Again.

Close eyes. Take a deep breath. Try to listen only to the sounds of the waves.

Grapefruit, hard-boiled eggs, sourdough toast, bacon, her homemade fig jam, coffee.

The irony of butter on my toast and oat milk in my coffee.

Guilty.

Biale.

Time.

Everything and nothing.

They don’t know what “Frazier” is. We laugh.

She finds the old phone and shows me a picture. We search through the rest of them while I make the cobbler. They are babies - 1 year, 3 years, 5 years. Funny faces. A game called “Huggies”.