Footprints in the Sand

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Eleanor Jones. Footprints in the Sand

“Bryn! Bryn!”

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Couldn’t he see the danger?

I ran along the shoreline, scanning the beach for Bryn. And suddenly there he was, bright and fluorescent in my dad’s old fishing jacket, waving back at me.

.....

I didn’t find out what we shouldn’t jump to, though, for a gust of wind rushed through the house as the front door burst open. There was Mr. Mac. His stooped figure was outlined by sunshine, his white hair was all blown up into a funny shape and his mouth was working but no sounds were coming out. Clean salty air filled the room, the cries of gulls filled my head and I felt a great big sadness deep, deep down inside me. Perhaps the gulls were crying for my dad. Oh, how I wished he would come home.

“Is my dad back?” I cried, but Mr. Mac didn’t seem to hear me, then he stooped so far down that I thought he was going to fall.

.....