her books. Until she heard a noise from the bed and looked up.

"Grandmother?" she asked, quickly getting out of the chair to lean over the hospital bed.

"Amy?" Grandmother struggled to say.

"No, it's me. Ada," she said, taking the boney hand.

"Ada."

"Yes. Would you like some water? Or some Ensure? Are you in pain?"

"You sound just like your mother."

Biting off the instinct to frown, because she was always being told she sounded like Mom or looked like Dad, Ada said, "I know. People tell me that all the time."

The frail woman turned her head slightly and Ada smiled down at her. Should she ask again about the water? Had she not heard or had she already forgotten it had been asked?

"Your hair." In reflex, Ada's free hand went up to touch the locks that had fallen forward over her shoulder. "I had hair like that once."

Smiling, Ada said, "I know. Remember when I used to come to your house and you'd show me all those old pictures?"

"Don't ever cut it."

"But I already did. Remember, the summer I was thirteen? I cut it all off because I wanted to look like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday and Sabrina. Mom begged me not to and we fought about it, and then I hated it right away. It only made me look like a boy, even more like Dad."

Grandmother managed a small smile. "You drove home in stormy silence because neither of you wanted to give the other the safistrction of seeing you cry, and then you both slammed your bedroom doors and sobbed about your lost hair."

Ada's eyebrows went up. "We did?"

A minuscule nod. "Yes. Maybe that was a secret. I can't remember now. Anyway, you both told me the same story." Something that almost sounded like a chuckle. "I imagine your poor father standing in the hallway, looking confused."

Ada nodded. "Dad's always lost when Mom and I act emotional."

Although weak, there was squeeze of Ada's hand. "You're very fortunate to have him. He is a wonderful father. Never forget that." Her voice was sounding very strong tonight, that statement almost came out sternly.

Chastised, Ada looked down. "I know." She looked up. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson about my hair. I'll never get it cut again. It's a good thing it grows so fast."

"And your mother," Grandmother went on, "you're very lucky to have her, too. She's a far better mother than I ever was."

"I'm sure that's not true," Ada protested. How could that be? Grandmother was one of her absolute favorite people, and there were still the rare instances she dreamed about having been raised in her house.

Grandmother blinked a couple of times. "Someday, I'll sure you'll understand more than you do now." She took a deep, rattling breath. "Tell me about college next year. I don't think you have."

That wasn't true. Ada had rushed to tell her that she's received early acceptance to Harvard. And Yale. And Stanford. And at least a dozen other places. But apparently those were conversations lost in the fog of illness. "I want to go to Harvard, but Mom and Dad aren't too keen on the idea. They want me to go to Stanford."

"What's at Harvard, other than the ocean on the other side of the country?"

Ada swallowed. "That's not the only reason. My friends Sophie and Harper both applied."

Another chuckle. "You forgot your mother went to Harvard, too. I have been through this before."

"You would think she would remember that," Ada pouted.

"I think her memory is your obstacle, dear." There was a pause, Ada uncertain how to respond to that, completely unaware until that moment that maybe her Mom had been trying to escape something, too. Not that Ada could explain why she wanted to be so far away. "I don't know why I fought it," Grandmother said suddenly, and Ada glanced back at her. "It's important, I think, for a young woman to find her own path in the world."

"Exactly!"

"Ada dear, I know your path is destined for greatness. I can see it, very clearly."

Sucking in her breath, Ada leaned closer to her grandmother. "What? How?"

"I don't know." A little shake of the head. "But I see it the same way I know your father was not just a once a year obligation your mother made to me. I heard it in her voice from the very beginning."

Before Ada could ask what that meant, before Ada could determine if her grandmother's lucidity was slipping away again, she said, firmer, "Please go get your mother, dear. I feel I need to speak to her."

"Right now? It's just that she and Dad -"

"Yes, right now. Before it's too late." Grandmother shut her eyes, but Ada snapped upright at what she had seen just before they closed. It was such an odd look.

