Flying Circus - 7. The Accountant

Wednesday, 5 May 2027
Punta del Toro, Mallorca

“Happy birthday, Grandpa A!” The kids shouted simultaneously while jumping on César. Jefferson and Roosevelt attached themselves to his neck, and Liebe sat on his lap. Coffee splashed everywhere when he dropped his mug. Pure luck kept it from shattering when it hit the deck.

“Oh no! I’m being attacked by sea monsters… Help! Somebody help me.” Faking a struggle, he wrapped an arm around each of the boys, kissed Liebe’s head, and stood. The girl spilled to the floor, laughing, while her brothers squealed.

Brett joined in the laughter. “You’re on your own, old man.”

CJ had been with his fathers earlier, had congratulated César more sedately, and returned to his and Owen’s cabin carrying a second cup of coffee for himself, and one for his husband. The two, along with Ritch and Lucy, followed the children and stood behind them when they attacked their grandfather.

“They made these for you before we left Washington. Happy birthday, Grandpa A.” Owen handed him a manila envelope.

Ritch and Lucy echoed the sentiment, sat at the table, and nodded when the steward asked if they wanted coffee.

“Okay, kiddos, you have to let go of me, so I can see what you made.” Both boys slid down his side and crawled onto their fathers’ laps while Liebe remained seated on the floor. César retrieved three sheets of paper from the envelope and laid them on the table. “They’re beautiful! Thank you!”

Liebe’s effort was easily recognized. In precise block letters, she had written Happy Birthday Grandpa A above a sailboat. “When the dads told us we were going on a vacation on a boat, I wanted to draw one on your card. Sorry it’s not too good.”

“It’s beautiful, Liebe. Thank you. I love it. Come here and give me a kiss.”

The other two drawings were a collection of stick figures, swirls, and slashes in lurid colors. César grinned and was as enthusiastic about them. “Wow! Talk about colorful birthday cards. I love them.”

“They have one of those boxes with a thousand different crayons, and I think they used every bright color available.” CJ winked at his father. “I had to put on sunglasses the first time I looked at those things.”

“Oh, hush. They’re perfect, boys. Thank you. How about a kiss?” César spread his arms, inviting them to rejoin him.

“Liebe helped us with the writing ’cause our letters aren’t as good as hers.”

“She also told us to draw longer hair on two of the people to make them look like her and Aunt Lucy.”

“That’s all of us.” Jefferson pointed at the drawings. “The dads said this was a family trip, so we wanted to show everyone.”

“The three little ones are Liebe, Jeffer, and me.”

“You’re the one in the middle ’cause it’s your birthday.”

“And it’s the biggest one ’cause you’re taller than Grandpa Cap, CJ, and Ozzie.”

“Grandpa, do you think we’ll be as tall as you when we grow up?”

“I don’t know, Jeffer. You could be. Heck, your dads are pretty tall, and so are your grandparents in Australia. You might end up being even taller than all of us.”

“Really?” Both boys moved away, cheering while running around the table.

“We’re gonna be tall. We’re gonna be tall. We’re gonna be tall.”

“Quiet already.” The kids must have missed Brett’s stage whisper; they didn’t stop running and shouting until CJ grabbed one while Owen reeled the other one in.

“Enough with the birthday thing. Can we eat? I’m starving.” Ritch chortled when both Brett and César flashed him withering stares.

The previous day, they had left Dragonera’s gentler side—opposite where they had anchored, waves pounded sheer cliffs rising from the sea—rounded Punta del Toro, and come to a stop in a crescent surrounded by rocky promontories. Dotted with pebbly beaches, it was where they would spend the day.

Bright sun made calm waters sparkle, and the absence of other boats nearby left them in blissful isolation. Birds flying overhead were the only visible beings.

“I could spend the rest of my life here, and I’d be a happy camper.” César’s comment made the other adults nod.

“Captain Davenport, let us know when the photographer calls you. We’re making a run in the tender in a few minutes, taking supplies to the beach. We’ll be ready to ferry you over any time after we return.”

“Got it.” Brett glanced at his watch. “How long will it take them to get here?”

“Should be about thirty minutes from Palma.”

“Are you making multiple tender runs?”

