It was the third time Marla had seen him that week. The boy on the bicycle. She’d come to the beach early every morning since her sister had died. There was no point lying in the dark staring at the ceiling any longer. May as well get up and breathe in the sweet, salty sea air. That’s why her sister had moved to the coast in the first place. Not that it had helped. Marla had expected to be utterly alone, but she didn’t begrudge him rattling by on his rusty bike. He was clearly trying to escape something too.