The sunrise was a soft, watercolor wash of pink and orange on the horizon when Ethan stumbled out of the house, a ridiculously oversized beach towel draped over his shoulder.
The old family car, already packed to the brim, was waiting at the curb.
Inside, the atmosphere was a chaotic symphony of happiness.
His dad was at the wheel, humming a terrible off-key tune from the 80s. His mom was in the passenger seat, a contented smile on her face as she watched the world go by, truly seeing it for the first time in weeks.
And in the back, Ethan was squashed between a cooler full of sandwiches and his sister, Sarah, who was trying valiantly to stop Gaffer from licking every window in the car.
"Are we there yet?" Ethan asked in a whiny, childish voice, ten minutes into the journey.
"Don't you start," Sarah warned, but she was grinning. "I've been listening to Dad's 'greatest hits' playlist for an hour already. My brain is starting to melt."
