It was a perfect day for a walk on the beach. A tropical sun glowed warmly in the center of a radiant blue dome of cloudless sky. The sunlight formed shadows at the base of a line of palm trees that ran parallel to the beach. A steady breeze coming in from the ocean cooled the beach and caused the fronds of the palm trees to sway and bob noisily. The water at the edge of the beach was clear and green and formed tiny waves that steadily lapped the shoreline. Fifty yards out the sandy bottom deepened, darkening the water from light green to blue-green and eventually to black along the edge of the reef. The black of the reef was streaked with white foam from the breakers that crashed against it. The breakers could be heard from the shore and the dark blue ocean beyond them stretched out to meet the radiant blue dome of sky.

      A man and his child were the only ones to be seen along the whole stretch of beach. The man, dressed in shorts and a collared shirt, walked barefoot along the water's edge. The child, a five-year old girl in a pink and yellow short set, ran splashing through the water. The man smiled broadly, and then laughed as he watched her chasing the tiny fish that darted in close to the shore. The girl stopped suddenly and called to him as she pointed at something down in the water. The man strode quickly up to her and saw the starfish that had gotten the girl's attention. He bent down and picked it up. It was red and was larger than his hand. He bid the girl to touch it and she did so quickly before looking up at him and smiling. The way she wrinkled her nose as she smiled and the way her eyebrows knit together under her curly brown bangs caused him to laugh again. He quickly kissed her forehead, and then turned the starfish over. They both intently studied the creature's five rows of tiny leg-like appendages. The legs waved blindly in the air for a moment before folding down to cover the more delicate parts of the starfish's underside. The man ran a finger along one of the rows and watched the legs pull down tightly. Then he gestured with his head toward the sea and spoke to the girl. She nodded and the man straightened and turned to his right to face the ocean. He held the starfish like a Frisbee and tossed it into the water. It skipped once on a tiny swell before settling gently down into the ocean. The man watched it for a moment, dark against the white of the sandy bottom, and then raised his eyes to look out at the breakers on the reef. 

      The man awoke slowly from the dream. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling while he gathered his senses. The stark clarity of the dream made this process longer than usual. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the red numbers 2:19am projected onto the ceiling from the clock on the dresser. His mind focused on the numbers for a few moments before full realization of where he was had formed. He was in his bed, in his room, with his wife sleeping soundly by his side. As the sensations of his immediate surroundings merged with the lingering sensations of the dream, he felt a surge of grief growing in his heart and he knew he was not going to be able to contain it. He held his breath to check the emotion and quickly but gently rolled out of bed. He stepped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him. He grabbed a towel from the back of the door and, sinking to his knees, buried his face in the towel and began crying hard. His body shuddered in the darkness as it disgorged the mass of grief onto the towel.

      He cried like this for several minutes and was unaware that he had awakened his wife until the door opened. Leaving the light off, she knelt down on the floor beside him. She gently stroked his back as she waited patiently for his weeping to subside. After a few more minutes the weeping did subside and the man slowly straightened to a kneeling position. The two sat quietly for a few moments as he caught his breath. His wife spoke first.

      “Did you have another dream?” she asked. The man nodded. “Was it the same one?”

      The man shook his head. “This time we were on a beach.”

      “Was it the beach at Marathon?”

      “I don't know where it was. I didn't recognize it.” He paused for a moment. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I thought I was doing fine. I really did.” He looked as though he would cry again, but held it back. Then he took a deep breath and continued. “I wasn't this bad at the funeral. Now these dreams…” He let his words trail off.

      “I'm sorry, Rick.” She thought for a moment. “Can you think of anything that might've triggered them?”

      “No,” he said. “Well, not at first. I was doing a good job of keeping my mind on other things, but now I think about her a lot, even at work.” He looked up at her. By now his eyes had adjusted the dark so that he could just see the outline of her face and hair. “I find myself thinking about all of the things that we'll never get to see with her.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like learning to ride a bike, learning to drive, the senior prom, her wedding day…”

      “Honey, you can't let yourself dwell on those things.”

      “I know, Cathy,” he said. “But it's like I'm being undermined, despite myself.” He thought a moment. “It's like I never realized how badly I was going to miss her.”

      “I miss her, too.”

      He nodded and the two embraced. They held each other tightly as a new round of crying began for both of them. 

      The next day Rick was sitting at his computer terminal at work entering figures onto a spreadsheet. He finished a row and sat back in his chair. Then he minimized his screen and checked his internet connection. By now the website had replied so he scrolled through his options, and then selected a site that contained images of the Bahamas. A page full of thumbnails came up and he began looking at each one. The images were mainly photos of the various tourist sites, but there were few photos of beaches so he backed out of the site and selected another. He saw that it was going to take a few minutes to load so he brought the spreadsheet back on the screen and reached for his coffee cup. It was sitting next to his keyboard and beyond it stood a picture of his wife Cathy and another picture of his daughter Chelsea. He studied the picture of Chelsea for a moment. Then, after taking another quick look at the spreadsheet, he stood up and walked out of the cubicle.

      He carried his cup past the maze of cubicles to the far end of the room and stopped at a small break room. He saw that no one was in the room so he went in and stepped over to the coffee pot. He had poured the coffee and had just finished stirring in the sugar and creamer when his boss stepped into the room.

      “Oh, good morning, Rick”

      “Good morning, Mr. Wentworth.”

      Mr. Wentworth stepped over to the coffee pot and Rick stepped back to give him room. “How are you doing today?”

      “Fine, sir, and yourself?”

      “Good, thanks.” He poured the coffee and mixed in the ingredients as he spoke. “I'm glad to be out from under all that rain.”

      “Me, too.”

      “How is your wife doing? Cathy, isn't it?”

      “Yes, Cathy. She is getting along fine.”

      Mr. Wentworth finished stirring his coffee and turned to face Rick. “I'm glad to hear that. That is a terrible ordeal for someone to have to deal with, especially for a mother.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Mr. Wentworth looked down and shook his head thoughtfully. “No parent should ever have to bury their child.”