Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 16. GMA XVI

Carolina Marie Prado was born on the last day of June 2019. On the first day of July, CJ and Owen stopped at the hospital to see the newborn.

“Hi, CJ. Hi Owen. Thanks for coming by to see us.” Cristina sounded tired but looked content. Her husband had gone to work, but her mother was in town.

“She’s so tiny!” The newborn was ensconced in the crook of Cristina’s arm. “Thiago’s baby was so much longer. Who does she look like?”

“Damien says she looks like his mother. Oh, and of course your friend’s kid’s going to be larger. He’s so tall himself. Damien and I are both much shorter.”

“Did you see the flower arrangement your fathers’ sent?” Susana had been out of the room, and her return went unnoticed until she spoke. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Susana!” Owen stepped around his husband and hugged the woman. “It’s so good to see you. Congratulations on your first grandchild.”

“Thank you, Owen. Hello, CJ. You both look well. When are you two going to give Brett and César grandchildren?”

“Mother!” Cristina sounded frustrated. “Please forgive her, guys. She’s been on this kick about wanting everyone to have kids. She laid into Chipper yesterday.”

“I did not lay into him. All I did was ask what the deal was with him. I can’t figure out the relationship between him and that couple he spends so much time with whenever he’s in New York.”

“Nothing to figure out, Mom. They’re good friends. If there’s anything else going on, we’ll find out when he decides to tell us.” Cristina rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Mothers! Have you two seen my brother today?”

“Not yet. He stayed with Ajax and Marina last night. But we’re having lunch with him before we head back to Washington tonight.”

 

Chipper was in the apartment when they returned. “How’d you like my niece, guys? Ugly fucker, ain’t she?”

“Rough crowd!” CJ kicked off his sneakers and jumped on the couch next to their friend.

“I’m opening up a bottle.” Owen stared at the stock in the wine cooler by the sideboard and slid one out. “You’re an ass, Chipper. Babies are always scrunched up and ugly when they’re born. I’m sure she looked better today than she did yesterday when you saw her.”

“Don’t remind me of yesterday. I thought I was going to kill my brother-in-law. You know, to balance things out since we had a new life?”

“Oh, shit. What did Damien do?” CJ scooted up on the couch and took the glass Owen offered him.

“He’s a dick! No sooner was my sister back in her room, he started arguing with her.”

“Mate, you can’t be serious.” Owen ignored the glass he had placed near Chipper who nursed a beer and filled the other two. “Who the hell argues with a woman who just gave birth?”

“My asshole brother-in-law does. That’s who. And it wasn’t even a new argument. It was the same shit they fight about all the time.”

CJ patted the sofa cushion, inviting Owen to sit next to him. “You mean they’ve been married less than a year, and they’re already fighting? What the fuck about?”

“About Cristina going back to work after six weeks of maternity leave. Hell! They fight about Cristina working. Period. He thinks a woman’s place is home raising children. He doesn’t want my sister to have a job at all.”

“Maybe I should have married him instead of Ozzie. I wouldn’t mind staying home and being a kept man.” CJ wiggled his eyebrows while sipping his wine.

“Asshole!”

“No, seriously. Has anyone told him this is the twenty-first century? What the hell is he thinking? Oh well, not my problem. I ain’t getting involved.”

“You may need to bail me out when I strangle him.” Chipper raised the bottle, looked at the bottom, and tipped it to swallow the remainder of the beer. “What time you guys headed home?”

“Not sure yet. We’ll catch a late train. We wanna have a couple of days at home and help the dads set up for the party on Independence Day.”

“Sorry I’ll miss that. Do me a favor? Tell Brad I’ll come see him again before I head to Argentina.”

“Will do. Are you flying back straight to Miami at the end of summer?”

“That’s the plan. What about you? Any other trips planned before we all return to real life?”

“Nothing set in stone. We’ll prolly go away on the bikes a couple of times for an overnighter. And we’ll be in Florida at month’s end. Why do you ask?”

