2002-12-18-10:20 p.m.

Becky and I left Megan at the high school for her rehearsal and drove out to the pavilion pier. Palacios is a smallish town without all the coastline development of a big city like Corpus Christi. You can look across the bay and imagine being one of the first people to see the place. No big buildings, almost no traffic.

We held hands as we walked down the huge, new pier. There was just enough wind to blow your hair, but not enough to make you want to hang onto it with your other hand. It was Saturday and there were families with children running around listening to the hollowness of their steps on the spaced boards of the walkway. It wasn't cool yet, but not summertime hot, either. You could wear a jacket if you felt like it, but if you didn't you wouldn't be miserable. It was that in between time where no one's quite sure. Everyone's waiting to see.

I like the fishermen the best. They walk with purpose, even the weekend-only fishermen. They hang onto their poles and go where they're going. Nothing's new to them. They're not on vacation. They're not here to see the gulls or hang over the railings or look at the water and dream. They're fishermen. They're part of the place. They know things. Other people give them their space and shush their children around them on the T-heads. Fishermen are nice, too. They'll answer a little girl's questions and nod and mumble polite Spanish words when you say thank you.

Becky wanted to go down to the beach and look for shells. We had to walk by a family sitting on the grass with their dog and the dog barked at Becky. How did she know it was a friendly bark? "Hi, dog," she said.

There were tons of shells around the pilings and all along the water. They were all broken and I didn't have the heart to tell Becky they had been brought in to make a beach. I went to the car to get a McDonald's bag for her to put her shells in. She had it full in no time.

"Do you think we could take this?" she said, pointing to a big piece of driftwood.

I tried not to act so surprised. Why should I act like I know things? "No, baby. It's too big."

She was disappointed, but having too much fun to let it last long.

"Let's find a smaller one," I said. And it was easy because it was all over the place. Driftwood is a real thing. I knew it hadn't been brought in by anyone except the waves. I liked the idea of Becky having something real in her McDonald's bag.

It was time to go and we passed the dog again. He barked again and Becky told him bye. I asked her if she wanted me to put her bag of shells and wood in the back of the car. She seemed surprised that I would ask. She wanted to hold it in her lap. "This is the best day of my life," she said.

We drove away and I felt her there beside me hanging on to her sack, her contentment overflowing. And I thought about how she knows things. About dogs. About herself. We all know things.

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