Distant Blood (16 page)

The battle lines drawn, Sass clicked her nails against the silk-soft leather. “I don't need some recently discovered offspring of my brother's telling me what is and isn't my business. I don't care what Bob Don says, you're not family. You're a stranger.” She turned to her brother, who was staring at her slack-jawed.

“Oh, Sass, no,” Gretchen mewled.

“I wouldn't be very inclined to claim you as kin, ma'am,” I retorted, my anger getting the better of me. “You've been nothing but damned unpleasant since we got here. You've been snide to Gretchen, sharp to your brother, and downright hostile toward me.”

“Why should I be kind to you?” she demanded. “All you want is to take from me and mine. Why on earth has Bob Don not produced you until now? Why hasn't he shown you off until now? How marvelously convenient that he waits until Uncle Mutt's dying. How sweet of Bob Don to conjure you up out of thin air. A trump card, a nice, handsome young heir who can stake a claim to part of the family fortune.”

“Uncle Mutt knew about me,” I answered. Anger sharpened my voice into a whisper. “He knew about me for years. He told me so last night. So I'm not a trump card, I'm not a son of convenience for Bob Don.”

The shock on Sass's face went to her bones. Her mouth worked as she stared at me, rummaging for a snide reply.

“Sass.” Bob Don's voice was behind me. “You have crossed every line of decency. What the hell has possessed you? You apologize to my son immediately!”

“Fat chance.” She stood and took Aubrey's arm. “Let's go for a walk, son.” Mother and son exited, Aubrey looking bewildered, Sass not meeting my eyes.

“Son”—Bob Don's voice was low—”I am so, so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into Sass. She's obviously distraught over Aunt Lolly's death.”

“Distraught, my ass,” I muttered bluntly. “She's just
mean as a water moccasin. Have you seen her shed one tear over Lolly?”

“That was unforgivable.” Gretchen seized my arm and turned me toward her. “How dare you speak to Sass that way?”

“Me?” I choked. “Get real, Gretchen! She's had it in for me since the moment I set foot here. I even overheard her and Aubrey talking about someone being a
threat.
I'm sure they meant me. All they care about is their precious inheritance!”

“That's not true!” Gretchen said. “Sass is one of my oldest, dearest friends!”

“Is she more important to you than your husband?” I yelled. “Good Lord, Gretchen. She's just accused Bob Don of using me, of being underhanded, of calculating how to get his hands on money she considers hers. And you're defending her?”

“I should have known we shouldn't have brought you around people of quality,” Gretchen said coldly. “You ruin everything you touch, Jordan. You turn people against each other. Just like you did Bob Don and me.”

“Don't you blame me for what the bottle did,” I snapped, and she slapped me, once, hard, before storming out of the room.

I rubbed her palm print, standing red against my cheek. Good God, what had just happened in this room? Bob Don stared at me as though I were a stranger.

Philip, who'd been quietly lounging in a corner chair, got up and grinned. “Well, Jordan, you've just had your first family squabble. Welcome to the clan.”

I WATCHED AS PHILIP SHUT THE LIBRARY
doors behind him, that annoying grin still decorating his callow face. I wanted to punch it off. But my temper had already sparked enough fireworks today, and I had fences to mend. And perhaps, terrible questions to ask. I turned back to Bob Don. He stood at the library's door that faced onto the spacious porch, his arms crossed. I came up beside him and watched a small vessel unfurl its sails. The wind caught the boat hard and spray exploded from the prow. I saw a child, puffy in an orange life preserver, lean into the wind on the deck, and I imagined rapture on his face as the wet salt air kissed his cheeks. The boat, off on some voyage of joy, looked like a far more pleasant place to be than this house.

“I'm sorry I spoke to your sister that way. But let's be honest,” I said softly. “It's obvious neither Gretchen nor Sass can stand me.”