“You know how your dad always says traveling’s the antidote to ignorance? How he encourages you to do it as often as possible? Why don’t you come visit me in Buenos Aires?”

Although the idea was appealing, they decided to plan a trip at a later time.

 

“Next time he complains about me playing my music too loud, I’m gonna remind him of this.” Ritchie rubbed his hands together; a Machiavellian plot appeared imminent.

“Won’t work, mate. You blasting Hip-Hop will have him shutting you down real fast.” Owen struggled to be heard above the brass blasts coming from the speakers.

CJ was certain windows rattled up and down the block. Brett took possession of the sound system early; the United States Marine Band playing John Philip Sousa marches was the day’s soundtrack. “The fucker actually turned the volume up when ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever’ came on.”

“You guys should be used to it by now. He does the same thing whenever he plays the Beach Boys.” Brad drained the last of his beer, and raised the empty bottle in Ritchie’s direction; a fresh one was in his hand moments later.

“Stop complaining, soldier. I’m not surprised to hear civilians grumbling, but you should know better. Didn’t they teach you to respect the foremost armed services’ branch at that fancy Ranger training?” The grin on United States Marine Corps Colonel Ray Edwards belied the stern reprimand. Brett’s former commanding officer was a burly African-American with a shaved head and was a dead ringer for Charles Barkley.

“Hush, Marine. None of that service rivalry allowed.” Mrs. Martha Edwards was the only person anyone ever heard blatantly dismiss the man’s comments. The School Without Walls High School principal leaned down and hugged Brad. “And picking on my war hero former student isn’t allowed either.”

“You tell him, Miss Edwards.” Harley’s irreverence was in part fueled by the joint he and Carson had smoked soon after his arrival at the Georgetown townhouse. “Nobody’s allowed to pick on our friend.”

“Your loyalty’s admirable, Mr. Wilkinson. Is Ms. Hoang with you today?” Kim Hoang, Harley’s girlfriend, had graduated from Walls the previous year.

“Yeah. She’s downstairs with my sisters.”

Principal Edwards eyed the bottle Owen held in his hands with anticipation. “CJ, a pleasure to see you as always. Owen, is that bottle from your family’s vineyard?”

“G’day, Mrs. Edwards, Colonel. Sorry to disappoint you. It’s not. This one we found at Publix in Miami when we went grocery shopping with CJ’s grandmother during one of our trips. It’s a California product. A 2016 Lodi Valley, Cabernet Sauvignon from Art of the Cooper. Let me pour you some. I think you’ll like it.”

Aside from Squad—Ethan Feldman, living in New York City, and Chipper were the only absent ones—and Elite members, the gathering was small. Family, close friends, and a few neighbors were invited to a late afternoon barbecue, and to watch the fireworks display from the townhouse’s rooftop deck. The amount of food burdening the dining room table was sufficient to feed an army platoon; Owen’s concerns about waste were quieted when told the catering company had agreed to deliver anything left over to the homeless shelter he and CJ volunteered at on an ongoing basis.

“I’m taking Brad upstairs, guys.” Guests began migrating to the roof deck, and Patrick Kennedy steered his brother’s wheelchair toward the elevator to join them. “We’re going to need a little help carrying him and the chair up the last flight of stairs to the roof.”

Everyone left on the ground floor wanted to assist, and the elevator was crowded on the ride to the third floor. CJ and Owen remained behind but joined the crowd a few minutes later pushing a rolling cart with beverages.

At night’s end, after the fireworks had elicited gasps and cheers, César offered a toast. “Thank you all for joining us. That’s 243 years of American independence. Our continued freedom is due in large part to our armed forces, and I’d like to recognize those amongst us who’ve served. My husband Brett and his old boss Ray Edwards in the Marine Corps. Tom and Brad Kennedy in the Army. Tank Janda in the Navy. And even if I’m jumping the gun a bit, our son Ritchie, who will hopefully be a cadet at the Air Force Academy next year. To all of you, our thanks. Happy Fourth of July!”

