Flying Circus - 8. The Pilot

04 Thursday 4 May 2027
Palma de Mallorca

“Beautiful sky! Sailors take warning…” Leaning over the railing, Ritch sipped coffee while casting his eyes upwards. “I’d say we’re getting rain in the next couple of hours, Munchkin.”

“How do you know that, Uncle Ritch?” Liebe had been sent to fetch him for breakfast and joined in staring at the eastern horizon from the top deck.

“The saying’s ‘Red sky at night sailors’ delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’ When the sky turns colors, it means the atmosphere’s loaded with dust and moisture, which filter the sunlight. That usually leads to rain.”

“Did you learn that in school?”

“Nope. It’s an old maritime thing. If red skies happen in the morning, a storm’s supposedly on the way. I heard it all the time when I was a kid going out on my dad’s boat. But I did take a course in meteorology at the Academy since I have to pay close attention to the weather when I fly. So I’ve learned some stuff over the past few years.” He pointed at the sky. “See those gray clouds? I bet you by the time we hit town, they’ll be much darker. We’re gonna get wet.”

“I don’t mind that.” Liebe shrugged. “The dads say it’s the same as standing under a shower.”

Ritch chuckled while running fingers through the girl’s hair, “Yeah, sounds like something my brother would say. They’re right, though. I’ve never understood why people run when it rains. I mean, unless they’re wearing something that could get damaged. Where are your brothers?”

“On time out. They have to stay in their cabin until brekkie’s ready.”

“What happened?”

“Ozzie got upset because they were running around screaming and woke everyone up too early.”

“Yeah… Little troublemakers are the reason I’m up here. I needed to get away from their racket.” Staring into his nearly empty mug, Ritch leaned as far as he could over the railing and upended it, allowing the coffee dregs to drip into the ocean. “I’m getting hungry. Let’s go rustle up some chow.”

 

Being assigned to the 510th Fighter Squadron of the 31st Fighter Wing at Aviano, following his promotion to First Lieutenant, had been a stroke of luck. Some considered the NATO base one of the plum postings available to Air Force personnel. The northern Italian town on the foothills of the Dolomite Mountains was charming but not overrun by tourists, even though it was less than an hour’s drive from Venice. The pace of life was slower than Ritch had grown up with in Miami and Washington, but he was enjoying himself.

“Buon giorno, tutti.” Ritch kissed Lucy’s cheek and sat next to her. When the steward asked if he wanted a coffee refill, he handed his mug over.

“What’s that mean, Uncle Ritch?” The twins, as inquisitive as their sister, had apparently been released from confinement.

“Good morning, everyone. In Italiano.”

“Are you learning how to speak it?”

“Do you like living in Italy? The dads showed us where you are on a map.”

“And we got to watch a video of the place.”

“It looked pretty.” The twins could fire off questions and comments so fast it was hard to get a word in when they started talking.

“Not really. I’m not trying to learn Italian, but since it’s similar to Spanish, and I hear it all the time, I’ve picked up a few words.

“And yes, I like where I’m living. Since there’s no housing on base, I rented a small place in town. The people are very nice, and I love there are wineries everywhere. I plan to visit as many as I can over the summer. You’ve ruined me, Ozzie.” Having an oenophile as a brother-in-law, and sampling a multitude of wines while growing up, had turned him into an aficionado. “I may enjoy that almost as much as I’ve liked boarding this past winter. The town itself doesn’t get that much snow, nothing like Colorado Springs, but the slopes are in my backyard once again.”

“You should keep track of what you drink, so you can tell us what to buy.” Typical of Owen to focus on the wines and ignore everything else.

“Doing it. I’ll share pictures of labels later. Most of what I order’s table wines, though. I don’t feel comfortable asking for the expensive stuff when I go out with a bunch of airmen. Bad enough my call sign these days’ Ritchie Ritch.”

“Really? What started that?”

“Portia. And all the boarding stuff I packed inside before shipping it over.” Portia was the 2024 Porsche 911 Ritch received as a graduation present from his fathers and grandfather. “Romeo, the one they gave me at the Academy, conflicts with the military alphabet, so I used Ritch after graduation. Soon after arriving in Aviano, I got the new one.”

“Where do you keep the car?”

“Our place has a small garage. And since my housemate gets around on a Ducati…”

“Is that where it’s at now?”

