Fleur De Lies(3)
I blinked at Osmond. He lived in a landlocked state. How could he possibly offer an analogy to explain coastal tides?
“We shouldn’t be asking if the tide is in or out,” advised Tilly. “We should be asking where the high water mark is located.”
Alice ranged a curious glance up and down the beach. “There’s a mark?”
“There should be a long, narrow field of debris on the sand somewhere,” Tilly said as she scanned the immediate area. “Seaweed. Seashells. Crustacean shells. Empty beer bottles. The tide deposits everything at the high water mark.”
“So if we stay above the high water mark, we won’t get swept away by no rogue waves?” asked Nana.
Tilly nodded. “In theory.”
“Spread out!” shouted Dick Teig as he directed the gang left and right, “and if you find any of the crap that Tilly is talking about, give a holler.”
“What if we all find it at the same time?” fretted Margi. “Should we appoint a spokesperson to give an official holler so we’re not all sending out mixed messages?”
“Do we have an official holler?” puzzled George, looking a bit lopsided as his wooden leg sank into the sand.
“My Dick was always fond of ‘Balls’!” Lucille reminisced, hand pressed to her heart out of respect for her deceased husband. “Remember? No one could hold a candle to my Dick when it came to cussing.”
“I found it,” offered Nana.
“Eww, did everyone hear what Marion just said?” Alice used her KORN radio voice to be heard above the din. “She’s got a winner.”
“What’d she say?” asked Dick Teig.
“I said, I found it,” Nana repeated.
“Works for me,” agreed Osmond. “Show of hands. How many people think we should call out, ‘I found it!’ when we—”
“We don’t need no show of hands,” Nana blurted in exasperation. She held up her new and improved iPhone and jabbed the screen with her forefinger. “It’s right here on YouTube. Some fella downloaded a bunch of photos showin’ what Gold Beach looks like at high tide.” She touched her fingertip to the screen. “Check your messages.”
Like gunslingers going for their guns, they went for their phones. I would have gone for mine, but I was guessing I wasn’t in Nana’s “Golden Oldies” email loop, so my inbox would probably be empty.
“This has gotta be a different place than where we’re standing,” scoffed Dick Teig as he studied the photo Nana had sent him. “Where’s the beach?”
I peeked over Dick’s shoulder at a stunning image of white-capped waves swallowing up the sand all the way to the seawall.
“I think it’s under the water what’s crashin’ against them rocks there,” said Nana.
Heads swiveled toward the seawall, causing eyes to widen with fear as the reality of the situation set in. Helen dropped her gaze to her shoes, regarding them with mounting alarm. “Do you know what this means? If we stay where we are, when the tide comes in, it’s going to roll over all of us. We’ll be buried under twenty feet of water!”
“You better hope your eyebrow pencil is waterproof,” Bernice taunted her.
Helen gasped as she touched her painstakingly drawn brows. “It’s nonsmear and hypoallergenic, but I don’t know if it’s waterproof.”
Her husband pulled a permanent marker out of his shirt pocket. “I gotcha covered,” he snorted proudly. “Green’s not your normal color, but it was the only one left on the shelf. Close enough, right?”