"Okay." She let go of her hand and turned to go.

"Ada, dear?" She stopped and turned, her hand on the doorknob. "I love you. You have been one of the greatest joys of my life."

"Me, too," Ada whispered and then ran back to the bed to kiss her grandmother on her forehead.

"Mother? Are you hungry? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?" Amy asked, entering the bedroom. She hated this, the hospital bed and the sick room smell in her daughter's bedroom. Ada, though, had not seem bothered. Not that Ada wasn't stressed by these changes; Amy could see that she was, but she'd never once complained in her presence. Sometimes, when Amy was home with the hospice nurses and her dying mother while Sheldon was at work and Ada was school, Amy thought she just might dissolve right there on the floor from the pain and the stress and the wait. But then she remembered how strong Ada was being, and she stood up a little straighter and fought off the blackness of absolute grief for another day.

"No, dear." Cynthia lifted her hand slightly and Amy came close, taking it. "I just had a nice conversation with Ada."

"She said you did," Amy said.

"You've done a beautiful job with her, you know," Cynthia said. "I think she's going to be something important."

"Have you been talking to Sheldon?" Amy asked.

"You've done a beautiful job with him, too," Cynthia said.

Amy shook her head. "I can't take credit for that. If Sheldon has changed, it's only because he wanted to change. That's human nature. You can't change someone else."

Cynthia managed a small nod. "Amy, dear, I am not given to sentimentality. And I do not intend to start now. I've written too many obituaries in my time to believe in the healing power of death. Death comes us all, and it's never dignified. But I want to thank you."

"Thank me?" Amy asked, surprised and concerned at this conversation.

"Thank you for taking care of me here, like this. For Ada, for all the days I got to spend with her. For including me in your family celebrations, even though I know I was not always the most welcome -"

"Mother, don't -"

"Shh, let me finish. Thank you for giving me a family after all. Thank you for allowing me to find peace. Thank you for forgiving me. But, most of all, thank you for teaching me there is no room for regrets." Cynthia sank back into the pillows, as much as her emanated form could sink, her breath coming shallow from the effort of her little speech.

"You shouldn't talk so much, Mother. You're out of practice. And you're ill and tired. But," Amy squeezed her boney hand softly, "you have nothing to thank me for. It was always the right thing to do. And for your regrets . . . I don't know what to say."

"Come closer." Amy leaned over closer to her mothers face, her voice losing its strength. "For too long, I regretted my actions. I regretted . . . your father. My own stupidity. I regretted that I had to write for a newspaper, not the next great American novel. I regretted you." Amy sucked in her breath. "I am not saying this to hurt you, I am just telling you the truth. The truth you already know." Amy nodded. "But I realized several years ago that without those actions I wouldn't have Ada. Or you. I sent all my bitterness away, and I hope you were able to see that. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. So, no, I don't regret a single thing."

"Oh, Mother, please don't talk this way." Amy felt tears pooling in her eyes and she knew they would fall. She did not want her Mother to see her cry. Not because she was too proud or too embarrassed, but because this conversation felt very final and she did not want to upset her mother into thinking it was the end.

"Sheldon . . ." Cynthia said, but she had become so weak it can out more as a breath.

"What about him?" Amy asked, but then she felt hands on her shoulders, and she stood up slightly to be closer to him, a reflex she didn't even realize she had. It wasn't about him, it was a greeting, he had come to join to her.

"Hello, Cynthia," Sheldon said softly.

"Thank you for my daughter," Cynthia said.

"I don't understand. As I am not responsible for the procreation of Amy nor has she ever been kidnapped, I cannot claim to -"

"You make her happy."

"Oh."

"Amy, dear."

Except Amy saw it more than heard it. Pulling away from Sheldon, Amy leaned far over her mother again. "Yes, Mother? I can barely hear you."