“Nope. It’s in a parking garage near Venezia’s airport. I left it there so Lucy and I would have Portia when we’re in town next week. Maybe take a drive to Trieste or even Croatia.”

“I’m so damn jealous. You can hop from one country to another so easily.” CJ ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich for breakfast, and the twins echoed his request.

Ritch had noticed they constantly tried to imitate their fathers. “Don’t know why. Lucy and I are spending a week in Italy after this trip, but you fly to Slovenia and then Australia on your way to New Zealand. You’re the globetrotter around here. Not to say anything about the kids circumnavigating the globe at their age.”

“Quarter word!” Brett managed to get everyone to smile.

CJ shook his head. “Don’t even start, bro. How many places have you visited since you moved to Europe?”

“Not that many. Been spending most of my free time on the slopes. But once summer’s in full swing, I plan to travel whenever I have leave for a couple of days. Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Germany, Austria, Croatia… Top of the list’s the Porsche Museum in Stuttgart.”

Ritch’s fascination with the German high-performance vehicle was well documented. In 2022, when Volkswagen AG spun off the brand, Ritch had invested a chunk of money in it.

“Checking up on your company?” César had facilitated Ritch’s investment at the time.

Ritch shrugged. “Hey, it was a good one. It may not have made me as much money as some of the companies you guys buy into, but I’m happy with the return so far.”

César grinned and nodded. “I’m guessing you want to take Portia on that trip. Are you driving everywhere?”

“I’m not sure, but probably not.” Ritch opted for a ham, onion, and potato omelet. “It all depends on where and if I go alone. European train service’s the bomb.”

“I’m looking forward to riding it between Milan and Venice.” Lucy liked fast vehicles as much as her boyfriend did.

Ritch had two weeks' leave and, when planning the trip, asked Lucy if there were any locations she wanted to visit. After hearing about Venice so much during their calls, the city famous for its canals was atop her list. Milan’s fashion houses made it her other choice. Although more often than not in jeans, Lucy liked to dress well otherwise. And Ritch knew she had one particular purchase in mind.

“High speed?” One of CJ’s campaign promises was to explore building a bullet train between Washington and Baltimore since the federal government and Amtrak seemed unable to get their act together.

Lucy nodded. “Everything I’ve read claims the fastest and most comfortable way to travel between Milan and Venice’s the Le Frecce high-speed train. It’ll take less than two-and-a-half hours.”

“You drove to Ljubljana, though. Right? Goran mentioned he liked your car.”

Goran Dončić was the billionaire CJ would be meeting with the following week. He had created Rhinosti, the cryptocurrency that had made him and Owen a lot of money. Ritch first met him in Washington prior to his posting to Aviano, and the man had invited the young lieutenant to visit him and his wife once the Air Force officer had settled in Italy.

“I’m in Slovenia often, even though most of the time it’s high in the sky during training and patrols. I also spent a few days alone in the mountains there. A survival exercise. We parachuted in and had to make our way to the retrieval point.”

“A bunch of you together?” While CJ asked most of the questions, everyone else paid attention.

“Nope, staggered drops left us far from each other. A few of us did connect by the end of maneuvers. As for Goran liking my car, not sure why. Fucker has a Ferrari that gave me wood.”

“You owe us each a dollar for the adult word, Uncle Ritch.” Liebe winked at her brothers. “What does that mean? That it gave you wood?”

The grins and anticipation etched on the adults’ faces made Ritch sigh. Bastards were dying to hear him wiggle himself out of that comment. “It means I was so surprised at how cool his car was that I ended up stiff like a tree, unable to move.”

“Nice save, bro. Which Ferrari?”

“The LaFerrari Aperta.”

“The roadster?” Having grown up with gearheads in her father and brother, Lucy was well versed in the automotive industry. “I think that’s similar to the Benz Grandpa Cap’s renting. They both sell for somewhere between two-and-a-half and three million. And they both generate around 800 horses.”

“Yep. I didn’t know about Grandpa Cap’s Benz, but the Ferrari’s all that and more. I had dinner at his place one night, and he let me drive it when we went for a ride while his wife finished cooking. Luce, it was out of this world. That sucker’s nimble and moves!”

CJ must have found their excitement about the Italian performance car amusing; he rolled his eyes. “The two of you are such nerds. Is he shipping it to the States? I might want to borrow it and take it for a spin myself.”

