I left around 6:30. I jogged up the street to the beach, cut through somebody side yard, and right onto the beach.
I jogged up the beach for a long time.
I don't know how to help my daughter.
I stopped at a stand and bought a plain black bikini with a pushup top. I changed in the dressing room on the beach, folded up my clothes, keeping just my white tank top on, and I wandered over to the water.
I stand here now, feeling the water. I have no idea what time it is, but there's a lot more people on the beach, and there's a group of rowdy guys next to me. I'm miles down the beach. A two hour jog from home.
I let my long wavy brown hair down, and I pull off my tank top and drop it on my bag, and then I go in the ocean for a bit of refreshing, swimming for a moment, and then going back to shore, squeezing the water from my hair. My phone starts ringing. I'm breathing hard because it's hot as shit.
I pick it up.
It's nine in the morning, on the dot.
I press answer.
"Hello?" I ask, slightly breathless.
"Hey." Del says. "When are you coming to get Ethan?" she asks. "I'm not kicking him out, I just want to make sure he's ready to go."
"I don't know." I say.
"Am I interrupting sex?" she asks.
"No." I laugh. "I never fell back to sleep after last night. I've been up since you called me earlier." I say. "I went jogging."
"Oh." She says. "Alright. What should I do?"
"Uh, call Tyler." I say.
"Alright." She says. "Bye."
"Bye."
I hang up.
I put my phone and my tank top in my bag, bending over, I throw my hair back up.
"Hey sexy lady, your tag is still on your swimsuit. Let me get that for you."
One of the guys next to me reaches for my breast. I slap his hand.
"Did your mother teach you any respect?" I snarl. I rip the tag off myself, tossing it in my bag.
"Of course she did. That's why I was taking your tag off." He says, grinning.
He has messy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and dimples.
Definitely not my type. If I was single, I wouldn't even think about him.
"Obviously, you need to move back in with Mommy." I snap. "Go away."
"She's dead." He glares at me.
I sigh.
"I'm sorry for your loss." I pick up my bag and turn to leave, but he grabs my hand.
I see the paparazzi taking photos.
"Wait." He grabs my hand.
I pull it from his grip.
"Look, I'm m-"
He shoots in and kisses me.
I jerk back, slapping him, hard.
The paparazzi got it.
They got the photo.
Oh dear god.
"You fucking asshole. I'm married with three children!" I seethe. "You're going to hell."
