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father said,
fixing him with a serious look.
    “Well, of course, Dad, she’s my cousin—”
    “You know what I mean, son. I realize she’s
only related to you by adoption—”
    “Aw, jeez, Dad,” the boy said, feeling his
face redden.
    “Just be very, very careful with people’s
feelings, T.J. You’ve always had a good heart, but sometimes your
heart gets ahead of your brain.”
    Mercifully, there was a knock on the door,
and Mike Weinstein poked his head in. “Dude, Chappy’s waiting
downstairs with the car,” he said brightly. “Let’s get
motoring!”
    “Right behind you,” called out Tom Sr. Father
and son walked out together into the noonday sun.
     

Chapter Nine
     
    “ Can you believe
this?” said T.J. as the boys sat atop the majestic limestone cliffs
and watched foaming waves crash upon the beach below. The
refreshing spray of the ocean, filled with salt and seaweed,
reached all the way to their perch at the edge of Astwood Park.
Below them, birds called longtails peeked in and out of the
pockmarked headland. Clouds scudded across an azure sky, and the
water seemed to go on forever.
    “Makes you forget why we’re actually here,”
said Bortnicker. “Hey, did you notice how Chappy clammed up when
Mike mentioned William Tarver?”
    “Yeah,” said T.J., “like the subject was too
touchy.”
    “Hmm. By the way, what were you and your dad
doing all that time in his room? Is everything all right?”
    “Yeah, we were just talking.”
    “About what?”
    “Stuff.”
    “Such as?”
    “Nothing important. He just wants us to
behave ourselves over here, that’s all. Bermuda’s special to him,
and he doesn’t want us screwing up.”
    “Oh. Does this have to do with your mom?”
    “Yeah, I guess. He gets pretty emotional
about it sometimes, and then it makes me feel bad, too.”
    “I know, Big Mon. But, hey, you’ve got me,
and by tomorrow afternoon, LouAnn’ll be joining the party!”
    T.J. brightened. “Let’s go check out that
pink sand, man,” he said, pushing up from his seat. “These rocks
are killing my butt.”
    They clambered down to a narrow path and
sprinted toward the water’s edge, where the foaming surf hissed as
the waves pulled back with a powerful undertow.
    “Look!” cried Bortnicker, standing calf-deep
in the surging current. “There’s a school of fish swimming in the
waves!” Indeed, a swirling mass was apparent each time a wave
crested. “Too cool!”
    They followed the shoreline to Jobson’s Cove,
climbing over the sheltering rocks that formed the lagoon. It was
no more than 50 feet across or a few feet deep, but it contained a
host of tropical fish that had squeezed through the boulders
looking for food or calmer waters. A few tourists lay on the small
beach while their children snorkeled in the crystal clear pool.
“It’s like seeing one picture postcard after another,” said
T.J.
    “No question. Hey, shouldn’t we be getting
back to the hotel? I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry,
and Chappy’s supposed to know all the good spots.”
    “Let’s do it.”
    They found the personable driver stretched
out on a reclining chair near the pool. “Ah, there you are,” he
said, rising. “Michael and Tom Sr. have already dropped off your
provisions and are, as we speak, renting their scooters. What did
you have in mind for lunch?”
    “Is there a place near the dive shop where we
can eat something Bermudian?”
    “Well, that’s encouraging,” said Chappy.
“Most Yanks just want to know where they can find a good
cheeseburger.”
    “Bortnicker’s like Joe Gourmet,” explained
T.J. “So let’s start off with something local.”
    “As they say in the States, ‘I like how you
guys roll’. Hop in and let’s go.”
    T.J. grabbed the front seat while Bortnicker
stretched out in the back.
    “Is there any particular music you gents like
to listen to?” asked Chappy as he cautiously pulled out of the
hotel’s