 

Two days later, the house was again mobbed with people. It was mostly teenagers this time. Ritchie asked for a birthday party since his seventeenth birthday would be the last one he celebrated while in high school. Because he skipped a grade in elementary school, he was the youngest amongst his classmates.

His actual birthday was on Sunday; on Monday, he was waiting outside the flying school when the doors opened—he was old enough to get a pilot’s license now. Two weeks later, he strutted through National Airport like he owned the place. When he boarded a plane with CJ and Owen, he bragged to the flight attendants he could take over if the pilots became ill.

The flight to Miami was uneventful, as was their arrival at the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables. While Owen drove, CJ called his grandparents to let them know they were safely in town and planned to meet them the following morning for breakfast.

“How come we’re having dinner with Aba only?” They had freshened up after checking in, changed clothes, and headed west to the retirement home their grandmother lived in.

At sixty-eight, Olga Santos was in near-perfect physical and mental health. Her move into the retirement home had been primarily for the benefit of Juan, her deceased husband. The complex provided the necessary care as he neared the end of his life, ravaged by Alzheimer’s. CJ and his mother had lived with the couple for the first two years of his life until Lourdes married Ritchie’s father. Both grandsons were close to Olga.

“Ozzie and I have something to discuss with her.” CJ glanced in the rearview mirror at his brother. “We’re gonna do it in front of you, so we might as well let you in on our plans now. Oz?”

“You have to promise you won’t say anything to anybody, Ritchie.” Owen’s tone was as serious as CJ’s. “Not the dads, the other grandparents, or even your girlfriend. Okay?”

“Sure…” Ritchie sounded somewhat apprehensive. “What’s going on?”

“My mum’s the only person who knows because she was with my sister when Liz planned this out…”

Telling Ritchie on the way was a smart move. His shouting had abated by the time they reached their destination, and he was able to refrain from further outbursts when they repeated the conversation with Olga. She handled the discussion calmly and promised to give their proposal some thought.

On Thursday morning, the three young men from Washington walked across the hotel’s golf course, jumped the chain link fence surrounding the house’s backyard, and joined CJ’s other grandparents for breakfast before playing eighteen holes.

“Not bad, Rubio.” Sebastián Abelló rarely used people’s names, preferring to give them monikers related to their appearance or employment. Brett and Owen were both called blondie.

“Gracias, Abuelo.” Owen’s first tee shot sailed the furthest down the middle of the fairway. “We’ve been traveling so much this summer I haven’t been out to the club often.” He occasionally joined César and Brett for a round even though CJ was not a fan of the game.

“I’d go with you and the dads, Ozzie. But I think I need a few lessons. I suck at this.” It was Ritchie’s second time playing.

“Dude, when are you going to find the hours? Between school, your girlfriend, the boxing club, and flying lessons, I’m surprised you have time to wipe your ass.” CJ ran away laughing when his brother threatened him with the 3-wood from his opening shot.

“Don’t listen to your brother, Piloto.” Ritchie was anointed with the new moniker when the Abelló grandparents called to congratulate him on passing the examination’s flight portion. “He’s jealous because you play better than him.”

“Don’t start with me, old man. I’ll tell Abuela you were mean. Save it for the dads when you play with them tomorrow.” César and Brett would arrive later in the day and planned on joining Sebastián and the Miami attorney—a fraternity brother of César—the family used to handle legal matters in South Florida.

 

“I’ll take that one.” Ritchie stabbed his finger against the cabinet’s glass front, pointing at the yellowtail snapper resting on a bed of shaved ice.

“You’re going to eat the whole thing?” Taisha Abelló had flown in from Washington with her husband Rod, César, and Brett. “That thing’s huge. Where are you going to put it?”

“Just watch me.” The teen rubbed his stomach in clear anticipation of having the fish fried and in front of him. “What are you having?”