His blue eyes crinkled in pain. The past day I'd heard again and again how much his face resembled mine; now I wasn't so sure. I'd grown up being told that I was the spitting image of my mama, with her strawberry-blonde hair and her soft green eyes. But the Goertzes saw lots of Bob Don in me. I wanted to see it, too. I couldn't tell if he was angry with me or not. I watched him watch the sailboats ply Matagorda Bay. The boat with the merry child raced toward the open expanse of the Gulf. For a trice the only sounds were gulls cavorting and the ceaseless wind over the water.

“Sass has always had a sharp tongue,” he finally said, still gazing across the vista. “You couldn't know that. But I
expect better from you. I don't expect you to go off half-cocked at the first prod someone gives you.”

“Prod?” I was stunned. “More like a shove toward the edge of the cliff, if you ask me.”

“You don't know Sass. You don't know anything about the hell's she's been through.” His voice tightened like wire on the verge of snapping. “Sass has had a few weeks to get used to the idea that you're my son. You've had over a year to adjust. Do you think it's easy for her?”

“Obviously not,” I retorted. “She feels threatened by me, afraid that I'm going to cut into her share of Uncle Mutt pie.”

“It's not just money, Jordan. You're a part of my life I've kept secret from her for over thirty years, and she's my sister. Do you know who she calls when she's in trouble? Me. Do you know who's seen her through all three divorces and two widowhoods? Me. Do you know she went through a terrible depression once, lost her dress shop, and nearly ended up homeless? I was the one who got her back on her feet. Hell, I helped pay for Aubrey's college till she could pay me back.”

“I didn't know,” I confessed.

“No, you didn't. You can't learn how complicated a family's history is right when you saunter through the door, Jordan. You've got to give it time. None of them are going to accept you overnight.”

I counted slowly, controlling my anger—both at him, for the lecturing tone he'd taken, and at myself, for the blunders I'd made with Sass. When I spoke again, my voice was calm.

“I understand I'm a difficult adjustment for them. Goodness, she has an illegitimate nephew. How horrifically shocking. I'm sure that's comparable to discovering you have a new father.” Anger tinged my words harder than I'd intended, but I was having too much trouble picturing Sass as the victim in today's play.

“You're being awfully unfair, son,” Bob Don said quietly.

“I don't see you getting your morals impugned, or your face slapped,” I shot back. I forced myself to take a breath. “Never mind how she's treating me if she hates my guts. You're her brother, why isn't she being nicer to me out of
affection for you? Considering all you've done for her, she's an ingrate.”

“She's not. I love you, son, but I love my sister, too.” He coughed. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to her quite so stridently in the future.”

I swallowed the reply on my tongue. It was one of the few times he'd spoken to me in a standard parental tone. I saw that he'd dug his heels into the family sand. I tapped out a staccato rhythm on the balcony's railing. Arguing was getting us nowhere, and I felt a sudden sharp realization that I didn't like fighting with this man. To continue to bicker was to let Sass win. “Fine. I'll mind my manners.” I locked away the burning question in my heart:
Uncle Jake has practically warned me off this island. Care to explain?

“Thank you.” He turned back toward the bay. “Wouldn't it be nice to be out on one of them boats, the wind and the salt spray in your face?”

“Do you want Candace and me to leave?” I asked softly.

He glanced at me in surprise. “Leave? Good Lord, no.”

“I'm not sure how comfortable I'd feel at Aunt Lolly's memorial service. After all, I hardly knew her—”

“Well. I thought maybe you might like to be there for me. Maybe I need you there, son.”

My face colored. “Of course. I just wanted to do whatever you wanted me to. Are you doing okay?” I hadn't even asked how he was feeling this morning, in the aftermath of Aunt Lolly's shocking death, or Uncle Mutt's sad announcement. My lips tightened in shame.

“I'm okay,” he answered me. “And I'd like you to stay.”

“All right,” I answered. I squeezed his shoulder once. “If you'll excuse me, I need to go find Candace. And I promise that if I encounter Aunt Sass, I'll be good. No missile strikes.”

“Thanks, son.” He breathed in the sea air. “I think I'll go find your stepmother, after I enjoy this view a little longer. She didn't have call to slap you, but I know you'll forgive her. Lolly's death has devastated her.” He gestured out at the island. “Shame we've had all this trouble. I could use a little peace and quiet.”

