hugging him tightly after every sentiment-drenched page. Afterwards they took a picture of Cody holding the book proudly, printed it there and then on their computer, and Nate put it right into his wallet, where it had stayed ever since.
The officer followed Nateâs stare and looked at the image, turning it round for a better view. He snorted once and cast the wallet dismissively onto the bed. Then, in a strangely choreographed manner, the two officers exchanged serious glances and turned in unison toward Nate. The one on the chair stood up and Nate watched in disbelief as he unclipped the leather handcuff holster.
Nate stood abruptly. âYouâre kidding me, right? You gotta be kidding me...â
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1976 Â
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By morning, the incident at the party was all but forgotten. It was Sunday, and Nate woke late to find his parents sitting on the balcony eating halves of freshly sliced grapefruit. The place had already been cleaned up; the chairs were all returned to their usual spots, the ashtrays emptied, the glasses cleaned, and the beer cans swept away.
âMorning, sunshine,â said his father, looking up briefly.
Nate caught the glance and smiled in secret camaraderie. The chat had come late the night before, when the party was nearing its end, and his father had left him with a kiss to the crown of his head â and the whispered magical words, Everythingâs fine .
His mother smiled, oblivious to the silent exchange. âWant some breakfast?â She proceeded to put a bowl of the tart pink fruit in front of Nateâs spot at the table. He never liked grapefruit, but it wasnât worth the argument, so he ate it anyway.
Nateâs dad flipped through the paper he was reading and folded the broadsheet into a manageable rectangle. âI had an interesting call this morning,â he said, peering over the top of the paper at Nate. It was clear he wasnât going to go on unless Nate played along. It was corny, but Nate secretly liked it.
âAnd?â Nate asked.
His father looked over to his mother with feigned concern. âI donât know, dear, should I tell him? I donât want to get him too worked up.â
âOh, stop teasing the boy,â she said.
âDad! Come on!â
âAll right, all right. Seems youâve been invited to a sleepover â a two-nighter.â
Nate sat up straight. A sleepover! Now that was some news. In three weeks, he would be thirteen, and for almost a year now it hadnât been cool to be too openly excited about anything, but this... this was a sleepover. âWith who?â he said, his bottom lip suddenly under attack from his teeth. âWith who?â
âTristanâs dad called and invited you up to the plantation,â said his dad. âSounds like a boysâ weekend: itâs you, Pip, Richard, and Tristan. That is, if you want to go.â
âYes! Yes! Yes!â Nate cried out, hopping up from the table. âItâs soooo cool up there!â
His mother chimed in. âPipâs mom called as well. She wanted to know if I was going to let you go. Seems that Pip, Richard, and Tristan were over bothering the judge last night.â
Nateâs enthusiasm took a momentary hiatus; this smacked of trouble. But then his mother went on. âShe wasnât going to let Pip go, but once she heard you were going, I think she changed her mind.â
âThanks, Mom,â said Nate genuinely. âAnd I donât think those guys were doing anything bad to the judge. Itâs just a shortcut through to Tristanâs is all. Itâs lit better there. You donât have to go through the bush in the dark.â
Nateâs mom smiled and dipped back into her grapefruit.
The plantation. It was the stuff of legend in their little group. Tristan had of course been there a million times; heâd grown up on the island and Ti Fenwe Estate was a second home for him. But Nate had