"You have made me so happy. I love you."

One more exhale and the nothing.

"Mother? Mother!" Amy called.

"Shhh," Sheldon pulled her upright and into a hug, tucking her face into his chest, squeezing her tight. "She's gone."

Then Ada was behind her and Sheldon widened his embrace to include her, and he was the pillar that held them upright.

Pulling his jacket even tighter around him, shivering in the wind, Sheldon turned to look at his wife. "Are you sure we need to do this today, Amy?"

She turned sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. "Please. We've discussed this. It's what she wanted."

Something in her tone made Sheldon lick his lips and look away. Although he had hated every second of his own mother's religious funeral and burial, standing morbidly there next her dead body in that open casket, dreading that each person he didn't know or only remembered from his childhood would reach out and want to hug him, he felt just as uncomfortable at this bizarre ceremony of sorts.

It had never crossed his mind what kind of memorial Cynthia might want, and he had exhaled with relief when Amy informed she had not requested any sort of traditional funeral or burial. She elected to be cremated. Although they had not always seen eye to eye, Sheldon had always admired his mother-in-law's practically.

". . . and then we're to wade out into the ocean and release her ashes."

"Excuse me?" Sheldon said, physically pulling his head back.

"She would like it at the beach where we used to go swimming, if possible. I think we should do it on a Sunday. She didn't say that, but that is when we used to always go," Amy finished.

"But it's December! And it's - it's, well, it's the ocean!"

A single, firm nod. "I know. I have already contemplated this and I do not think you need to go out into the ocean with Ada and me. Don't worry, I don't think that's violating her wishes. Her wish was primarily for us, I think."

"Is it even legal?" he sputtered. Surely the bureaucracy of the great state of California would come through for him.

"Oh, yes, you just have to get a VS-8 Burial Permit. I already downloaded the PDF application. I'm taking Monday morning off and going to the County Recorders office to get one," Amy said breezily as though she filled out forms for burial permits every day. "Apparently it's very simple."

For once, Amy's preparedness was the problem, not the solution. Sheldon had turned his daughter, across the dining table, a silent pleading in his eyes. Surely Ada would see the ridiculousness of this plan. And not just the cold and the germs; the whole idea was bordering perilously close to philosophical poppycock. The only reason Amy couldn't see it, he was certain, was because she was still in deep mourning, everything so fresh and painful in her mind and heart, still finding her footing and regaining her strength after her mother's long illness.

"Dad, it was her final request. We have to honor it," Ada said with finality.

Biting off another grumble, the need to point out that in fact her final request was for Amy to come closer to the bed, Sheldon looked down at his plate. It was just like Cynthia, wasn't it, to make him uncomfortable even now?

That's how he came to find himself that Sunday morning driving out to the beach with a biodegradable box of ashes setting in the backseat next to his daughter. He had done hundreds of things in his life he never imagined doing, especially once Ada came along, but this almost felt surreal.

He helped his wife and his daughter spread out the blanket and unpack the bag. The wind was biting in the winter chill and the beach was deserted this morning. Perhaps that, at least, was a good thing. No one else was around to witness this bizarre, and no doubt sappy, ceremony that his normally rational ladies were engaging in.

"But it's so cold today. We should do this in the afternoon, a warmer afternoon," he tried one last time, turning to Ada this time. Surely he could convince her. She loved to swim just as much as Amy, but the couple of times Amy had taken her to beach she had not enjoyed it as much as Amy had hoped; instead, she preferred the cleaner heated environment of the pool.

"It's fifty-five. Think of all those people who do the polar bear plunge in Canada on New Year's Day. It's nothing compared to that. Besides, we want to be alone," Ada said, crossing her arms and pulling her sweatshirt off. Then she reached forward and put a hand on his forearm. "Dad, please. Don't ruin it."

