"Hey, my boy, how's it going? Jonas, isn't it?" The voice from behind me was heavily accented, and something about it made me grit my teeth."Do I know...you?" I asked, turning. The guy was taller than I am by a couple of inches, and looked like he'd stepped from the pages of a swimwear catalogue. He was wearing only a pair of loose khaki beach shorts and a linen shirt, open to the waist, showing off a physique that was impressive, even by the standards of Jane's party."No, but we have something. Montoya interrupted him."Hector, that is no topic for the dinner table," he reprimanded."Si Abuelo," the boy said, head down."Besides, I am sure that Mr. James is not allowed to talk too much about what he did, isn't that true?" That's right," I said. "I'm sorry, but the only things the government lets me talk about are the dusty, dirty, boring parts, like trying to keep the sand out of my socks," I made the joke, and it worked causing the boy to forget the reprimand and the unanswered question. More

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