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After all of those months in quarantine, we were both desperate to get out and wary of crowds. We wanted to gather and be with our friends but we were unsure whether it was time, whether the orders opening the restaurants and parks and bars were premature. And if my wife, Maia, and I were cautious, our friend Laura was practically a paranoiac. She was selectively opposed to chemicals, to keeping cell phones in your front pocket, even to wi-fi, finding them inferior to "nature" and pronouncing their safety "not yet proven." Her position made little sense, and had even less practical effect, since she used cleaners around the house and was perfectly happy to connect to her home wi-fi. The only consequence of her fear of nearly everything seemed to be an underlying guilt when she ignored it.

It was Laura, though, who found a solution to our dilemma of craving an outing but fearing other people. I could hear her chirping over my wife's phone: "The Internet"—which I can only assume she accessed via wi-fi, I might add—"says this is the most secluded beach within hundreds of miles, and it's only an hour away. It's hot in my house. Let's go for a picnic."

Maia and I were already in our swimwear, soaking up the morning heat by our pool, so we readily agreed. "Pete and I will pick you up," Maia said. They were at our house within minutes, and we had a pleasant, winding drive out to the coast. We found a spot on the side of the road among a small handful of cars near a nondescript mile marker and ...

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