“Nope. He says he’s buying electric vehicles in the U.S. Doesn’t want Ozzie giving him crap. He mentioned he picked up a house in Kalorama?” The upscale neighborhood had its share of famous and wealthy residents, Supreme Court Chief Justice and Mrs. Obama among them.

The friendship Goran developed with Cristina Pereira, her boss MK Tyler, and CJ and Owen, led him to choose Washington as the location for his U.S. headquarters. Even though he and Owen had liquidated their cryptocurrency investment, CJ had convinced the man his conglomerate of technology companies would benefit from having the city’s mayor as a friend.

They made the announcement soon after CJ took office. While campaigning, he had promised to diversify and grow the economy, and Goran’s decision to base himself in Washington fit his goals.

“We haven’t been there yet. But from the pictures I saw, it’s another mansion now owned by another billionaire. How did you like Ljubljana?”

“Loved it. And so will you. Lots of green spaces, including Tivoli Park. They have a large university population, with almost everyone fluent in English. The Ljubljanica River curves through town, separating the city’s older areas from the newer commercial districts, and its banks are lined with restaurants, bars, and cafes. Great old buildings everywhere.”

“I doubt I’ll have time to do much. My staff arrives on Sunday about the same time I do, and we have a reception that night. Then meetings over the next couple of days with a bunch of people in addition to Goran. With him, it’s a few interviews and meeting other entrepreneurs. We’re exploring Ljubljana and Washington becoming sister cities and using the connection to increase trade and tourism. I’m spending time with the mayor, a couple of city council members, and a bunch of bureaucrats.”

The conversation veered off into other areas while they finished eating. When done, while collecting empty plates, the chief steward let them know the captain was ready to raise the sails. She had waited to prevent their meal from sliding off the table.

Roosevelt jumped out of his chair. “I wanna help!”

“Me too! We can hold the same ropes we did last time.” If a twin wanted to do something, his brother would want to do it too.

“STOP!” Owen’s shout made the boys come to a halt. “You can watch and help after you brush your teeth and change.”

Pouting, the boys turned and headed for their cabin.

“And don’t think about rushing. You’re not allowed to come back up until either CJ or I inspect what you decide to wear.” The fathers approved of the shorts and t-shirts but insisted they carry sneakers instead of flip-flops. Once on land, they would be walking quite a bit.

By the time the boys returned, wind filled the billowing sails, and the boat tilted to the side. Hoping to avoid a tantrum, CJ apologized for keeping them away and promised they could help lower them when they reached their destination. His offer of ice cream once in town helped prevent a meltdown. Brett and César played tag with the kids downstairs while the others climbed to the top deck.

Accompanied by Lucy, CJ, and Owen, Ritch leaned against the same railing as earlier. “Bro, your buddy, Secretary Rockwell, asked me to say hi.”

“Dan Rockwell? The Secretary of the Air Force? When did you talk to him?” CJ had met the man soon after Rockwell was appointed to his position in 2025, and they had developed a friendly relationship. Secretary Rockwell had arranged for Ritch’s leave so he could attend his brother’s swearing-in, ordering the young lieutenant to wear his dress blues to the ceremony. Ritch and CJ assumed it was due to the positive publicity an Air Force officer standing next to a celebrity mayor would bring the service.

“Last week. He and a bunch of NATO big wigs were on an inspection tour, and we were ordered to attend a reception in their honor. I was surprised he recognized me and then had to put up with being dragged around to meet the other VIPs. He said he’s keeping an eye on you.”

“Yeah, well, not much to keep an eye on so far. I’ve been in office for four months, and I’m still feeling my way around.”

“It was embarrassing as hell. All of a sudden, the big boss shows a special interest in me, and the rest of the squadron’s been giving me crap about it since. Being your brother has positives but also negatives.”

“Suck it up, buttercup.” CJ’s grin was echoed by Lucy and Owen. “Anything earth-shattering from him?”

“Kinda. Orders will come through eventually, but it looks as if I’ll be spending all of November in the States.”

“How come?”

“Well, figuring I was too new to get leave over Christmas, I requested two weeks in November. My initial plan was to start in Miami for a day or two to see Abuelo and the abuelas, a stop in D.C. to visit friends, and wrap the vacation up in Vegas for Chipper’s thirtieth. Turns out the little shit requested an Air Force color guard for his birthday concert, and I’ll be leading a delegation from the Academy and Nellis.” Nellis Air Force Base was also in southern Nevada.

