Lying full length on the scrub grass, I watched the sleeping bag on the beach. It hadn't moved for a while. I could just see the outline in the moonlight.

"Here they are!" a voice called, and a procession of people appeared out of the darkness. They trooped down the beach and settled around the motionless sleeping bag. In the lead was Johnny Mac, lighting the way with a flashlight.

SarahBeth walked beside him, holding his hand, looking tired. Her long brown hair blew around her face in the chill ocean breeze, and she was carrying a large styrofoam cooler.

Vicki came next, looking a little pale and sullen. SarahAnn followed her, carrying some blankets and a hamper. Bringing up the rear were Old Waldo, a sheaf of papers in his hand, and Duncan, wearing a hooded sweatshirt that was far too big for him and a pair of tattered denim shorts, and carrying a briefcase.

They all started to set up for a picnic around the inert sleeping bag. After a few minutes, Waldo's head poked out a little and he said, "What the hell--"

"Hi, Dad," Johnny Mac said cheerfully. "We thought you guys would be lonely out here all by yourselves. You want a beer?"

"No, I certainly don't--" Waldo started, but a bare arm poked out of the sleeping bag behind him and a muffled voice said, "I'll have one."

Waldo sighed as Johnny Mac said, "Sure, Mom," and handed her one. The bare arm and the tall can vanished into the sleeping bag, and Waldo yelped.

Old Waldo came up. He accepted a beer and sat down on the blanket SarahAnn had spread out. He faced the sleeping bag, brandishing the sheaf of papers, obviously about to say something.

There was a muffled comment from behind Waldo. Half-turning, he said, "You call this a happy family? Why do we have to have all these kids?"

the ten pillars of modern literature

the cook out, obviously winding down