When they approached Sanibel from the northwest, Jesse and Beverly circled the island twice before docking Serenity at the Tarpon Bay marina. Captain Bill was sitting at a table with Barefoot Chuck watching the sleek craft drop her sails and motor slowly to the wooden pier. They looked tired and neither spoke nor so much as waved to the approaching sailboat.
"You did right to leave," Captain Bill said somberly as the two disembarked and made their way up the pier toward the covered deck. "It got bad."
Beverly walked over the shallow dunes and looked out over the deserted beach. The beauty was unchanged. There was no blemish at all, and no people. The white sands stretched in both directions and the surf lapped and caressed the shore. There were shorebirds everywhere, and shells.
Beverly ran the short distance to the wet sand where the waves visited and left. Sandpipers darted from her path and a flow of gulls filled the sky with a temporary cloud before settling once more a safe distance up the shoreline. Pelicans floated on the gentle waves of surf a few hundred yards out and other pelicans tucked in their flight wings and dove for fish. She looked at her feet as she walked. Soon she saw a prize. She bent over in the classic Sanibel stoop and retrieved a shell to inspect. It was an apple murex with more than a little coral coloring. Its original occupant, a hermit crab, had moved on. Beverly bent again to rinse the shell in the surf, shaking off the sand.
The shell had a small break in its edges. It was broken and therefore imperfect. Like my island, she thought. Broken and definitely not perfect, but still beautiful. She tucked the shell in her pocket and turned to walk back to where Jesse was waiting, in the shade of the pine tree.
