Alberto smiled and took another bite of his sandwich.
The game continued until finally, Alberto laid his king over on its side. “You will checkmate in two moves,” he said with a cunning smile. “Can we play again?”
“Perhaps in a while,” Paul said. “Jesse has something to tell you.”
Alberto looked at me and I guess the expression on my face erased his smile.
“We learned some things last night,” I began. “Things about you and your past. I’m afraid some of it might be upsetting for you to hear.” His dark eyes shifted from one of mine to the other, looking for advice in my demeanor. “Do you think you’re ready for me to tell you these things?”
He subconsciously scooted closer to Savannah; she put an arm around his shoulders. Then his eyes sought DJ’s, but his new friend looked solemn and said nothing.
Alberto looked back at me and nodded somberly. “Yes. I want to know.”
“Your last name is Marco,” I began, judging his reaction.
He nodded again but showed no outward sign that it jarred a memory.
“Your mother’s name was Carmel Marco and your father was LaBron Green.”
He stared into my eyes. “Was?” he croaked.
“Yes,” I replied. “I am terribly sorry, Alberto. They are both dead.”
Tears welled in his eyes, but he wiped them away before they could fall. “My mom and dad are dead?”
I looked over at Savannah and saw tears in her eyes, as well. She gazed at me, imploringly.
I knew what she wanted. I wanted it too.
I nodded.
“Your mother and father are no longer with us,” she said softly. “But Jesse and I can be your dad and mom. If you want us to be.”
Alberto looked up at her, then at all the others sitting around the table, finally resting on DJ.
“You won’t find a better substitute,” DJ said. “Jesse and Savannah can teach you things and show you stuff nobody else in the world can.”
Alberto looked back up to me.
“There’s probably a lot of red tape,” I warned him. “The cops will determine if you have any family. They’d be first in line to adopt.”
“How did my mom and dad die?”
Behind him, I could see Paul shake his head no. He didn’t think the boy was ready to hear all the details. I decided to be honest but not to tell him everything.
“Your father was killed in an accident when you were five,” I said. “And your mother died the night you were put on that little boat.”
The tears flowed and Alberto made no effort to hide them. His lip quivered as he fought for control. Savannah pulled him close and cried with him. The whole group moved nearer, leaning over him. He sobbed for several minutes. I worried that my telling him might bring back bad memories.
After a moment, he looked up at Paul. “Dad taught me how to play checkers and chess.” Then he looked up at me, sadness etched in his dark brown eyes. “Did the drugs kill my mom?”
I couldn’t hold it back any longer: the strain caused a great amount of sweat to run down my cheeks from my eyes.
I took his hand in both of mine. “Yes, Alberto,” I lied. “It was the drugs.”
An hour after we told Alberto what had happened to his parents, we said goodbye to DJ on the docks.
“I’ll come down and visit you soon,” DJ told Alberto.
“We’re going on a big boat this weekend. It’s called Ambrosia.”
“Better still,” DJ said, kneeling on his good knee. “You’ll love Ambrosia and I visit there pretty regularly.”
DJ helped untie the lines and we were soon idling out into the Caloosahatchee. Savannah, Alberto, and I remained aboard Sea Biscuit; Alberto seemed to like it better, and we both wanted to stay close to the boy, so it was just the three of us.
Tony, Paul, Tank, and Chyrel took the Revenge. They’d go back to the Rusty Anchor, where Chyrel’s car was.
Once we cleared the high bridge going over to Sanibel Island, we headed out to open water. Tony accelerated a little and the Revenge started to pull away. Then Savannah pushed the throttles forward and the big Grand Banks accelerated, matching Tony’s speed. Alberto sat next to Savannah at the helm, with me across from them on the port bench.
“Can it go faster?” Alberto asked her.
“A little,” she replied and pushed the throttles to the stops.
The boat gathered more speed, and we were soon overtaking the much faster Gaspar’s Revenge.
“What about that boat?” he asked me, leaning forward, and looking around Savannah.
Tony was on the Gulf side of us, so I reached over and took the mic, switching the VHF over to the channel I knew the standby radio on the Revenge was tuned to.
“Hey, Tony,” I said. “Alberto wants to know if that’s all you’ve got. How about making a big circle to starboard? Wide-open throttle.”
Even from a hundred yards away, I could see Tony’s big, toothy grin. The Revenge had twin MTU 10V2000 M96 engines, manufactured by Rolls Royce for larger yachts. But we had the room and shoehorned them in there a couple of years ago to replace the original 1300 horsepower Caterpillars. The MTUs produced 1500 each.
The Revenge began accelerating, pulling ahead of us. When she was a quarter mile ahead, Tony turned the wheel, heading out to sea at full speed.
“Wow!” shouted Alberto.
Tony kept the wheel over as the distance between us increased. He made a full circle nearly a mile wide, then straightened her up a half mile behind us.
Alberto turned around in his seat, getting up on his knees.
“Now watch this,” I said, as the Revenge neared Sea Biscuit’s wake.
He looked over at me, grinning, then looked back aft, just as the Revenge hit our inside wake. The big Carolina bow flares shot a stream of spray to both sides as the Revenge plowed through. Then she encountered the larger, more tightly packed bow waves. She was traveling at nearly double
