It's floating but it's not adrift.

How did a rainbow fall into the ocean? He was concerned but didn't let it show. Hands tucked in pockets, his shoulders twisted up toward his earlobes in a half-hearted attempt to break the brisk wind from his bare neck. His eyes remained transfixed, though. Gazing off not toward a horizon or a wandering wave somewhere far offshore, but at a piece of motley drapery hovering atop the grey-blue waters. If it weren't for the slight sun peeking in through the musty clouds, the reds, greens, purples, etc. wouldn't have been visible at all.

Of course he knew it wasn't actually a rainbow. It was just too beautiful to not make the comment, even though it lay there a piece of discarded trash from a giant's kite or a gay pride parasail...or something. Really this just proves the point. It couldn't be defined and thus he simply called it a fallen rainbow. Simple as that. Of course it's not like this satiated his curiosity. He continued to look off into the distance like he was about to win something if he waited long enough. Though the expression on his face indicated that regardless of whether he won or lost, he would not have shown any kind of reaction - positive or negative.

This pointless argument tumbled about in his head as she saw his white sinewy breath swirl out of his mouth, his entire body still minus the twitching corner of his lip. She wanted to want to say something, but she preferred silence, the sound of boats at the harbor a half-mile down the bay. But she couldn't help but think that if she had a desire to break the non-tension (they were both perfectly fine the way they were, but were afraid the other felt awkward, thus ironically making them both feel awkward), then maybe they would end up leaving the beach.

To leave was all she wanted. It was a mess, truly it was. Not wanting to say something but wanting to want to speak up, wishing she could just pivot her foot in the sand to the left, begin walking toward the car, and he would follow. But she knew he wouldn't. He would stay there, staring at a piece of multi-colored fabric laying in the water, getting dirtier and dirtier by the minute. When she thought that, she meant to imply that the fabric would get dirtier, but she realized that maybe she also possibly subconsciously meant that he would get dirtier and dirtier, standing there on the filthy beach unshowered with his hands shoved into his surely grime-ridden pockets.

He felt the necklace with his knuckles. He couldn't bare to and yet he couldn't take them away. If he exposed his hands to the air, not only would he have another body part (two body parts, technically, well really a lot more than two body parts, technically) that he would have to worry about freezing to the point of numbness, but he would also have to pretend that he really did only put his hands in his pockets to warm them up. But he didn't of course. He put them in there to sit for a bit, get all cozy and such, and then pull out the jade necklace for her. As soon as he gripped it, though, a few seconds before this very story began, he saw that damn rainbow floating in the ocean. If he hadn't seen the rainbow (once again, we're only calling it this because there's nothing else really for it to be called, and the least we can do in this situation is be consistent albeit frustratingly abstract, maybe even overly symbolic, though even this author (much less our protagonist) isn't sure of the significance of a fallen rainbow), he would have just brought the jade necklace out right away (after getting those hands toasty of course) for her to marvel at in a fit of brave nostalgia and romance.

He thinks so anyway. Maybe that's what he would have done.

She looked at the car for the nineteenth time within a span of four minutes. She didn't count, but he did. His peripheral vision is amazing. Even while dramatically witnessing a fallen rainbow treading water in practically the opposite direction. He also heard her zipper zip up and down furiously (but not too furiously, only enough to subtly imply she wanted to get in the fucking car and drive dammit). She was getting antsy, to put it in a way she would almost assuredly say if she had built up that non-desire enough to actually utter words. But she wouldn't. She would stand there, finding new ways to make noises with her clothing or new things to look at toward the horizon that weren't that infuriating orange, yellow, blue, etc. piece of massive whatever in the bay.

This would go on for upwards of two more minutes.

This would end the only way it could have.

With the necklace enclosed in his fist so tight that not even an x-ray could determine its existence, he gently withdrew his right hand from his jeans and, right before a space between her lips formed, he said:

"Your mother would have wanted you to have this."

So he placed the jade necklace in her palm and she never had to respond. His daughter simply helped him back in the car and drove.