Rosalind's brow

 Rosalind brought her family to the lodge next to the beach. One of the expectations was everyone would be happy. As most look to the mother to provide some sort of stimulation. Children in their adulthood as dependent as caged wingless birds. Waiting on feed and water.
The day started well and they almost got out the door to get the beach for the afternoon.
Drizzle set in just before lunchtime when the family's youngest daughter was waking.
Father commented to the rest of the family. "what is she still doing in bed?"
The silence condemned him. As the question repeated inside their town house several times a week. Becoming an abrasive annoyance. The son with his girlfriend would shrug.
An incredibly useless attempt at correcting her behaviour.
mother Rosalind had no comment at all, as if the subject itself was foreign.

Over carbohydrated on a another hangover, a few well directed puns, redundant questions and out the door they all clambered. Not ten meters out the drizzle predicted on the weather forecast they didn't bother reading had started. Groans of protest as if God himself was floating beside them to take on their complaints. "I guess we'll just have to go back."
"I'm not going in this crap, It's probably going to get worse anyway." Rosalind snarled.
The youngest daughter grinned took out her cellphone and got onto the serious business of watching short videos of accidents, bad taste jokes, pseudo science and curiosities that had absolutely no practical value for her life.

The clouds did set in, apathetic tones of light and dark grey copulating softly to produce a drizzle that wasn't strong enough to be rain.
They piled back into the little lodge room they were renting. Chose their corners and hibernated into their cellphone scrolling. The humidity and unwashed clothes had conjured a suspicious aroma, the odd burst of cigarette smoke distraced them from.
The mother made herself busy, washing the late brunch dishes, mopping the floor in a way that would you have convinced she'd majored in university at it.

The whinging didn't start until mid afternoon where the anxious mother had positioned the events of the day as a cause of her husband's lack of organization. The truth was she was as happy to not have left as much as the youngest daughter, and later when the drinking would start she would have more energy she had thought.
Self deception and intentionally creating an unnecessary conflict itself was like an early cocktail and novella. Offering the necessary self vindication, family drama and histrionics of an aspiring martyr.
Which to her luck wouldn't exact a beating or even a shouting match, but rather elaborate mocking that her husband poured on carefully, as if preparing a cake.

This would arouse mild amusement from the young couple and the daughter, who would chuckle contentedly.
Often this cut Rosalind through. It ruined her attempt at being the virtuous higher authority sent by some divine angel to open their hearts and mind. Success in the father wasn't discipline, focus or any conventional qualities. He could use words to strip one man naked exposing everything including things he wasn't even aware of. And in the same mouthful of words bring to life his greatest qualities. 

The clouds broke and a thin blue strip began to form and expand.
So the family collected all of their sun umbrellas and other such gear, to take off to the beach.
The click of the beer can and subtle fizz that erupted almost declared permission that all could relax and enjoy themselves. The unbearable southern January sun bore down on them forcing beads of sweat across shoulders and faces.
The puns came in pairs and then triples, sarcastic laughter casually burst out on the more obvious directed double meanings.
On the sand they all settled down. the sky cooperated, the tight mouth of Rosalind loosened to give concessions to the weather, the sand and the sea.

And in that moment the clumsy messy morning of heavy indifference and lethargy completely subsided, smiling became automatic. every organ slacked, every vein eased. 
Rosalind's pinched brow released completely. Luck or illusive happiness had chosen them, as if looking for it was absurd or impossible.