The last time I walked on Rockaway Beach was thirty-something years ago, the sand warm between my toes on a warm Memorial Day night and my fiancée's hand in my own. Her sister was with us, and we all watched the night sky for meteors and comets.
What we saw was moonlight on the water, shining on the sand sculpture my friend Lily was making on the dunes. She and I knew what it meant, but that was our secret.
Jill looked at us and we made some hot air excuse, I think we fooled her. But not us. "As her face at once just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale."
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