Annie counted the napkins, rolling them up and stacking them like scrolls. She counted the napkin rings. She counted the forks, knives, and spoons. She counted the chairs and she counted the table, though it was quite clear there was only one. She counted it again, shaking her finger at it each time: one, one, one. She counted every piece in the china set, and counted the wine and water glasses after that. She plucked a reluctant crab off the soup tureen and counted it with the ladle and the salad bowl and the tongs. The waves ushered in a gust of sun-warmed wind. The sand shifted. By the time she was ready to count the finger bowls, they were gone.