“Yes, sir. After we drop you off, we’ll do one with the food.”

“Okay, if we forget something, it won’t be an issue returning to the boat to get it, right?”

“No, sir. We’re here to serve you.”

“Thanks, Trent.”

CJ and Owen had asked César what he wanted for his birthday, and he requested a new family portrait. The most recent one had Jefferson and Roosevelt still in diapers. CJ made the initial phone call, and his and Owen’s assistant coordinated the details.

“Bro, how come you hired this guy instead of using Roger?” Ritch had met Rogelio Tanaka while in D.C. for his brother’s swearing-in.

“Because Roger’s a city employee, and I wanted to avoid the appearance of conflict.” The freelancer had photographed them for two different publications while they lived in Mexico. CJ’s campaign had hired him as its official photographer, and Roger currently held the same position with the city.

“The one today’s the same one who’s done your magazine covers?” Lucy was surprised when told she was expected to be in the shots. After a long phone call with Ritch, she acquiesced. “I’m still surprised you and Ozzie agreed to appear on so many of them.”

“It’s all politics, Lucy.” Brett waved a hand dismissively.

“Grandpa Cap’s right. After Mexico, Owen and I admitted what we had danced around for years: I’d be running for office as soon as feasible. Ritch was with us in Key West at the time.”

“That summer, after finding out Mayor Bowser’s 2022 campaign would be her last, CJ decided he wanted to replace her, and I agreed.” Owen shrugged. “I knew I’d be part of it, but it was CJ who had to do the heavy lifting.”

“When we heard their plans, Brett and I figured CJ had an uphill climb. A novice, a gay, white man running as a third-party candidate in Washington was gonna be a tough nut to crack.” César smiled, recalling how he and Brett had not been surprised by their son’s intention but by how high he was aiming. They had suspected he would run for the school board first.

CJ sipped from his coffee before continuing. “The grands agreed to support us, but we knew it would take more than money to get me elected. Experience and name recognition were essential.”

“He had a head start because of Mexico. The initial publicity grew after we returned when the White House made a big deal out of us. Interview requests flooded in. The shipwreck added to it. As did his book.” Owen had refused to be listed as a co-author, although he had been instrumental in how it turned out.

“Even before the book was published, while I was still writing and getting ready to return to school, Clive called us. He had kept in touch over the years, reached out right after Mexico, and had a proposal for us.”

“He’s the guy you posed for with Chipper years before, right?” Ritch must have realized the kids were distracted. “Are we boring you guys?”

Liebe replied for them. “I like hearing all these stories. And after yesterday, the boys know better than to interrupt, even if they don’t understand everything.”

“It was, Ritch. And he had a new offer for us. He promised we’d make money, but Owen and I opted for clothing as payment. And we negotiated whose fashions we were willing to wear on the first photo shoot. I insisted on an American designer and struck gold since Tom Ford was interested.”

“CJ had given me a Brioni blazer years before; I loved it and agreed to the shoot because Clive roped them into it. End result was our faces on the cover of a fashion magazine and a closet full of great clothing.”

“For a while, their faces were plastered on every magazine cover. I wanted to puke when they were named to the 100 Most Interesting People list. They turned into high-priced prostitutes, Ritch.” Brett was unable to avoid César’s head slap. His “ouch” made the kids giggle.

“Yes, we did, Grandpa Cap. Yes, we did. And look where it landed us. Those covers helped get me elected.”

“How many have you done, bro?”

CJ shrugged. “I’ve lost count. A few weeks after that initial session, Clive wanted to do it again, including the munchkin. Liebe was a hit.”

The girl preened.

“And when a couple of months later the twins were born, Clive immediately wanted to use the five of us. It got silly. At one point, I saw us on half-a-dozen different covers at an airport newsstand. We kept agreeing to do them until I was appointed Ambassador to Cuba but got back on the train when I announced my candidacy for mayor.”

“When he asked Clive to do the family portrait, the man immediately agreed. He’s been in Paris the past couple of months and flew into Palma last night. That was the call CJ got during dinner.”

Clive Jones had traveled with two others. César watched the three, assisted by one of the Circus’ deckhands, scramble down the rocks, lugging equipment boxes. “They better not drop the cameras before he gets a few shots.”

