I'm swimming halfway back to shore when I see her standing by the water's edge.
She's pulling her pigtail and chewing her lip. I lift my body out of the saltwater and wipe the sting from my eyes. I avoid her stare, sit down hard on the sand and wrap my arms loosely around my knees. I need to steady my breath and rest for a moment before I go in again.
I angle my chin to feel the splintering sunlight beat down on my face. To my left, a green Kingfisher pint bottle catches the sunlight and winks at me. Next to it is an empty shell of Teacher's Pride, half-buried in the sand. The sea has its addictions too. My fingernails automatically go to the edges of my teeth. I don't even mind the salt taste and grit. I spit, stare at the bitten-down nubs and then at my sister's straight, small back. She lifts her tiny, plump hands to her forehead to shade her unflinching stare out to sea, even in the noon heat. She's afraid to look at me as much as I'm afraid to look at her, even though she's too young to know for a fact what I already know.