so we need to make as much headway as possible. Quinn is dragging behind in her typical quiet fashion. I try to draw some mindless small talk from her since the crunchy sand isn’t very entertaining. I start with a question that should’ve been asked long ago. “You know what? I don’t know your last name.”

“Really?” she sounds surprised.

“No, seriously; I never asked you. In my defense, we’ve had a lot going on lately.”

“Merrin,” she says quietly. “Quinn Alexander Merrin. My parents thought they were having a boy, so they kept Alexander, and tacked Quinn in front of it. It fits, though. I’ve always been a tomboy.” We ramble on for hours, diving into favorite stories and lost memories that would have been fa...

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