Chipper Pereira attended School Without Walls high school with CJ, and they had been the closest of friends since. While spearheading a community project as a cadet at the Air Force Academy, Ritch had asked their friend to headline a fundraising event. The concert was a success, and Chipper had retained ties to the institution.

“That’s cool. I mean, Chipper’s performed at the Academy a couple of times. They owe him. So, the Vegas trip won’t eat into your annual time off?”

“Nope. And the week after, I have to be in Colorado Springs for a series of seminars by West Point’s Modern War Institute.”

“Wait… if all this is happening at the beginning of November—”

“My leave starts when I’m done at the Academy. I’ll be in the U.S. for Thanksgiving.”

“Cool. CJ and I talked to Brett and César about the holidays. Since we’re not going to Australia in December, we’re doing Thanksgiving in Georgetown and Christmas at Everhope.” Owen tried to ensure his parents got to see their grandchildren at least once a year. Because Liebe and the twins would be spending a month in the Hunter Valley following the sailing trip, they had penciled in a family trip down under for 2028.

“Are Miami and Chicago flying in for Turkey Day?” Ritch used the cities to reference the relatives living in them.

“That’s the plan.”

“Hmmm… I think I’ll skip Miami.” Ritch, distracted by the conversation, bumped into CJ when he bent to retie a shoelace. “Damn, bro!”

“Having trouble walking and talking at the same time?”

“Yeah, whatever. Luce, how ’bout I fly to D.C., and we can all head to Vegas together?”

“If I’m in Washington, sure. That sounds good. CJ, did my brother say he and Kim were on the same Sunday flight to Vegas with you and Ozzie?”

“Yep. I’ll send a text and have you guys added to our group.” CJ messaged his assistant on the spot.

 

The Bay of Palma was crowded. Vessels of every size—from small fishing trawlers to mega yachts larger than the Flying Circus—dotted the shimmering, blue water. Once the sails were lowered and the anchor dropped, the family was run ashore on the tender. A strengthening breeze and incipient chop reinforced Ritch’s feeling a change in weather approached.

“Hey, guys—”

“NO!”

A hand to his chest, CJ recoiled as if buffeted by a gale.

“Drama queen!” Ritch was the first to chuckle. “Sorry, bro, but we talked about it, and we’ve had enough churches for one trip.”

“You don’t know what I was going to talk about.” CJ tried to sound aggrieved but failed. The fact even the twins who idolized their fathers had rebuffed him with the others—a result of Brett bribing them—made the whole thing funny. The struggle not to laugh was palpable.

“CJ…” Owen knew his husband better than anyone else.

“Fine. I was going to suggest a visit to the church. Did you not see the pictures I sent you? The place’s magnificent! You’re gonna regret not exploring it.” He had wanted to tour de Catedral-Basílica de Santa María de Mallorca.

“We’ll go to another church with you, Ceej.” Jefferson slipped a hand into his father’s.

Roosevelt mirrored the move. “We can go back to the small one at your school when we get back home.” The boy referred to Dahlgren Chapel on the Georgetown University campus. “I liked the pictures of the little kids.” Stained glass windows featuring cherubs decorated the entrance, and they had captivated the twins’ attention.

CJ squatted and wrapped his arms around the boys. “You guys are the best. Come on, guess we can catch an earlier train since you people insist on missing out.”

 

They were dropped off at the docks of the Real Club Náutico de Palma, about a thirty-minute stroll to the Plaça d'Espanya in the city’s center. Their destination was not the main rail station there but the smaller adjacent one.

Liebe tugged on CJ’s sleeve. “Ceej, is this like the train we take to New York?”

“No, Munchkin. Very different. Ritch, Lucy, didn’t you ride a similar one in Durango after the Academy graduation?”

“We did. And Ritch even let me drive Portia afterward.” Lucy pecked her boyfriend’s cheek then turned her attention to Liebe. “The one we went on in Colorado and this one are both narrow-gauge railroads.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means the wheels are about this far apart”—Ritch held his hands close to a yard from each other—“while the Amtrak you ride to New York and back has them about twice as far.”

“Why?” Roosevelt and Jefferson asked at the same time.

