—If you want to walk on the beach, you have to get a hotel pass, the watchman said, pointing over to the pink-and-yellow building up a ways.

—I thought the beaches were public, Don Chan said, asserting his rights.

The watchman placed his hand on his rifle.

—Está bien, Bobby said and waved good-bye.

—And you want to give up so easily? Don Chan tugged at Bobby’s shirt.

—Let’s go, Abuelo. Miraluz is waiting.

—Ah, Miraluz, did I ever tell you she made the best bread pudding? Don Chan hurried into the car, forgetting about Juan Dolio. Bobby looked to the hotel strip, the wall that separated him from Don Chan’s home, and realized that this place was far from where Don Chan had grown up. It was the home of tourists, not what Don Chan had described.

Soon after Juan Dolio, they arrived at the malecón of San Pedro de Macorís, where the navy had docked in the early 1900s. Where Don Chan first saw the city. Where his father decided that they would no longer be sea people in order to protect Don Chan. The rotunda looked over the malecón, filled with the heavy traffic of motocicletas, cramming in between the cars. The street vendors knocked on their windows, selling peanuts, cell phone carrying cases, and bags filled with peeled oranges.

—She lives by the movie theater, Don Chan said, looking around for it.

Santo had told Bobby stories about the old movie theater in San Pedro where he had first seen King Kong. But there were no movie theaters to be seen.

—You mean you don’t have an address? The driver looked pissed off. He had to get home before his wife locked the doors on him.

—Who needs an address when I have my memory? Don Chan said and got out of the car and bid the driver farewell.

—Abuelo, why did you tell him to leave?

—We don’t need him, Don Chan said and walked to the malecón, to sit by the sea.

—Did I ever tell you that before we were from the valley, we lived by the sea?

Bobby grabbed their two bags and propped them next to Don Chan.

—Stay here while I call Miraluz, Bobby told Don Chan, wondering if he would remember to stay put.

—Yes, sir, Don Chan said and saluted his son for taking control of the situation. Any minute now, they would be piling into cars to go to the capital and fight the marines. All their ammunition was packed tightly in their bags.

Bobby laughed and took the bag with the computer just in case. The laughter felt good. Ever since Bobby got off the plane, he’d rediscovered the muscles on his face that were numb from disuse since Hush died. The thought of Hush gave him a pang of separation anxiety from Consuelo. His greatest fear now was that something would happen where he couldn’t see her again. He checked to see if he had Pura’s number.