“Guys, it’s so good to see you again.” The photographer hugged everyone before introducing his companions. “This is Lana Robinson.”

The middle-aged woman smiled at them. “Hi, everyone. I’m one of Clive’s stylists. When he asked if I’d be interested in working on a private family portrait in Mallorca, I jumped at the opportunity.” She shook her head and groaned. “Not sure why. You guys don’t need me. You look great already.” She moved closer to Liebe. “You could make lots of money modeling. Would you like to pose for us on a regular basis?”

Liebe repeated what she had previously said. “No. I’ve done it a few times with the dads, and I don’t like it. They put a lot of stuff on my face, and I hate it.”

“Not sure why some stylists do that. Maybe a little lip gloss, but otherwise, most kids are fine without makeup. You definitely are.”

Clive reached over and tapped his male companion on the shoulder. Busy setting up a drone, the man had not acknowledged the conversation around him. “And this is River Shuler. He’s my top assistant these days and will fly the drone to record the shoot. River’s deaf but can read lips. Just make sure you look at him when—” Clive stopped when Liebe stood in front of River and gesticulated something for the assistant’s benefit. “You know ASL?” The photographer sounded surprised, and River could not have smiled wider if he had tried.

CJ signed something for River’s benefit. “Ozzie and I do too. But just a few words. Liebe’s worked at it since she met Holly.”

“Who’s Holly?”

“Flyboy, we need you posted at a base near D.C. You’re missing out on sooo much.” Brett shook hands with River while mouthing a silent greeting. “Holly Woodson’s—”

“Wait!” Ritch looked amused. “Someone with a last name starting with wood named their kid Holly?”

Owen cracked up. “Some parents… She’s CJ’s interpreter for the deaf, so she’s around us all the time.”

“Excellent!” Clive rubbed his hands while looking around their location. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”

“Why?”

“The white t-shirt and jeans at the beach thing’s been done way too much. It’s why I suggested no Ts.”

Lucy, hands on hip, rounded on Ritch. “And that is why I was so adamant.”

“Sorrrryyyy…” Ritch sounded sheepish.

Lucy chuckled. “And now you remind me of your nephews when they mess something up and don’t really feel bad about it.”

“Enough! The two of you sound like an old married couple.” Brett’s reaction to the conversation was in line with his personality: get to the point.

“Okay, so, instead of the actual beach, I want to shoot you on the rocks.” He pointed at a promontory to one side. “So that’s where we’re headed.”

For a couple of hours, Clive posed the family in various groupings, starting with all of them. Lana stepped in, blotting faces to reduce shine and to touch up Lucy’s minimal makeup between sessions. River captured everything with the drone. Declining a fee, Clive had instead requested permission to record the session, post a short clip on his website, and use the entire thing as part of a photography class he taught at NYU’s film school. CJ and Owen agreed on the condition they received a copy of the drone footage. Being known as their photographer would probably be good for business.

In the meantime, the boat’s crew erected an open-sided tent, set out tables and chairs, and served sangria. Easy to fortify or dilute, it was part of the chef’s surprise white luncheon. Sangria with white grapes, apples, and pale strawberries was a stroke of genius. Butter-poached lobster, Israeli couscous, grilled white asparagus, white farm-style bread, and a dessert full of white chocolate and nuts left everyone complaining about overeating.

“I think CJ berating the chef lit a fire under her butt.” Brett pointed at his son with a piece of bread. “You done good, dude. Her food gets better with each meal.”

CJ shrugged. “I honestly didn’t do that much. Just pointed out we were not typical of spoiled guests they may have had on previous charters. When I mentioned we didn’t want to be a pain but considering the amount of money you were dishing out, we expected better than her initial effort, she recoiled. Must have been surprised anyone would call her out.”

“Dude, it worked! She’s dishing some incredible food.”

While Clive and his assistants packed away the equipment, readying to leave, Brett and the kids stripped to their bathing suits and jumped in the water. The photographer and his assistants had joined the family for lunch. CJ, Owen, Ritch, and Lucy lingered at the table while everyone else around them did their thing.

“Clive, you think you can send me one of the shots with the full family at some point today?”