“The Ferrocarril de Sóller was built over 100 years ago to transport oranges and lemons from the groves to the city. It travels through the plains north of Palma, winds its way through the mountains, and traverses about a dozen tunnels. The wheels being closer together made the entire system cheaper to build and allows the train to take tighter curves easily.”

“How do you know all that, Uncle Ritch?”

The Air Force officer grinned. “When your grandads announced the trip, I went online and looked up where we were coming. I figured CJ would want to visit the church and ride the old train.”

CJ groaned and shook his head. “I think I’m becoming predictable. I don’t like it.”

 

Ritch tapped Liebe between the shoulder blades and pointed at the sky above the passenger car they were about to board. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“You were right, Uncle Ritch.”

“Right about what?” CJ walked on his daughter’s other side, while the twins led the group, each holding a grandfather’s hand.

“I mentioned red skies at dawn when she came to the top deck to find me before breakfast.”

Although not heavy, the incipient rain made people huddle under the small station’s roof. Water droplets slid down the car’s vertical wooden slats. “The old sailor’s saying?”

Ritch nodded. “I explained it was usually accurate. Then again, that course in meteorology I took explained the science behind it.”

“I guess you follow forecasts closely, right?”

“First thing I check when I wake up and last thing I look at before going to sleep. On days I’m scheduled to fly, I end up poring over maps repeatedly.”

The conversation was interrupted when the twins let go of their grandfathers and rushed aboard. “I get the window!”

“No, I get it.”

“I said it first.”

“But I’m—”

“ENOUGH!” Brett’s shout stopped the boys in mid-argument. “Not like there’s only one. You can each have a window seat.”

They ran down the aisle between the benches and took spots on opposite sides of the same row. Brett and César slid in next to them. Although they were an odd number, Liebe declined to sit with her parents. “The last row’s empty on both sides. I’ll sit by myself, so I can move from one to the other and see out of either one.”

As soon as CJ sat next to Ritch, he elbowed his brother. “The sprinkles are over, bro. I think we lucked out with the rain.”

“Nope. Look west. We’re gonna get soaked once we cross the mountains.” He had noticed darker clouds on the horizon before boarding.

CJ stuck his head out the window, and his move was mirrored by Jefferson sitting in the row in front of them. “Jefferson! Head and arms inside at all times. Once we start moving, you could get decapitated by a tunnel wall.”

“CJ!” On the bench across the aisle, Lucy looked appalled while Owen shook his head. “How can you say that? Don’t scare him.”

“Oh? You’d rather I say nothing, and we end up showered in blood, having to stop the train to get his noggin back?” His grin was borderline evil.

“Bro… Stop trying to shock my girlfriend.” Ritch had grown up with Brett and CJ making outrageous comments and was accustomed to them.

A piercing whistle jostled them, interrupting their conversation. “We’re moving! We’re moving!” Trying to look ahead, Jefferson stopped inches short of sticking his head out the window. He turned to look at his father, grinned, and shrugged. “I wanna keep my noggin.”

As the train inched out of the station, the horn blasts came in quick succession, each one making the twins jump then grin. Before leaving Palma, they rolled through intersections and alongside shops and cafés with individuals close enough to slap hands with. Some waved and were rewarded by Jefferson and Roosevelt returning the greetings and shouting Buenos días. They had been flexing their Spanish muscles since landing in Barcelona.

“Little fuckers like loud sounds, don’t they?”

“You have no idea, bro. Didn’t you notice their reaction to Grandpa A’s fireworks? They’re old enough now, so we took them to the Tidal Basin to watch the Cherry Blossom Festival’s display over the Jefferson Memorial this year.”

“Do they know that’s where you and Ozzie got married?”

“Yeah… Ozzie even walked them to the spot where we stood. Maybe one day Liebe or one of the boys will want to replicate our ceremony.”

“Hey, speaking of weddings, you have it, right?”

“Yep. Back in the cabin. I also brought you a present. ”

“Yeah? What?”

“You remember the jar with Wingnut’s ashes?”

Ritch nodded. He had received the golden retriever as a birthday present in 2013, but the dog became Liebe’s when he left Washington for the Air Force Academy. For the last six months of his life, arthritis prevented the dog from climbing Everhope’s stairs, leaving him whimpering when the kids went to bed, and he could not follow. CJ or Owen took him up in the elevator most nights.

