"Cynthia!"
My head instinctively turns. A woman in a loose fitting shirt and shorts wades laboriously into the water. Her nut brown hair is tied smoothly back but her hand finds the strand that has come loose. She comes a little closer.
"Sophia!"
Ah. It's an honest mistake, I think, and turn back to my lazy contemplation of the waves lapping around my hips.
"Sophia! Soooophiiiiia!"
The lady's voice begins to sound worried. She looks about her and her ponytail whips around her white neck. When no Sophia materializes, she begins to panic.
"Sophia! Oh, God, Sophia! SOPHIA!"
She's splashing water on those neat gray shorts. Her head turns this way and that. I wonder why no one is helping her. Everyone is suddenly extremely absorbed in whatever they were doing. Picking up a seashell. Adjusting their swimsuit. Staring at the sky.
Her terror is contagious. What if Sophia has wandered off and gotten lost? Or kidnapped? Hit her head and drowned? Run over by a rogue surfer?
The woman stops a man as he walks by, dragging his young son on a boogie board.
"Sophia, my daughter," I hear her explain. "She's ten." The man turns away from her, and lifts his son from the board. He sets him gently on the sand and murmurs something to him, stroking the downy black curls. The son nods obediently and runs off to safety as his father helps the distraught woman look for her Sophia.
I am torn. I am completely engrossed in the scene yet for whatever reason I am reluctant to help. Thankfully, a tiny white figure is trotting from the tide, smiling beautifically and waving.
"Sophia!" Her mother is almost in tears. I straighten and wave to get her attention. When she sees me, I point smilingly to Sophia. The woman stares at me uncomprehendingly for a bizaarely long time. I point more emphatically. Her brow creases but she turns and sees naughty Sophia beaming and waving her eight-year old hand (Because, really, I don't think she could have passed for ten).
"Oh my God!" the woman shrieks, and stumbles to her, admonishing her all the while. Sophia is never, never, never, never ever to go off on her own like that. Not in a million years, does she understand?
There is a drop off in the sand so although the water barely laps at Sophia's skinny ankles, her mother is standing thigh-deep in it. All the same, when she reaches her daughter, she hastily steps up, bends, and throws her arms around her shoulders and buries her face in her neck. I see her entire body shaking. The poor woman is sobbing in full view of everyone. It's okay, though. They're still pretending not to see her.
When she has composed herself, the woman stands, takes Sophia's hand securely in hers and they walk off. I watch them leave for a long time because although the weather is fine, and although it is a Saturday, the beach is relatively empty. I watch them so long that the group of boys messing around on their boogie boards begin to stare curiously at me. Wondering what this stranger is staring at so intently. When I turn to look piercingly at them (sassily pushing my mouth to one side), they duck their heads, abashed, and carry on with their horseplay.
I look again for Sophia and her mother, but find that I have lost them.
