Grandpa Bobby sat back and smiled. “Kids, lemme tell you somethin' about your daddy. He's a good man, but sometimes his brain takes a nap and lets his heart take the tiller.”
My father shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, come on, Pop.”
But Grandpa Bobby was on a roll. He addressed Abbey and me directly. “When your father was a boy, you know what his nickname was at school? ‘Paine-in-the-Butt' Underwood.”
Abbey and I busted out laughing.
“See, he had a bad habit of doing the very first thing that popped into his mind, no matter how foolish,” my grandfather said. “Now, whaddya think he would've done if he'd found out I was still alive and scramblin' to stay that way, down in the jungles of Colombia? He would've hopped a plane or a boat or a donkey, whatever, and gone lookin' for me! Am I right, son? And likely gotten himself killed in the bargain.”
Dad stared down at his shoes.
My mother asked, “So what made you come back, Pop?”
“This is first-rate coffee. Can I pour myself another cup?”
While Grandpa Bobby was in the kitchen, Abbey nudged my father and whispered: “They really called you Paine-in-the-Butt? You are so busted.”
“Keep it up,” Dad said with a tight smile. “I'll deal with you and your brother later.”
Grandpa Bobby returned with a full mug and a jelly donut. He took two bites of the donut and said, “Here's what happened: I'm sittin' in a bar in this little harbor town, waitin' to meet up with some dock rat who claims he saw the Amanda Rose over in the Grenadines. Anyways, they love their satellite TV down there, and it so happens that this particular cantina picks up one of the Miami stations loud and clear.”
“Channel 10?” I asked.
“That's right, Noah. So there I am, drinkin' a beer, mindin' my own business, when all of a sudden I look up and who do I see on the tube? Mr. Paine Lee Underwood, my own son, your own daddy!”
Grandpa Bobby paused and shook his woolly head. “He's wearin' the latest in jailhouse fashions, a nifty puke-orange jumpsuit, if I recall. And he's runnin' off at the mouth about why he sunk some jerk's boat, all because the man was dumpin' toilet poo into the water. My jaw dropped so far it damn near broke my kneecaps. There was my boy in jail!”
Dad looked up. “Tell 'em what you did next, Pop.”
“You mean hitchin' a ride to Key West on that billionaire's yacht?”
“He didn't hitch,” my father said to me and Abbey. “He stowed away.” Grandpa Bobby had already given Dad the full story, while they were out on the towboat searching for our dinghy.
“Where'd you hide?” Abbey asked.
My grandfather beamed. “The wine locker, darlin'.”
“Perfect,” Mom said with a sigh.
“I didn't touch a drop, Donna, I swear,” Grandpa Bobby insisted. “Anyways, I knew the Customs boys would sweep the yacht clean, once we docked in Key West. So as soon as we cleared the harbor, I went overboard. Swam to the Mallory docks and thumbed a ride north with a red-headed insurance adjuster who tried her best to save my heathen soul. She dropped me at Tavernier, where I made camp under the Snake Creek bridge. Found a bunch of old newspapers there. Caught up on what was happening with Paine's court case.”
“Why'd you start tailing me and Abbey?” I asked.
“Just a hunch,” my grandfather said. “In one of those papers was a story where they quoted you, Noah, talkin' about your father. You 'member that?”
“Hey, it wasn't my idea.” I shot a sour look at Dad.
“Well, you came off like a bright, sensible young fella. Still, I couldn't help thinkin' that if you were just a little too much like your daddy or granddaddy, you wouldn't sit still and let this Muleman creep get away with trashin' our family name, not to mention the Atlantic Ocean.” Grandpa Bobby winked, then inhaled the rest of his donut. “So I decided to keep an eye on you and Miss Abbey, just in case you tried somethin' crazy.”
“Thank goodness you did,” Mom said.
My grandfather told us he'd been laying low during the day, fishing with a handline under the bridge. After sunset he'd hide out at the marina, waiting for us to make a move.
“Hiding where?” I asked.
“Last night it was the tuna tower of a big Bertram,” he said.
Abbey was delighted. “I hid there, too! I even got video!”
“It's a long ways up,” Grandpa Bobby said, “but a short trip down. That bald ape never knew what hit him.”
“His name's Luno,” I said.
“I don't care if his name is Mildred, I won't be sendin' him a get-well card.” Grandpa Bobby paused to finish his coffee.
Dad picked up the story. “Mom and I got home from the movies around twelve-thirty. When we saw your beds were empty, we knew right away where you'd gone. She wanted to call the sheriff, but I said no way, I've had enough of their hospitality. So we hopped in the pickup, peeled out of the driveway, and there he was, larger than life-”
“In the middle of the road,” Mom said. “No shirt, no shoes, dripping with sweat.”
“Flailing his arms and running straight at us,” Dad said, “my old man!”
“What'd you do?” I asked.
“I turned very calmly to your mother and said, ‘Either that's a ghost, or the government's given us some bad information.'”
Grandpa Bobby said he'd planned to keep his visit a secret-until he saw me and Abbey escape in the blue dinghy. “The engine on that thing sounded like a bucket of nails in a blender. I knew you kids wouldn't get very far,” he said, “so I ran and fetched your folks.”
“Wait a minute-you would've gone all the way back to South America without even saying hello?” Abbey was steaming. “Without even letting us know you were alive? That's horrible.”
My grandfather sat forward and took one of her hands. “Now listen here, tiger. All those years, there wasn't a day went by that I didn't want to pick up a phone and call your daddy. I missed him more than I can ever put into words.
“But it would've been wrong to drag him into the middle of my situation, which was deadly serious. So my plan was to sneak into the Keys on the sly and see what I might do behind the scenes. I brought along some cash for bail, lawyers, bribes, whatever. There was plenty more in a lockbox up in Hallandale, though I hear your Aunt Sandy and Uncle Del already helped themselves.”
Dad said, “We don't need any money.”
Grandpa Bobby raised one silvery eyebrow. “Really? Since when did you win the lottery?”
“We'll be fine,” Mom said warmly. “But thank you, Pop.”
He smiled. “I understand.”
“Well, I don't,” my sister grumbled. She snatched her hand away from my grandfather. “Know what I think? I think you're a big-”
“Abbey, knock it off,” I said. “He saved our lives.”
“Not quite,” said Grandpa Bobby. “Some private plane spotted your dinghy and called in the location. Your daddy had his VHF radio dialed to the Coast Guard's channel-turns out we were only about three miles away, so we beat the Coasties no sweat. Your daddy's the one who knew where to search. I went along for the ride is all.”
“No, I'm not talking about the rescue,” I said, “I'm talking about what happened on the docks-about Luno and the gun.”
My mother went stiff. “What gun?”
“The guy was going to waste us!” Abbey burst out. “I mean, we were history. Then Noah dived on top of me, and then he”-she nodded toward Grandpa Bobby-“he jumped the goon and took the pistol away.”
Immediately I was sorry that I'd brought it up. My mom's face had gone white.
“He tried to kill you?” She looked at Grandpa Bobby. “Is that true? He tried to kill the children?”
“Donna, it was a flare gun. He probably wanted to scare the you-know-what out of 'em,” my grandfather said.