He spent chunks of each day in the cubbyhole built for him under the stairs. The morning they found him soaked in urine and unable to move had not been a fun one. Ritch was told the kids would not stop crying when informed the dog had to be euthanized. He was already overseas.

“Ozzie ordered a couple of pendant vials designed to hold a loved one’s ashes. We have one for you if you want it.”

“Yeah, I’ll take it. Not sure if or when I’ll wear it, but I want it. Maybe Lucy and I will go jewelry shopping and get me a chain for it.” Although Wingnut and Ritch had been separated for years, their bond was renewed whenever the pilot returned home. Ritch had cried when told about his demise. “How are the puppies?”

“As rambunctious as the kids. I can’t wait until all of them get a little older.”

Ritch’s aunt, Melissa Griffon, ran an animal shelter in Casper, Wyoming. She was invited to CJ’s swearing-in as mayor and arrived with two puppies as a present. A pregnant boxer was among dozens of animals rescued from a puppy mill, and Melissa had reserved two of the pups. She offered them to CJ and Owen, and they accepted.

“Who’s watching them while you guys are out of town?”

“We gave the nanny and the bodyguard time off, so the puppies are next door at Rod and Taisha’s. Raish was over the moon when told he would be in charge of watching after Aspen and Spruce until we returned. Betcha that kid becomes a vet; he loves animals even more than our crew does.”

For about an hour, the train chugged along while Jefferson and Roosevelt provided a running commentary. Each village seen near or far, each grove of oranges, lemons, or apricots, and the occasional herd of cows elicited an exclamation often followed by questions. Brett and César replied to each one.

The viaducts and tunnels attracted the most reaction. Over a dozen of the latter along the route ranged from a few meters traversed in a minute or two to longer ones keeping them in darkness for an extended period. At one point, Roosevelt tried to touch the dressed-rock lining, and it was Owen who shouted at him to stick his arm back inside.

 

‘Dude, you were right.” Brett’s backslap made Ritch stumble as they stepped off the train in Sóller. “Look up. We’re gonna get soaked for real.” Dark clouds blanketed the sky.

“Ozzie, I’m hungry.” Roosevelt had sided up to his father as soon as they disembarked.

“Me too.” No one was surprised Jefferson echoed his brother.

CJ opened his phone and fiddled with it. “If it’s going to rain on this side of the mountains as much as Ritch thinks, maybe walking around town isn’t a good idea. How about lunch and a looky-see of the station’s museum before we head back to Palma?”

“Where are we going to eat, Ceej?”

“Hang on, Liebe. I’m looking… Okay, this one looks promising. It’s a short walk away on Carrer de sa Luna.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s Catalán for Moon Street. Come on, let’s go. Since it’s not raining yet, we can sit outdoors and hopefully not get wet.”

 

“How about the Spanish version of tomato soup and grilled cheese?” CJ grinned when all three kids enthusiastically nodded. “Good, that makes it easy. I think I’ll have the same. Gazpacho and a bocadillo de queso.”

The orders were identical all around, soup and sandwiches for everyone. Bypassing wine, the adults opted for local beers. The Tramuntana Rossa, a light, golden brew, was the favorite. Ritch pounded his first one but nursed its replacement.

“Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best choice of restaurants. Not sure about the gazpacho; all I taste’s cucumber.” CJ’s complaint made César raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t know; I kinda like it. Very refreshing.”

“Gazpacho’s evolved a lot Grandpa A. I mean, didn’t we try a watermelon version in Barcelona? But if it’s advertised as traditional, I want tomatoes to shine through.”

Brett raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, officer. Guess I’m guilty of enjoying it.” He turned his attention to his grandchildren. “Be careful, kids; the gazpacho police may want to arrest you.”

While Liebe and the twins giggled, CJ discretely raised a middle finger.

 

Because the kids showed signs of tiredness, and the sky had grown even darker, they bypassed the stroll Ritch had hoped they could take anyway. Instead, they returned to the train depot to visit what he thought was the quirkiest museum ever. Two rooms on opposite sides of the station, housed in an old mansion built in the early 1600s, displayed works by two of Spain’s most famous artists.

“I can do that.” Liebe pointed at one of the colorful Joan Miró paintings resembling a doodle.

The other exhibit featured fifty-odd ceramics by Pablo Picasso.

