Due to Covid, they had closed the cabana.
That proved embarrassing for young Hanna.
And it felt rather strange.
But, with no place to change,
She wore nothing, not even a bandana.

With Grandma deathly afraid of Covid, most of the house, including the bathroom, is off-limits for me and Bud. “Just go in the ocean,” Dad told us. I would rather die. Bud thinks it’s a lark. We have the outdoor shower, but I dare use it only when Bud’s not around, else he peeks down from his room above—I know he does. And then he probably—well, I can picture it after I caught him that time, but I think he meant for me to catch him.

Today Bud’s home, so I head down to the beach, all of fifty yards, wrapped in my big towel. Nobody about—there’s hardly ever anyone this far up the shore—so I drop the towel on the beach chair and scurry into the waves. It’s shallow a long way out, so I have to wade a long way before I can go. I turn my back on the house. I’d just as soon not know if Bud’s spying.