We took Ava to the beach in June.
Fire Island, a house we rented with Dana and her husband for a week. Dana was five months pregnant and moved through the world with the particular authority of a woman who has decided to make peace with her own body's demands. She sat in the shade and directed operations while the rest of us carried things from the ferry.
"I'm pregnant," she told anyone who looked at her expectantly. "I'm supervising."
Ava's first experience of the beach was methodical. She stood at the edge of the sand for approximately three minutes, evaluating. Then she sat down, picked up a handful of sand, and let it run through her fingers with an expression of intense scientific interest. Then she stood back up and walked toward the water.
Marcus caught her before she reached it