“Sure. I’ll do it as soon as we get back to the hotel. Any particular one you’d prefer?”

“Nah. You pick.” CJ jerked his head in César’s direction. “I’d like to share one with friends on a post about his birthday.”

Lana and River were already scrambling toward their vehicle when Clive hugged the family goodbye. “I’ll send you that picture. Let me know if Liebe changes her mind; she could make a few dollars posing. The boys too. They’re as photogenic as the rest of you.”

“Liebe’s headstrong like CJ; I doubt she’ll come around.” Owen dismissed his husband’s incipient complaint with a hand wave. “The twins, on the other hand, are hams. We’ll talk to them after they return from Australia and let you know.”

When the two couples removed their outer layers and sat at the water’s edge, lounging in the sunshine, César joined them. The sound of crashing waves was frequently interrupted by squeals whenever one of the kids flew through the air.

While they posed and subsequently ate lunch, their solitude disappeared. Vessels dotted the cove, with boaters and day hikers scrambling over the rocky promontories. It was not as quiet as it had been, but the setting remained idyllic.

Ritch broke the spell the magical landscape created. “Bro, what do you think?” He pointed at a spot where people leaped off a giant boulder rising from the sea. “Wanna do a little cliff jumping with me?”

“Hell, yeah!” CJ was already up and moving. Ritch gave chase when his brother sprinted toward the cliff. The head start allowed CJ to jump first.

“COWABUNGA!”

Brett and the kids turned in time to watch CJ break the surface and explode out of the water, laughing.

“I’m FLYING!” Ritch followed his brother as soon as he moved out of the landing zone.

“I wanna jump! I wanna jump, I wanna jump.” Brett’s shouts were the loudest, but the children were the first ones out of the water.

“STOP!” César stood in their way, legs apart and hands on hips. “You can’t do it unless CJ and Owen give you permission.”

“I need permission?”

“Shut up, Jarhead. CJ! Ozzie! Get over here.”

Owen and Lucy had followed their partners to the boulder’s summit and were faced with a dry, rocky descent or a faster, wet one. Both shrugged and jumped.

“What up, Grandpa A?”

“Liebe and the twins want to jump too. I told them they needed your permission.”

CJ smirked. “Yeah… I figured they would.” He raised a hand to get one of the crewmember’s attention. “Jimbo, can one of you run me to the boat for a few minutes?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Mayor. Or we can fetch whatever you want.”

“Oh, okay. Here’s what I need.” When James left, CJ explained what he had in mind. “You kids are too small to jump from where we did. See that rock?” He pointed at one rising from the surf just a few feet taller than the diving board they were accustomed to back in Washington. “We’ll let you jump off that one, but you have to wear vests and helmets.”

“But you and Uncle Ritch didn’t. Why do we have to?”

“Because he says so. Stop questioning your—ouch!” César’s slap to the back of his head made Brett recoil. “What was that for?”

“For using the worst child-rearing line ever. You don’t tell them they can or can’t do something because anyone says so. Take a page from CJ and Ozzie’s book; share the reasons behind the decision.”

The kids jumped. The kids were tossed. The kids swallowed salt water and sputtered. One puked. But eventually, the kids tired out. By then, the crew had packed everything away, transported most of it to the Flying Circus, and returned to ferry the guests back to the boat.

Exhausted, Liebe, Jefferson, and Roosevelt rinsed using the swim platform’s hose and collapsed on the salon’s couch. They were asleep soon after. The adults, fresh cocktails in hand, moved outside.

“What’s been the highlight of your first fifty years?” Lucy asked César once everyone had settled on loungers.

“That’s easy, but there are several. CJ and Ritch moving in comes to mind first. Not only was it a treat to have them and their friends around, but I really love how they’ve turned out.” César paused to sip his sangria. Everyone’s attention was on him, but he spoke to his sons. “Both of you have chosen professions where you serve others, and I couldn't be prouder. CJ and Owen have given us wonderful grandchildren, and I look forward to more.”

“You’re getting mushy, old man.” CJ ducked in case Owen decided to hurt him.

“I ain’t finished.

