Life at home continued as it had when we were children, except that some of us had jobs now, and some of us that didn't were looking. We were disoriented by our own children who looked like ghosts of our childhood lined up at the windows to stare at Opal's tent in the mornings, waiting to see if she'd come out. They stood on the beach together too, passing rocks and crabs and moon snails around, running the length of beached logs and launching light bodies through the air to land, springy and winded, on the rocks. The smallest ones barely kept up, and wouldn't have at all if they hadn't gotten piggy backs from cousins. They learned to walk sooner than usual just so they could tramp up and down from the house to the beach like a string of ants. Each of us caught ourselves confused, thinking we were the children, and wondering who all these adults were. We laughed about it, and it was all right, but every once in a while we wanted to push the kids out of the way of the window so we could see better.