I saw the birds ahead and the water splashing and told my daughter to get ready. Jax had sensed them long before we saw them. He suddenly jumped up and paced, anxious but excited. He came to me, and I thought he wanted to look over the edge—but he didn’t. Not yet.

Then the dolphins came. Hundreds—maybe thousands—jumping, racing, playing in our wake. My daughter’s family lit up with joy. Jax, still whining, finally came to the rail and looked over. His tail wagged. His ears popped back up. And he started that high-pitched whine he uses when he’s thrilled. Like when we approach Dog Beach or Fiesta Island—his "I can’t wait" sound.

My husband knelt beside him while Jax leaned over the rail, tail wagging, eyes wide. He’d look out, then come boop my hand, like he was saying, “Are you seeing this?!”

When I was twelve, I was a latchkey kid—like most of us Gen Xers. Being home alone or at a friend’s house without adult supervision wasn’t unusual. One day, I was at my friend Kitty’s house, just the two of us. For some reason, we decided to bake something.

We were responsible kids, so Kitty called her mom at work and asked for permission. Her mom said yes. (Again, Gen Xers.)

We browsed through Kitty’s mom’s many recipe books and settled on pumpkin pie. It must have been just after Halloween, because Kitty had a pumpkin. Real pumpkin pie—how hard could it be?

After the guide finished her talk, we made our way toward the canopied tables set for lunch. As we walked, the guide began pointing out some old machinery. That’s when I first heard her voice.

I don’t think she meant for us to hear it, but there it was: “Ah yes, the rusted machinery tour—every girl’s dream when she books Tuscany.”

My husband giggled and softly agreed, “Right?”

That’s when the three of us—me, my husband, and the voice—looked at each other and grinned. We all laughed and kept walking.

We passed dogs chasing balls, splashing, and barking joyfully. Jax greeted a large German Shepherd in passing — a quick sniff, no drama. Then, out of nowhere, a smaller Shepherd charged up. Jax turned to say hello, but this dog didn’t come in peace. He growled and snapped at Jax’s face and neck.

I’ve never really considered myself a book club person. I’ve been an avid reader my entire life—I read fast, and like most readers, I have my favorite genres. The idea of being assigned a book I might not be interested in, and then having to meet up with others to sit around and talk about it, didn’t exactly sound compelling.

But when my oldest daughter started a book club and asked me to join, I gave it a shot. At the very least, it was a good excuse to see her once a month—even if only via Zoom.