“Trying to decide between the kingfish and the lobster.” Bahamas Fish Market was an unassuming restaurant with bright fluorescent lights, vinyl-upholstered chairs, and laminate-covered tables topped with paper placemats. The entire family swore it served the freshest seafood in Miami.

“Florida lobster season doesn’t start until next month. The ones they have are probably frozen.”

“How do you know this?”

Sadness clouded the kid’s face for a moment. “My dad was a boater. We used to go out all the time.”

“Sorry to drag up bad memories, Ritchie.” Taisha gave his shoulder a squeeze. She was aware of his parents dying in a boating accident.

“Don’t worry. They’re actually happy memories for the most part. There’s a two-day mini-season for sport fishermen every July. CJ and I loved to go out with my dad. Until he was a jerk when he found out CJ was gay. That year it wasn’t fun at all.”

CJ kept an eye on his brother, worried the restaurant would bring sadness; it had been a favorite of Richard and Lourdes Peterson. “Huh?” He had been lost in his own recollection and missed whatever it was his grandmother said to him.

“I asked you what time you’d be back tomorrow.” Rosario Abelló turned eighty in a week, and the family gathered this weekend to celebrate. The Chicago contingent would arrive on Friday.

“Not sure, but I’m guessing sometime in the afternoon.” The grandmothers planned to cook for the reunion. “Once we’re back and shower, we’ll walk over to the house.”

It had taken CJ being exiled from his home, and later his mother and her husband dying, to bring both sets of grandparents close. Lourdes had kept his birth a secret from the Abellós for two years, but that was forgotten and forgiven. Sebastián and Rosario bonded with the other grandparents and stepped in to help when Juan died.

“You’re going to miss out on the best stuff, Campeón.” Champ was what his grandfather always called him. “Your cousins may strip the house before you and your rubio pick anything.”

“We don’t care about that, Abuelo. And I still can’t believe you’re selling the house. You’ve lived there forever.”

A secondary reason for the family coming together was the fact the elderly couple had put their home on the market and planned to move into a condominium unit when it sold. The downsizing meant most furnishings would not fit in the new place, and they had invited the family to select any items they wanted before whatever was left would be donated to charity.

“We’re getting old, CJ. The house’s too big and ancient. It requires a lot of maintenance. I’m only four years younger than your grandmother, so both of us are slowing down. Not having to go up and down those stairs will be a nice change.”

“Don’t worry about that painting you like, CJ.” Rosario tucked a loose strand of white hair behind an ear. “I already put a sticker with your name on it.”

Paul Hampton Crockett was a Miami artist who had gained a modicum of fame due to his paintings and his activism on behalf of HIV positive individuals. An acquaintance of César’s, he created a painting of the grandparents’ house, focusing on the roofline under a bright blue sky filled with puffy white clouds. Purchased as a present by Sebastián and Rosario’s sons, CJ had always loved the architectural details and bright colors.

“But, Abuela, you can’t get rid of it! It was a present from Dad and Uncle Rico.”

“Bah! It’s only a piece of art, CJ. And we’ve had it for over twenty-five years. As we get older, material possessions mean much less. I’d rather you and Owen hang it in your new house, and enjoy it for a long time. We’ll see it when we come visit.”

“Dude, take it. Your dad already mentioned a couple of things he wants.” Brett was insistent. “We’ll put your painting and whatever else together, and we’ll arrange to have it all shipped. You know damn well art’s a good investment. The artist might not be that famous, but I think this piece will be a good addition to your little, growing collection.”

 

“How do you know this guy?” The second energy drink had at last loosened Ritchie’s vocal cords. They left Miami before sunrise, and he mostly grunted on the drive north to the Pompano Dive Center.

“Through work.” Owen sipped from his coffee tumbler while CJ navigated South Florida’s morning rush congestion. “There’s this initiative called the Florida Reef Resilience Program that the Nature Conservancy’s a part of. It’s the largest coral reef monitoring program in the world. Anyway, I met Osvaldo at a meeting in DC. We got to talking, and when he found out I was a frequent visitor to South Florida, he suggested I join him on an expedition some time. I called him about a month ago, and here we are.”

