Dalia Rosen lay under a steam tent on Pearl Street, two blocks up from the Pacific Ocean. When she coughed, she made a heavy thick sound that confirmed her mother Amalie’s decision to keep her daughter home from school that day. Dalia had been born a fragile premature baby of parents under extreme duress. She was growing stronger, Amalie and her husband Stefan agreed. They’d been fortunate to have found the warm climate of Laguna Beach, a paradise of fragrant blooming trees, oranges and avocadoes.
Their third year in southern California, Amalie and Stefan Rosen had been driven from Los Angeles by Stefan’s accompanist, Theodore. At the main beach, a broad swath of white sand, Stefan and Amalie stood in awe before the open sea. As children growing up in Vienna, their families had vacationed beside Alpine lakes, but they’d never seen layers of white-cresting waves stretching to the horizon.
The September sun seemed warm enough for Amalie to remove Dalia’s outer clothing until she was down to a green bathing suit that made her look like a spindly plant. Under their umbrella on a blanket they watched fearless children riding their small boards into waves. “One day,” said Stefan, “you’ll be with those children riding waves.”
“Oh Papa, I hope so,” answered Dalia.
They ate fried clams from paper baskets and bought Dalia a snow cone with blue syrup. Only ten feet away, Amalie saw the actor she recognized from the Tarzan movie that had been playing in Hollywood. “Look, there’s Tarzan!” She tugged Stefan’s hand and pointed...
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