Short yellow curls sprung around her fat face. A bucket swung from the hard plastic braid looped over her finger. Juicy lemons and peaches rocked on their sides on her bathing suit, and she pulled at the seat as she walked. She was dreaming about the round white pearl she was going to find. The sun laid heavy handprints over her back and shoulders, and her arms took on the unusual sensation of feeling cold when the sun was strongest. Towels in primary colors striped the beach, and children sprinted with their knees lifted high. They squealed and threw their hands over their mouths when sand pulled the seawater close. Moms stood nearby in skirted bathing suits and smiled at the children. Becca thought the children were loud and a little bothersome. She walked in a wider circle, scanning the shore with her wide eyes. Rehoboth wasn’t known for clams, but she only needed to spot one small pile of the hard wrinkles. The pearl was already hers. She only needed to find it.