“And you’re sure it’s okay for me to come with? I’m so tired of not being able to do things because I’m not eighteen yet.”

CJ’s laughter echoed inside the SUV. “Bro, enjoy it while you can. I was in such a hurry to grow up, I prolly missed out on normal teenage shit. Now I’m an old married man, and the ball and chain keeps me on a short leash.”

“Asshole!” Owen’s hard punch against his biceps made CJ swerve a little as he took the Atlantic Boulevard exit heading east. “You’ll be fine, Ritchie. I told him you were a minor, and he said it was okay. The only thing you won’t be able to do is strap on scuba tanks since you aren’t certified. But he promised you’d enjoy yourself anyway.”

“And we don’t have to pay anything?”

“Nope. We’re his guests. Although people can sign up for these trips and pay a fee. The dive center donates all proceeds to the Guy Harvey Research Institute. That’s part of Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale.”

The backpack CJ carried as they walked down the pier had towels and sunscreen; all other equipment was aboard. While the boat chugged north, Dr. Toro described what they could expect.

“Since you’re not certified, you won’t be able to strap on tanks and join the others.” The man smiled when Ritchie’s face showed disappointment. “But you knew that already. However, I promise you won’t be sitting on your hands. Once we lower the cage in the water, you’ll be in it. We’ll give you a mask and snorkel, and you’ll man one of the cameras.”

“Cool! My friends are gonna be sooo jealous. I can’t believe we’re doing the kind of stuff they do during Shark Week. What type of shark are we gonna tag?”

When they dropped anchor off the shore of Boca Raton, the boat became a beehive of activity. The graduate students with them did most of the work, while the boat captain and dive master supervised. Equipment was thoroughly checked, the metal cage was dropped off the side, and Ritchie was tasked to help the one female in the group bait the lines. The chunks of fish would hopefully attract the juvenile tiger sharks they wanted to catch.

CJ and Owen, wearing shortie wetsuits, were the last two to sit on the boat’s edge and flip backward into the Gulf Stream’s waters. Once the bubbles from their entry dissipated, they held onto the cage’s metal bars, and gave a thumbs-up sign. Ritchie tracked their moves with the camera in his hands.

The first animal to approach was a sand shark; CJ had encountered those while snorkeling in the Florida Keys before. Not known for attacking humans, they did harass spearfishing divers. Additional ones joined the initial lone hunter until half-a-dozen of them circled the divers and inspected the dangling lines. When the shiver dispersed, Dr. Toro pointed toward a different animal swimming in their direction and signaled for them to rise to the surface.

“That’s a bull shark approaching.” They hung with a hand grasping the safety cage, regulators hanging by their side. “Not what we were looking for today, but let’s try and tag it.”

“Those can be dangerous, right?” Ritchie blew his nose and rinsed his hand in the water.

“All sharks can be a danger in the right circumstances. We should be safe. If he takes the bait, wait until the crew on board lassos him before moving in.”

For the first time that morning, CJ felt apprehensive. “Should be safe?” He had had a couple of close encounters with the beasts before.

Owen’s malevolent grin did not calm him. “Bawk, bawk, bawk, bawk… Didn’t you call me chicken when I was worried about skydiving?”

“Asshole!” CJ removed his mask, spit on the lens, rubbed it with a gloved finger, and replaced it on his head before going under again.

 

“The two of you are grounded. You took your brother diving with sharks, and you didn’t ask our permission?” César’s annoyance amused the men surrounding him as he repeatedly stabbed the elevator’s call button. “What in the hell possessed you to risk his life that way?”

“Grounded?” Brett was somehow able to sputter the word, while Ritchie tried to hide behind his brother. “You’re grounding two grown-ass men?”

“Shut up, Jarhead. I’m not in the mood for jokes right now.”

