and Tío Sam’s.
“Sweetie, your granddad was the only survivor.”
Rain looked at her Papa, hanging on the bulkhead amid his smiling crew.
Joe took a deep breath and finished. “Sebastian Bohique was not a man to harbor regrets. He figured you took what life gave you, made your choices and lived with ’em. But this was different, see? He felt he kept those boys from going home. I didn’t blame him; the Navy didn’t blame him; the Army Air Corps didn’t blame him; even the families didn’t blame him. But he blamed himself. That’s the one regret he took to his grave.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE LAST SUMMER RAIN
Rain and Charlie walked slowly down the beach under the late afternoon’s waning sun. She spoke quietly, almost to herself: “It all makes sense now. ’Bastian appearing. His buddies looking out to sea. He needed to set things right; he needed my help, and I let him down.”
“Rain…”
“But why appear to me? Why not to my mom? Or to Old Joe, who would have understood? Or to anyone who would have handled it better?”
She stopped, turned and stepped in front of a worried Charlie. “The armband’s the key. I know it is. And that means if I can get it back, I may still be able to get him back.”
Charlie looked miserable. “Rain, let it go. Come to the party tonight and forget all this. It’s … it’s nuts!”
“I know how it sounds, but…” She stopped, looked around helplessly, then attempted to gather her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice sounded fragile in a way Charlie had never heard before. “My world got smaller without him in it.”
He wanted to reach out, at least put a hand on her shoulder. But he was afraid and then surprised and vaguely electrified when she put her hands on his shoulders. “That last night before, before he … he said the armband would make me feel part of something larger. I don’t know if I believed him then. But I believe him now. And I need you to believe too. I said I didn’t, but I lied. I can’t do this without you.”
Charlie stared at her for a long moment with his mouth hanging open. Does she get what she’s asking? How am I supposed to believe any of this? And yet despite himself, his mouth began to curve into a smile. “How can I help?” he said finally.
Rain smiled back. She linked her arm in his and propelled them both down the beach. “I don’t have a clue,” she said.
“Your magic number is fifty-seven,” Maq said, employing just enough volume to grab the kids’ attention. We were about thirty yards further down the beach, entertaining tourists for quarters.
“Bernie, that’s your age!” Maude Cohen squealed.
“Then that’ll be a quarter,” Maq replied. He smiled at me, and I smiled back, as Bernie Cohen, wearing a new but equally loud Hawaiian shirt, hurried to pull a quarter out of the pocket of his Bermuda shorts.
Eagerly anticipating her turn, Maude pushed at her fumbling husband. “Give him the quarter, Bernie.” And when he had, she turned on Maq: “Now, do me!”
Maq tipped back his old straw hat. He grinned broadly at Maude. “Your magic number is 171.”
Bernie, impressed, said, “Maude, that’s your—”
“Just give him the quarter, Bernie.”
Rain and Charlie approached. Maq absently called out, “Hey, Rain.” And I watched him pocket the second quarter as a fuming Maude pulled her husband toward the parking lot.
“Hey, Maq,” Rain said.
I was lying on my stomach on the sand, and Rain crouched down beside me, while Maq and Charlie exchanged greetings. She rubbed my head then scratched between my ears, asking, “And how is Opie today?” in a cutesy baby-talk voice. Coming from anyone else, I’d have been annoyed.
“Your magic number is nine, Rain.”
“What?” She looked up, confused.
Maq started to back away up the beach. Reluctantly, I pushed myself up onto my feet and padded after him. He moved pretty fast for an old guy. I had to run to catch up.
“Your magic
“Sweetie, your granddad was the only survivor.”
Rain looked at her Papa, hanging on the bulkhead amid his smiling crew.
Joe took a deep breath and finished. “Sebastian Bohique was not a man to harbor regrets. He figured you took what life gave you, made your choices and lived with ’em. But this was different, see? He felt he kept those boys from going home. I didn’t blame him; the Navy didn’t blame him; the Army Air Corps didn’t blame him; even the families didn’t blame him. But he blamed himself. That’s the one regret he took to his grave.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE LAST SUMMER RAIN
Rain and Charlie walked slowly down the beach under the late afternoon’s waning sun. She spoke quietly, almost to herself: “It all makes sense now. ’Bastian appearing. His buddies looking out to sea. He needed to set things right; he needed my help, and I let him down.”
“Rain…”
“But why appear to me? Why not to my mom? Or to Old Joe, who would have understood? Or to anyone who would have handled it better?”
She stopped, turned and stepped in front of a worried Charlie. “The armband’s the key. I know it is. And that means if I can get it back, I may still be able to get him back.”
Charlie looked miserable. “Rain, let it go. Come to the party tonight and forget all this. It’s … it’s nuts!”
“I know how it sounds, but…” She stopped, looked around helplessly, then attempted to gather her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice sounded fragile in a way Charlie had never heard before. “My world got smaller without him in it.”
He wanted to reach out, at least put a hand on her shoulder. But he was afraid and then surprised and vaguely electrified when she put her hands on his shoulders. “That last night before, before he … he said the armband would make me feel part of something larger. I don’t know if I believed him then. But I believe him now. And I need you to believe too. I said I didn’t, but I lied. I can’t do this without you.”
Charlie stared at her for a long moment with his mouth hanging open. Does she get what she’s asking? How am I supposed to believe any of this? And yet despite himself, his mouth began to curve into a smile. “How can I help?” he said finally.
Rain smiled back. She linked her arm in his and propelled them both down the beach. “I don’t have a clue,” she said.
“Your magic number is fifty-seven,” Maq said, employing just enough volume to grab the kids’ attention. We were about thirty yards further down the beach, entertaining tourists for quarters.
“Bernie, that’s your age!” Maude Cohen squealed.
“Then that’ll be a quarter,” Maq replied. He smiled at me, and I smiled back, as Bernie Cohen, wearing a new but equally loud Hawaiian shirt, hurried to pull a quarter out of the pocket of his Bermuda shorts.
Eagerly anticipating her turn, Maude pushed at her fumbling husband. “Give him the quarter, Bernie.” And when he had, she turned on Maq: “Now, do me!”
Maq tipped back his old straw hat. He grinned broadly at Maude. “Your magic number is 171.”
Bernie, impressed, said, “Maude, that’s your—”
“Just give him the quarter, Bernie.”
Rain and Charlie approached. Maq absently called out, “Hey, Rain.” And I watched him pocket the second quarter as a fuming Maude pulled her husband toward the parking lot.
“Hey, Maq,” Rain said.
I was lying on my stomach on the sand, and Rain crouched down beside me, while Maq and Charlie exchanged greetings. She rubbed my head then scratched between my ears, asking, “And how is Opie today?” in a cutesy baby-talk voice. Coming from anyone else, I’d have been annoyed.
“Your magic number is nine, Rain.”
“What?” She looked up, confused.
Maq started to back away up the beach. Reluctantly, I pushed myself up onto my feet and padded after him. He moved pretty fast for an old guy. I had to run to catch up.
“Your magic
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