There were still a few people on the beach, but not many. Those who stayed had pitched tents on the sand, planning to spend the night there.
Earlier, Yehua had suggested they camp overnight on the beach too, but Joaquin refused.
The constant crash of the waves, he said, would keep him awake.
The sea breeze was strong, and he wandered aimlessly along the shoreline, occasionally passing close enough to tents that the people inside peeked out at him.
“Joaquin.”
A familiar voice called his name.
Joaquin turned and saw his father. He paused for a moment, then walked over.
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