“I was safe the whole time, Mr. A. I was inside the cage using the camera. It was sick when CJ and Ozzie clamped the doohickey to the fins. Dr. Toro said it’s traditional for whoever does it to name the shark, but they let me do it. It was a female, so I named her Lucy. We’ll be able to track her online.”

“You named it after your girlfriend? Won’t she be upset thinking you’re calling her a shark?” Silas Washington and the rest of the family’s Chicago branch had arrived during the day. He was sharing Ritchie’s hotel room, while the others stayed at the grandparent’s house.

“Nah… She was all excited when I texted her about it. And she re-shared the picture I posted. There’s like a gazillion comments on it already. From my friends at Sidwell and hers at Walls.”

CJ rolled his eyes; he was getting annoyed. “You sound like a fucking woman on the rag, Dad. Stop bitching, okay?”

“And you stop being a disrespectful whelp. This is the last time I trust you and Ozzie with your brother.”

“Fuck you, old man!” CJ’s infamous temper boiled over as they waited for a foursome to play through before crossing the golf course. “You want respect? You gotta earn it the way you’ve always told me. What the hell was that crack about us being grounded? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m over twenty-one. And I don’t even live in your house anymore. You think swimming with sharks’ unacceptable, but you have no problem when Ritchie gets inside a small plane by himself. You’re being a—“

“ENOUGH!” Brett raising his voice was uncommon. “Both of you are on time-out. César, you’re helicoptering. CJ, you calm down this minute. For the record, your father objected to the flying lessons, but I overrode him. We’re here to celebrate Rosario’s birthday, and I’m not about to let you two ruin the night. If you can’t control yourselves, go back to the hotel right now.”

Silence reigned until they reached the chain link barrier separating the grandparent’s house from the fifteenth-hole’s fairway. While Brett and César used the gate, the younger men vaulted over the fence as usual.

“I’ve never seen your dad and your brother argue like that. Are they going to be okay?” Silas soft-spoken words carried sufficiently for CJ to overhear.

“We’ll be fine, Silas. It’s not the first time the dads and I go at it. Sometimes they forget I’m not the scared, inexperienced boy they took in five years ago. Ritchie, tell Silas about when that one shark charged us.”

“Oh man, I thought I was going to pee myself. It had its mouth closed but I’d already seen all those damn teeth. So, it swims towards CJ after circling for a while. By then there were a few around us, and I kept trying to follow them with the camera. When it got close to him, CJ put his hand on its nose and pushed it to the side. It was insane! I’m not sure I could have been that relaxed. Ozzie was…”

CJ tuned out his brother, briskly walked to his father’s side, and slipped an arm around his waist. “Sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have lost my shit that way. But you pissed me off.”

While the two teenagers walked inside, the others came to a halt at the patio’s edge. “CJ, the day you and Ozzie have kids, I’m going to remind you of this. We worry enough about you two and all the shit you do. With Ritchie, the concern’s a bit more pronounced. He’s nowhere near as mature as you were at his age. And you have to remember you and Olga are the only blood relatives he has. We took the responsibility to raise him willingly, but I’ll always worry about his safety. The kid’s had enough losses already, and I don’t want him injured, maimed, or killed.”

Over the evening—following consumption of a not-insignificant amount of alcohol—peace was restored, and harmony reestablished. The amount of booze ingested by Ritchie and Silas was somewhat higher than usual; they required assistance getting back to the hotel and into their room.

The following day, CJ and Randy’s husband, Tyler lounged by the Biltmore’s famous pool drinking mojitos, while the women in the family pampered themselves at the spa. The other men played a round of golf. Dinner that evening was at Christy’s, a Coral Gables dining-scene mainstay for over forty years. The restaurant was famous for its prime rib. The large group occupied the private back room and was anything but quiet. Multiple conversations were crowned by César and Rico recounting stories of growing up with their mother, and a final toast by Sebastián.

The next day, the Chicago and Washington contingents flew home. A week later, Sebastián and Rosario embarked on a two-week cruise traversing the Panama Canal and sailing down the coast of South America to Santiago, Chile.