Sheldon frowned. He wasn't trying to ruin anything. He was trying to talk sense into his family. But if Ada thought he was ruining it, that most likely meant Amy would before long, too, and the last thing he wanted to do was block their closure. "I'll be here with the towels and blankets. And then you're both going immediately home to take hot showers and I'll make you huge mugs of hot cocoa."

"Okay, here we go," Amy said, now that both she and Ada were stripped down to the swimsuits they wore under their clothes.

"Wait!" Sheldon remembered. "You said wade. You just have to get your feet wet!"

"Thank you for the technicalities, but I want to go out far enough the wind will carry the ashes away from the beach. It's very important to be downwind; it's why I've been studying the weather so closely." Amy shook her head. "We'll be fine, I promise."

Then they were off, Amy gripping the box - how morbid and unseemly, Sheldon thought one more time - holding Ada's hand as they ran together into the surf. He was surprised they were laughing, but their laughter was quickly replaced by shouts of surprise and what he assumed was pain as they plunged in, water splashing around their knees, their waists, their chests.

"It's freezing!" he heard Ada yell. Well, of course it was. He had repeatedly told them that it would be.

They went out further, Ada reaching out to take the box from Amy, her longer legs allowing her to stay upright longer. They stopped and he waited for the release of the ashes on the wind so that the whole business could be completed, but it didn't come. What was taking so long? It seemed that perhaps, they were talking quietly, and then he saw Amy reach up to touch Ada's face, as though she were brushing something away. He sat down on the blanket with a thump, swallowing hard. Suddenly, he felt excluded and not in the same way he had before, not in the sense of being superior and smug in his scientific knowledge. Why did it have to be this way?

The sound of car pulling up surprised him, and Sheldon twisted to see who it was, hoping it wasn't someone with a dog. No, just a man, walking toward him. Should he ask him to leave as Ada said they choose a cool, windy morning to be alone? Sheldon put his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the short stature, the unusual bouncy gait. Jacob.

"Hi, Sheldon," Jacob said as he approached. "Did I miss it?"

"The ill-conceived run into the freezing winter ocean or the release of inert dry calcium phosphates?"

Jacob sat down next to him. "It looks like they're just talking."

Sheldon nodded. "Yes." He glanced over at the young man at his side. He was unable to fully wrap his mind around the idea that one of Ada's friends, a child of friend, was old enough to drive and look like an adult male from across the beach parking lot. "I didn't realize that Ada had invited her friends."

"She didn't. At least, I don't think so." Jacob shrugged. "She just told me about it Friday night, and I thought she might . . ." He swallowed and turned to look sharply at Sheldon. "Is it a private family thing? Should I leave before she sees me?"

Shaking his head, Sheldon said, "No. Stay."

"Why aren't you in the water?"

"Numerous reasons. As the ambient temperature is only fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit today -"

"No, I know, it's cold and germy. But, I mean . . . never mind."

Sheldon frowned again. Why was everybody acting like he was trying to ruin something today? He was being the voice of reason in this whole situation. Even Jacob! Jacob who was normally too nervous and unsure of himself to interject his opinion in any conversation, at least in Sheldon's experience. Sometimes Ada would says something like "Jacob loves that" or "Jacob hates that" and it always surprised Sheldon, that Jacob has forcefully expressed an opinion to her about anything.

"I got a full scholarship to MIT," Jacob said suddenly.

"Congratulations," Sheldon replied. "You know you can get a degree in physics there, too. I'm going there myself in January - you've probably heard, but I came up with a new theory a few months ago and it's even more excellent than my brilliant ideas - and I could put in a good word for you in the physics department, maybe get you direct admission."

Jacob smiled. "Nah. Sorry. Thanks, though. I guess I'll do biological engineering."

"You aren't certain?"

He shook his head. "There isn't really a degree in botanical engineering. And I'm not sure botany is practical. Besides, I didn't get a full scholarship to school that offers a botany degree, anyway. Honestly, I'm not really sure what I want to do."

