Snorkeling with the kids and their cousins. Suddenly, across the way, where the scuba divers were setting up, a whistle blew. Shrill. Insistent. A whistle at the beach is never a good thing, I thought. But I am supervising four young children, I cannot investigate. Then the shouts: "Call 911! Call 911!" The response was fast--three minutes at most, before Everyone showed up. Lifeguards, fire, police, ambulance.
I found a pretty striped wana, and showed the kids how if you prod it, it angrily wiggles its spines at you.
The girl found some shells that she wanted to keep, so I put them in my pocket. One of them turned out to have a hermit crab in it, so we let it go.
After half an hour, the ambulance left, with its sirens on. That's a good sign, I thought.
Eventually we went back to the sand. "Why did you have to bring this ugly backpack?!" the wife snapped at me. That's what we'll be fighting about today, I thought. I was not wrong.
We stopped for burgers. They make great burgers on the North Shore.
Later that evening I checked the news on my phone. The diver didn't make it.
"You're wrong!" the wife shouted. "You're inconsiderate, selfish, stubborn, and pigheaded! Do you think I'm stupid?!"
I thought about scuba diving. It's so quiet, forty feet down.