Dragon Moon Read Online Free PDF

try to hurt us. You have to remember that, Henri. You must never, ever change in front of them.”
    â€œYes, Papa,” he says, still looking down. Then he murmurs, “But I’m still hungry.”
    Sitting in the shade of a cheekee, I watch my son from across one of Monty’s wood-topped tables. Henri’s feet dangle from the wooden bench seat and he swings them while he sucks on the straw the waitress was good enough to put in his glass of water. I grin, watching him drain half the glass in a few sips. The boy’s never used a straw before and, if given the opportunity, I’m sure he’d empty this glass and two or three more.
    â€œThat’s enough for now, son,” I say, taking out my cellphone, dialing LaMar Associates, my family’s company.
    It takes only a minute for Rita, the receptionist, to get Arturo on the line.
    â€œJesus, Peter!” Arturo says. “You told me you’d be over this morning. It’s almost noon now. You should hear Ian. He’s been complaining so much about you making us wait for you that for a minute I thought he was his father come back from the grave.”
    I laugh, say, “God forbid.”
    â€œSo where are you? When are you going to be here?”
    â€œWe’re at Monty’s. Henri was hungry, so we stopped and ordered some burgers. We should be up in a little bit.... Sorry for the delay, Arturo, but this is Henri’s first time around others. He’s overwhelmed enough by all of it. I think it will go better if he isn’t hungry too.”
    â€œYou won’t catch me arguing with you,” Arturo says.
    I wonder if the man is rubbing the scar on his right forearm as we speak. When he visits on the island, he tends to stroke it whenever Henri’s near or I mention the boy to him. Not that I blame him. The bite took over thirty stitches to close. Of course, had Arturo listened to me when I first let him meet Henri, he wouldn’t have reached out to my infant son. Henri never would have bit him without such temptation.
    Any other human would have been shocked by such a thing, but the Gomez family has been serving mine since we first arrived on our island — long before the United States was even a dream in anyone’s mind. Arturo was taught, I’m sure, to expect peculiar things from us and to look the other way when they occurred, as was his father and his father’s father. For this, and their services, they’ve been well rewarded.
    The waitress comes to the table carrying a tray with our meals and I get off the phone. She places a red plastic basket containing a burger and fries in front of Henri, another in front of me. I cut into my burger with a plastic knife and fork, nod when I see the meat virtually raw inside it. I say, “Perfect.”
    She lingers while I cut up Henri’s burger for him. Watches him as he stares at the meat and waits for me to finish. “He’s adorable,” she says.
    â€œThank you,” I say.
    Resting her hand lightly on my left shoulder, she lingers a few more moments, then walks off to wait on another table.
    She’s the first female to touch me in four years. I know some waitresses use physical contact to raise their tips, but still my heart speeds up. I draw in a breath, amazed I could be so affected by such slight feminine contact. I watch her walk away, study her tight shorts, her long legs and firm buttocks and wonder if my celibacy can be maintained for much longer.
    Henri grabs a piece of burger, pops it in his mouth.
    â€œUse your fork,” I say.
    â€œWhy?” he says, picking up another piece with his fingers.
    â€œBecause if you don’t do what I tell you, I won’t bring you to land again.”
    Henri picks up his fork, spears his next piece of meat. I eat in tandem with him, watching him chew, smiling at his total concentration on his food.
    â€œIf you can behave all of today,” I say. “I think