She could not understand why—when it was hot and sticky and the weight of even a cotton T-shirt felt like heavy armor—anyone would want to join throngs of other hot, sticky people, bumping against each other, breathing in the scents of sweat and suntan lotion and hot dogs. And even if you carved out your own little space, sat under an umbrella at the edge of the sand, far from the water, you still had to deal with the masses of people walking by in their too-small shorts or swimsuits, rolls of flesh jiggling with each step. Just the thought of it made Alice’s skin crawl. She had said as much to Wren, weeks ago. “I can’t go to Rehoboth,” she had said. “Mom,” Wren had said. “It’s fun. Please. I promised Nicole.” Alice had looked at her daughter, the pale blue eyes, the thick fringe of dark eyelashes that gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. Wren shared Duncan’s Scottish features—high cheekbones, straight nose, those sea-glass-blue eyes.
