Harry Lork paused to curse his stupidity. Stupid for listening to his neighbor George, for being here, for being anywhere at all on vacation with these three. These three: wife, son, daughter. They stood away from him down the noisy gravel path, waiting like an impatient firing squad. Harry had hurried ahead of them until he reached the huge boulder, had pretended to empty his shoes of phantom pieces of gravel, had bent to linger over re-tying his shoelaces.

The things you do to get away from them for only a short time.

He squinted down the path. Behind him, Donny whined in that nerve scraping voice, reciting his litany of wants. Betty, momentarily out-whined, punctuated her list of needs with vicious kicks at the gravel which sprayed the area in a showering arc...

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