“I really don’t get Picasso. Or cubism.” CJ stood between Ritch and Brett, scrutinizing a plate with a face typical of the artist’s work. “I mean, some of his quick drawings are interesting, but… How come we don’t have any of his stuff in our collection?”

“Our collection?” César had joined his husband and sons.

CJ rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. The Davenport family stuff.”

“Mom and Dad concentrated on American, mid-century artists. They bought works by newcomers. Mom was the one with a good eye for art. I mean, what’s that Warhol Mao you have worth? Fifty million?”

“More. We had it appraised last year for insurance.”

Brett chuckled. “Mom and Dad paid less than five grand for it. She appreciated the artistry. Dad did too, but he also considered it a good investment.”

The twins dozed during the return trip while Liebe sat with Lucy. Ritch willingly gave up his spot, knowing his girlfriend and their cousin Taisha were the primary female figures in the girl’s life.

CJ looked up from his phone when Ritch joined him. “You and Lucy are part of the group traveling together to Vegas.”

“Thanks. We settle up later?”

“Yeah… And I may ask you to chip in to help a couple of people make the trip.”

“Whatever, bro. Let me know, and I’ll transfer the money. Are we all in the same suite?”

“Yep. Harley and Kim, you and Lucy, and Ozzie and me. I’m looking forward to this shit. Knowing Chipper, the whole shebang’s gonna be over the top.”

The twins awoke once the train returned to Palma, and their fathers carried them of the railroad. It did not take long for them to be ambulatory. On the way to the marina, they stopped at an outdoor market and bought a few trinkets—including castanets for Liebe. Brett called the boat prior to reaching the docks, and the tender was waiting for them when they arrived at the yacht club. Aboard the Circus, the boys supervised the raising of the sails before joining Liebe in the lounge. All three napped again while the captain steered the vessel to their next destination.

Formentera, the smallest of the Balearic Islands, was known for its clear waters and long stretches of beach backed by dunes and pine trees. One of the protected coves would serve as their anchorage for the night.

 

Wyatt held a tray with martini glasses and smiled when Roosevelt tried to take one. “No go, Roo. Unless your parents give me permission, I can’t serve you alcohol.”

“Nope. We’ll let them taste, and they can have a little wine with dinner, but not an entire cocktail.” CJ finished drying himself and tossed the damp towel into the basket at the top of the stairs. They had all gone swimming once the sails were lowered and the anchor dropped. “What do we have today?”

“Captain Davenport mentioned Lieutenant Peterson likes Chinese food, so the chef planned an Asian-inspired meal with Mediterranean ingredients. We thought Grey Goose, green-tea martinis would pair nicely.”

“I approve.” Brett had already downed most of his. “I’m going to shower and change. Wyatt, I’ll need another one when I get back.”

 

The tray of tapas standing in for a pu pu platter proved popular. Ritch loved the popcorn calamari but missed out on the crispy chicken skins; his niece and nephews devoured them before he could try one. “Totally unfair I didn’t get any of those. I mean, the whole Asian theme was because of me.”

“The dads always say if you snooze you lose, Uncle Ritch.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie wisdom, Liebe. I’ll remember for next time.”

Surprisingly, the kids did not react as well to the roasted beets with goat cheese and microgreens. When a twin claimed he didn’t like the grassy stuff because it was bitter, the other one echoed him.

“Hand me your plate.” Owen extended his hand toward one of them and scraped the leafy component onto his own. CJ repeated the process with the other one. “There. No more bitter grass. Eat up.”

The seared, sesame seed-crusted tuna was a hit. So much so, the twins ate their entire portion. CJ complained their voracious appetite precluded him from enjoying their leftovers as he usually did.

Following fresh fig ice cream served for dessert, the adults remained at the table chatting, while the kids fidgeted. Ritch volunteered to entertain them. “Hey, who wants to fly paper airplanes with me?”

“I do. I do.” Their shouting nearly drowned out Ritch asking the stewards for a few sheets of paper. But his move worked. Until bedtime, they folded planes based on how Ritch showed them and flew them. Most of the time over the boat’s side.

When Liebe asked about pollution, Owen explained paper would decompose quickly in the sea. His sons and daughter were already aware of the danger humans posed to the environment.

 

The captain had motored while dinner was served but raised the yacht’s sails the moment her guests were done eating. Their destination was not too far away, so the sun remained above the horizon when they reached their anchorage at Formentera.