The Tide (Pt.1)

The beach that had been their refuge for so many years, and the place where the three had grown up at much too young an age. Even at seven years Veronica could tell when a fight was going to break out. It always started with their father and a whiskey bottle and, as soon as she heard her mom start to object to the drinking, Veronica would take baby Vada in one arm and Dade's hand in the other. Together they would walk down to the beach just behind their small house where Veronica would sing soft lullabys to Vada while Dade attempted to skip rocks off their dock; never accomplishing more than a small splash. Eventually their father would jump into the rusting blue pick-up and drive off somewhere for the night. After waiting a few minutes Veronica would lead them back to their house where their mother would have locked herself in her room, taking her turn with the bottle. Veronica would set Vada in her crib, take Dade off to his bed, then return to the kitchen to clean up whatever broken items had resulted from this week's arguement. She knew that,by the next morning, everything would be back to normal; Father would put on the coffee while mother made toast, leaving the events of the previous night forgotten. So continued the pattern of hellish nights and attempts at perfect mornings until the night the rusting blue pick-up never pulled back into the driveway.