“Finding Brett started it all. I was smitten by the handsome Marine the moment I met him. Let’s face it, as with CJ and Owen, Brett and I don’t always agree, but the underlying love and respect make those differences of opinion insignificant. When it comes down to it”—Cesar paused and reached for Brett’s hand. “When it comes down to it, you’re all I need to get by.”

“Hallmark Channel line!” CJ’s quip engendered smiles. “Sappy even if true. I’ve told Owen all I need to be happy is him. Okay, the kids too these days.”

Lucy switched her questioning to Brett. “Your birthday’s at the end of July, right? A couple of weeks after Ritch’s and mine?”

“Yep. I’ll be forty-four on the twenty-eighth.”

“Doing anything special for it?”

César intervened. “Ha! You think Brett would plan this trip for me and not arrange a little something-something for himself?”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Jarhead.” Those words had been repeated so often over the previous days they had become a mantra. “You know damn well I don’t give a crap about fast cars. Why are we going to Monte Carlo after this? And why did you rent an AMG One to get us to the Grand Prix?”

Ritch was suddenly interested in the conversation. “You shitting me? Isn’t that the one Mercedes claims has Formula One performance? Doesn’t it sell for like two or three million? Did you get the convertible?”

A grinning Brett nodded. “Split the difference; it sells for a little over two-and-a-half. And I’m just renting it for a week to explore the south of France, not buying it. I’ve been dying to drive one since they reintroduced the ragtop.”

“There goes all the good Grandpa A did when he bought the electric Hummer.” Owen had cheered when his father-in-law traded in his gas-guzzling Cadillac.

“So that’s your birthday present? A high-performance car for a few days and the Monaco Grand Prix?” Lucy’s smirk was matched by Ritch’s. “And here I thought Ritch and I were the speed demons.”

“Yeah… Sort of. But I’m also looking forward to gambling.” The Casino de Monte-Carlo, like the city and the Formula 1 race, was world-renowned for attracting wealthy jet-setters.

“If I see pictures of you drinking Vespers and playing baccarat while in a tux, I’m gonna lose it. You two are not allowed to upstage me.” CJ winked at his fathers. “At least not until I’m done running for office.”

“Speaking of martinis, who’s ready for a cocktail?” Everyone raised a hand in response to Brett. He signaled for the steward behind the bar.

Kitt was at his side in a moment. “What can I get you, Captain?”

“Martini time. What’s on the menu today?” Each afternoon, the crew offered a different one.

“Spanish style. A twist on the classic, we use sherry, dry vermouth, and Xoringuer gin. It’s distilled on the next island over at Menorca’s Port Mahón.”

“That sounds awesome.” CJ looked excited. “Can you bring me a shot of the gin first? I’d like to taste it by itself.”

When she brought the shot glass and placed it in fron of CJ, he slid it to Owen. “You’re up.”

Owen grinned and lifted the glass to his lips. After going through the motions, he pronounced it acceptable. “Talk about juniper loaded. Based on what I’ve read about gin, this harkens back to olden times. If they’ve been brewing for a long time, I suspect the recipe’s about the same as when they started distilling. I bet they catered to visiting British sailors.”

The cocktails were a hit. The first round was dispatched quickly, and Ritch and Lucy excused themselves immediately after to go freshen up.

“You know we won’t see them again until dinner, right?” Brett raised an arm and twirled his index finger in a circle, calling for a second round.

CJ glanced at Owen and shrugged. “We don’t have anywhere to be, Oz. Can’t move until the kids get up, and we can go shower.” Liebe was allowed to do so on her own, but the boys were not.

It was between César’s second and third sips his grandchildren made an appearance. All three looked sleepy. “Did you guys have a good nap?”

The three nodded. “What are you drinking?” Liebe pointed at the cocktail glass.

“Spanish Martini. Wanna taste?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like gin.” Her brothers, who more often than not followed her lead, did not appear interested in sampling the cocktails either.

Brett rolled his eyes. “Whoever heard a six-year-old claim she doesn’t like gin?”

“I’m seven, Grandpa Cap.”

“Ignore Grandpa Cap, Munchkin. He’s blitzed!”

“I resemble that!”

“And on that note…” César drained his drink, stood, and extended a hand to Brett. “Come on, Grandpa Cap, let’s go shower and change.”

