I thought bringing Noah back to the beach would help him feel close to his late father again. Then a woman kicked his sandcastle into the waves, and 20 minutes later, a lifeguard handed her a golden box that made everyone on the shore understand what she had really destroyed that day.
Noah carried the tiny American flag in his pocket all morning.
Not in his backpack.
Not in the beach tote.
His pocket.
Every few minutes, his hand would slip down to check that it was still there, the way people touch a house key before locking the door.