Beads of sweat rolled down Charlie's sun-burned face. Malaya was nowhere to be seen. Her brightly colored sand toys were still sitting to Charlie's left next to the cooler and bag holding ten empty Budweiser bottles and four empty juice boxes.

Charlie groaned and looked around as she sat upright on her lounge chair. She noticed that the sun was quickly setting on the horizon.

"Have I been asleep that long?" she wondered aloud, frantically looking up and down the coastline. There were a few stragglers still on the beach, but she could not spot Malaya's lime green swimsuit among them.

Charlie bounded from her seat, spilling herself and the chair into the sand. Getting to her knees, she discovered she was still drunk. Her head spun and throbbed. She felt nauseous. Rising unsteadily, she bellowed her four-year-old daughter's name, "Malalaaaaayaaa!" The salty breeze lifted her scream like a feather, carrying it over the vast sea.

Sobbing, she started to pray to God whom she had not spoken with since she was Malaya's age. "Jesus, You probably don't remember me. My name is Charlene Rose Tucker. When I was a kid, I went to First Baptist Church down on Maple with my grandma. Please let Malaya be alright. Let me find her. I promise I will never drink anoth..."

Her prayer was interrupted when she noticed a crowd gathering about 100 yards to the south. Sirens screeched in the distance.

Shattered, Charlie dropped to her knees... and reached for a beer.