“How many of those did you bring?” César nodded at CJ’s outfit.

“Guayaberas?” CJ slid a hand down the shirt’s long sleeves and toyed with the cufflinks. “Just two. The short-sleeved one I had on for the photoshoot and this one. Considering I’ll be wearing suits while in Slovenia, and boots, jeans and sweaters in New Zealand”—they planned to go hiking with friends they had met in Mexico City—“I figured I wouldn’t need more. Damn linen wrinkles just from looking at it anyway.”

On their way to Havana, following CJ’s confirmation as U.S. ambassador to Cuba, he, Owen, and the kids had spent a weekend in Miami with the great-grandparents. While Olga and Rosario watched the kids, Sebastián drove them to Little Havana to see his friend at El Rey de las Guayaberas. Derived from uniforms worn in the late Nineteenth Century by Spanish soldiers in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philipines, guayaberas were considered proper attire in many tropical countries, even in business settings. CJ and Owen were measured, and a dozen hand-made shirts arrived at their residence in Havana two weeks later.

“You three look cute.” The twins were the only ones wearing shorts that evening; because it was César’s birthday dinner, the adults had dressed up a bit. “Come here, Liebe.” Cesar motioned for his granddaughter to move next to him. “I like the polish. Did you paint them yourself?”

Liebe glanced at her golden fingernails while shaking her head. “Aunt Lucy did it for me. It’s the same color she used.”

“Mr. Liston, would you like to sample the wine now?” Kim, standing next to Owen, held a bottle in her hand. The crew had been informed he was the family’s official sommelier.

He nodded. “But before I do, would you please hand Liebe the cork? Okay, Munchkin, go for it. And tell us what you’re doing.”

“First, I look at it to see if there’s anything funny growing on it.”

“And what could be on it?”

“A fungus. It could be because of the cork, and that would mean we shouldn’t drink the stuff. I think this one’s fine.”

Owen nodded again. “I agree. What’s next?”

“I sniff it.”

“What are you looking for?”

“You can tell if the wine’s bad by how it smells. Like the one you taught me with. That one smelled like cardboard and vinegar.”

“Very good. Is this one safe to try?”

Liebe nodded, and Owen went through the ritual of swirling the liquid and moistening his lips. Apparently satisfied, he took a sip. A sigh of satisfaction and a smile told everyone he approved. He passed the glass to his daughter. “Your turn.”

Although not as smoothly as her father, the girl repeated every step he had taken. In the end, she smacked her lips and grinned. “It’s good! Tastes like pineapples and oranges.”

“Excellent, Liebe!” Owen turned his attention to the rest of the family. “You’ll like this Albariño, CJ. It’s bone dry, and the citrus notes are incredible. There’s a whiff of peach or apples too. Go ahead and pour, Kim.”

CJ offered Liebe a fist bump. “Good job, Munchkin. Proud of you.” Once he tasted the wine, his smile grew. “Oh, yeah! Good stuff. Oz, take a picture. We’re so getting a case or two of this when we return home.”

Photographing wine labels as a reminder of what they drank, and often what they wished to purchase, was common for them. Owen retrieved his phone, aimed at the bottle, and took the shot. “Got it. Bodegas Y Viñedos Raúl Pérez - Sketch Rias Baixas 2019. I’ll google it later.”

The crab-stuffed, ripe tomatoes were the largest César had seen in a long time. The sautéed foie gras over mixed, baby field greens drizzled with a balsamic port reduction left him wanting more. And the paella put his to shame. “I may never make it again. No way is mine anywhere near as good.”

“Can I get anyone anything else?” Kim balanced multiple empty plates in one hand, making César wonder how she did not drop them.

“Booze!”

“Shut up, Jarhead.”

Kim giggled. “I’ll see what I can do, Captain. Would you prefer more wine or something different?”

“What about an after-dinner liqueur?”

“Since we’re celebrating Mr. Abelló’s birthday today, we arranged something for him. We’d like everyone to please adjourn to the salon, where we’ll serve dessert. And you can peruse what we have at the bar.”

