a/n, this is a tad confusing bec it briefly mentions Alex, R & S son in my friend's stories, but Alex is not part of my story arc. I'll fix it but this is the draft. enjoy.
Zoom, Zoom
Summer afternoon, summer afternoon…aah. I twiddle my toes in the cool sand, loving my French manicure pedicure, but quickly catch myself: Constant vigilance, mom, constant vigilance. I check the kids. Zoe is actually resting after a challenging morning at surf camp. She is lying on her flamingo pink Tommy Bahama Kids lounge chair, engrossed in her iPad. (Yes, the kids are iPad kids, what can ya do…) Her nails are also Barbie pink as is her bikini and hair scrunchie. Yes she is seven going on 16.
And Al is zooming around a few yards away, playing with his beloved helicopter.
‘’Zoom zoom zoom! Thump thumpa thumpa thumpa, zzzzz!’’ he yells.
Ok he’s a smidge noisy but it’s the beach, c’mon. The heli zooms up in the sky and does some circles. I frown a little. Huh.
And I am blindsided by the arrival of a screeching aging banshee, who gets right in my face and keeps right on yelling.
“Lady…wtf?” I mumble, leaning back out of her onslaught and perfume cloud
“You! Hey you! Can’t you read the signs?”
I look back at the boardwalk bridge and its multiple signage. Riptide alert. No Dogs. No surfing. No swimming if Lifeguards are not here…?
“No Drones! See!? It says Protect our Privacy/ Protect our endangered shorebirds—NO Drones allowed”.
“Um, okay?”
“And you—I don’t know you, this is a private beach you know!”
I jiggle my wrist with my locals only pass tag. I don’t point out that she is on Olivia’s private beach.
The woman, maybe 60, all Palm Beach snowbird leathery brown skin, a leopard print bikini over chicken wattled droopy skin, way too much gold jewelry. Giant Chanel sunnies. Martini breath.
She huffs at my silence, yells, ‘’And that child is much too young to have a drone anyway.’’
Do I say it’s not a drone or what. The darn thing whizzes by, silent except for Al’s sound effects.
There’s lots of drones here, mommy. Zoe’s voice in my head For the sharks.
I repeat this cautiously. “There’s lots of drones here, ma’am. Looking for sharks.”
“Sharks!” The glittery granny does a double take at the open water, two middle school guys on boogie boards, enjoying the waves.
‘’Omi-freakin-GAWD! Travis! Courtney!”
‘’Is the there a problem, Ms Plum?” Hal still calls me that, silly boy.
He hulks there on the white sand, all stegosaurus muscles in black board shorts, white RM golf shirt, hip holster with his Glock.
The woman runs away, toothpick arms waving frantically at the kids.
“Not anymore, Hal,” I answer.
He stands hands on hips and frowns. I flutter my fingers. “Really. You can go now.”
Hal says, “Shore break, “ and shakes his head sadly.
Zoe and I sit in silence for a few moments. Then I say, “Sharks?”
“It’s their ocean, mommy.”
Hmmm.