"I'm sorry, I don't have any insight into that. I was destined to be a physicist. Just as Ada is destined to be a mathematician."

His eyebrows up, Jacob said, "You think?"

"Of course. She selected mathematics as her preliminary major on all her applications." He paused. "She has mentioned double majoring in Japanese, if that's what you mean."

"Uh, yeah, sure . . . Hey, look!" Jacob pointed out and Sheldon followed his extended finger. A cloud of dust swirled and was picked up by the wind, thinning and dissipating away from the two figures in the water, their heads very close as they were obviously holding each other.

"I feel like we should say something," Jacob said softly.

An unexpected knot in his throat, Sheldon just nodded. He watched the cloud until it was completely gone, and then he watched Amy and Ada, not moving, so close, watching it even longer than he had. He only turned at the rustling next to him. "You're removing your shoes?"

Peeling off his socks, Jacob started rolling up his pants. "I'm just going to wade out. Maybe I should take the towels?"

"Why is everyone insistent on getting in that cold water?" Sheldon asked.

"Because it means something to her."

Sheldon watched the wind billow up Jacob's shirt as he approached the water. Her, who, exactly? Cynthia? Surely not, Jacob had only met her a couple of times. Amy? Perhaps, because she was Jacob's honorary aunt and he had spent many hours in their home as a child. Somehow, even that didn't fit.

A decision was made in a flash, and Sheldon rushed to remove his shoes before he had time to talk himself back into reason. Even the rolls on his pants weren't tight enough and it flirted across his mind that they would get wet. Regardless, he grabbed the remaining towel and ran toward the water's edge, plunging in as the cold forced all the air out of his body, ignoring the very soles of his feet crying out as the touched the soft, swishy sand, rejecting this new sensory experience, rejecting thoughts of fish feces.

He arrived just in time to hold the towel out, and Amy's broad smile warmed him to such an extent that he no longer felt the chill in his toes. "You came!" she gushed and she allowed him to wrap her up in the warm towel.

"When did you get here?" Ada asked Jacob, taking the towel from his outstretched arms.

"Just in time to see you release the ashes," he answered.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?" Amy asked, pressing close to Sheldon. He held her close, rubbing his hands along her covered arms to warm her further. For a brief moment, he thought about telling her how the wind currents had picked up each individual particle and how the jet stream would -

"It was. It's exactly what she would have wanted, I think, especially now that we're all out here together," Ada said softly, wrapped in her own towel.

Amy squeezed in tighter, and Sheldon looked down to wipe the tears he was certain would be there away. But they weren't. She was smiling, looking out at the ocean. It might have been the chill in the air, but he thought her skin looked pinker and her eyes seemed brighter. Then she whispered, "Thank you for coming out, Sheldon. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"You're welcome," he said softly, kissing the top of her head, ashamed that it hadn't really been his idea. He glanced over at Jacob, wondering if he'd give him away, but Jacob wasn't looking at him, he was talking to Ada and she smiled at something he said.

As Ada turned her face away from him, she reached out and squeezed Jacob's hand. Sheldon saw his eyebrows go up and he locked eyes with the young man for just a second before Jacob lowered his again, a deep blush spreading across his face. Surprised at his own sudden insight, Sheldon understood exactly what the expression on Jacob's face was. Her. It was her. Instantly so many things were clearer.

The four of them stood in the ocean like that, in the chill and the wind and the sun, talking and even laughing, and it was nothing like the morose and sappy day Sheldon had thought it would be. Later, Jacob would leave and Amy and Ada would huddle with chattering teeth all the way back home. Later, Sheldon would insist on hot baths for them both. Later, for the first time in two months, Amy asked him to join her for a nap and he loved her delicately, nurturing her from the inside out.

But for the time, on a sunny but cool December Sunday morning, Cynthia gave them a happy day at the beach. And it meant something to each of them in a different way.

Thank you in advance for your reviews!