Brett jumped out of his seat. “You heard the woman. Move your butts.” Inside, he tried to sit by his husband, but the twins would not budge from César’s sides. He landed on the other end of the sofa. “What’s that for?” He pointed at what resembled a small dance floor.

“Part of the entertainment, Captain. I’ll be back as soon as I drop these plates off in the galley.”

The children complained when CJ and Owen lifted them off the couch, took their spots, and each sat a twin on their lap. Liebe wound up on Brett’s. CJ’s stare quieted their protestations. “Hey, Dad, what’s playing?”

Each day, a different person selected background music for the boat’s common areas. César had the opportunity to choose on his birthday, and the strains of classical guitar had served as dinner’s accompaniment. “Andrés Segovia. Not sure what album this is from; I set the playlist on random.”

Liebe looked back and forth between her father and grandfather. “Who’s that, Grandpa A?”

“A famous guitar player from Spain. I’ll let you look at—” The music stopping made César do the same. Before anyone could say anything, a serious-looking, middle-aged man entered the room carrying a stool and a guitar.

He placed the seat outside the wooden platform on the floor and bowed to his audience. “Good evening. I don’t speak English, but I was told all of you are fluent in Spanish.” He smiled when everyone nodded. “We’d like to wish Mr. Abelló a happy birthday and hope you enjoy our performance.”

Strumming a melancholy note, the guitarist had everyone’s focus on him. So much so his companions entered without being noticed. A woman, her long, dark hair pulled into a tight bun and wearing a blood-red, ruffled dress with black trim, trotted onto the makeshift stage, followed by a second man. Tall and ripped, his shirt left open to showcase his torso, the tight, color-coordinated outfit left little to the imagination.

“He’s uncut.” Brett tried to be quiet, but he made his grandsons giggle. The difference between circumcised and uncircumcised penises had been discussed when taught how to clean under their foreskin.

César’s response was a pantomimed smack to the marine’s head.

The guitarist added words to the music. “La luna se está peinando, en los espejos del río…”

“The moon can’t comb her hair that way. There’s no mirrors in rivers.”

César leaned close to his grandson. “I’ll explain it later, Roo. It’s not meant to be taken literally.”

“You know the song, Grandpa A?”

“I do. It’s a classic. Hush for now. Let’s watch.”

The couple moved to the music with exaggerated gestures. There was a story being told through feet and hands movement. Although the music remained constant, the dancers gradually accelerated their movements. A cacophony of guitar, castanets, voices, and clapping filled the air.

The kids bounced on their seats and threatened to join the performers; CJ and Owen restrained them by hugging them tightly. One number was followed by another, each one increasing the viewers’ involvement. Their applause was loud, but the foot stomping was almost silent since they were barefoot.

“Olé!” The guitarist stood, joined his companions, and the three bowed to enthusiastic applause and calls for more.

Liebe could not be held back at that point. She ran to the dancers’ side and insisted she be allowed to perform. The boys were released to join her. Moments later, the three tried to emulate what had taken the performers years to master.

“I want castanets.” Liebe speared another piece of dessert and shoved it into her mouth. Brett had listed key lime pie as César’s favorite dessert, and the chef had created a citrus sponge birthday cake with lime pie filling.

“We can get some tomorrow when we go into town.” CJ shrugged. “I’m sure every tourist trap will have them for sale.”

As sunset approached, knowing what was planned, Brett urged everyone to join him on the top deck. There, the chief steward waited with nine crystal flutes and a fresh Champagne bottle. “We felt a final toast as the sun set would be appropriate. Mr. Mayor, Mr. Liston, will the children be part of the toast?”

Owen nodded. “A couple of fingers only, okay?”

“Certainly.”

As the sun dipped below the western horizon and the pale sky darkened, CJ raised his glass. “Let’s drink to Grandpa A.” He may have been toasting César, but his eyes alighted on Brett. “My favorite father.”

“Asshole!”

“Grandpa Cap!”

“Stop interrupting. I’ll paraphrase a quote you used a long time ago. ‘Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’ Thank you for teaching me that. Happy birthday, Dad. Fair winds and following seas.”

A little while later, the recently darkened sky came alive with exploding shells. A fireworks display was an appropriate way to end César’s fiftieth birthday celebration.