I left him there, the breeze ruffling his hair and his eyes closed against the summer warmth.

I collapsed facedown on Candace's bed. “I think I've forgotten how to be a good son.”

“Good Lord. If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.” Candace stuck her head out of her bathroom, wiping soap from her face.

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “I've hardly given Bob Don a thought since we got here—I've only worried about how I fit in with this crazy family. So I end up having a knock-down with his sister in the middle of a family bereavement and getting my face slapped by my hysterical stepmother. Oh, I'm a class act all the way.”

“You're not famous for your sensitivity,” Candace murmured over water splashing in the sink, “but I still love you.” She came in, wiping her hands with a towel. She sat on the corner of the bed and regarded me critically.

“After Daddy died, and Mama got sick,” I said, keeping my eyes on the swirled pattern of plaster above my head, “I didn't have to worry about being anyone's son anymore. Daddy was gone and Mama was so ill she couldn't care— half the time she didn't know who I was. It felt a little like being an orphan.” Candace's fingers touched my knee. “Then I discovered the truth. It was an entirely new ball game; a man trying to be a father to me and a woman who resented the devil out of me. I couldn't just say, yeah, go ahead and be my dad, Bob Don. It doesn't work that way— being a dad is so much more. I've demanded an awful lot from him, and he's hardly asked any effort from me. He probably knows more about being my father than I know about being his son. Does that make sense?”

“I'm sure it would to the folks who book panels for
Oprah,”
Candace said, “but you might be overanalyzing just a tad.”

“How so?” I leaned on my elbows to look at her.

“You didn't insist Bob Don fit into some mold to be your father—just that he be patient with you, that you take your own time in accepting him. Isn't that true?”

“Yeah,” I said cautiously. I smelled one of those women-know-best traps that are scattered about any emotional discussion.

Candace began to rub my leg, her fingertips tracing savory patterns on my flesh. I recognized her attempt to settle me down. “I believe Bob Don owes you the same courtesy. You didn't expect him to act like a father immediately, he shouldn't expect you to act like a son immediately.”

“But this isn't immediately we're talking about anymore,” I argued. “I've known for a year. And I still can't entirely see myself in the role of his kid. That's not what my life is.” My life was my Poteet family, my work, my relationship with Candace. I sat up and shook my head. “I don't belong here, Candace. This was a terrible mistake.”

“You let him down a little bit by that fight with Aunt Sass. Okay, big deal. Kids never upset parents? Parents never annoy kids? You and Bob Don have tiptoed around each other for a year; it's about time you acted like a real father and son and disagreed on something.”

I chose not to listen to this line of reasoning. “Let's just pack our bags and go. They won't care if we're at Lolly's funeral or not—no one wants us here but Bob Don.”

Candace's face turned stern. “Spare me this pity wallow, please. If you don't stay, and do right by your own father— and you might call him that occasionally instead of always by his name, like he was just your car dealer—I'll never speak to you again.”

“Candace!”

“You're not usually a selfish man, Jordan. In fact, they could probably put your picture in the dictionary next to the definition of generous. But I want you to think about the bigger picture.”

I winced. I hate thinking about bigger pictures. I love to concentrate on small chunks. It makes life so much easier.

She went on: “Bob Don bringing you here to his family— and you agreeing to come—is a real statement about your relationship as father and son.”

“You sound like Aubrey.”

“God forbid. Anyhow—you can't surrender when it gets
tough. So far, being Bob Don's son has mostly consisted of him putting you up on a throne and you feeling a little awkward about his adoration. Now the real work begins.”

“You know, I don't need a new dad. My old one was just fine.” I closed my eyes and an image of my father appeared, his arms open for me to run into, pride shining in his face. He always smelled of Old Spice and he could cook wonderful blueberry pancakes on Saturday mornings. I would watch him pour the mixture onto the griddle and giggle when the batter bubbled along the edges, the fragrance of the pancakes heavenly and comforting. When I was old enough he let me turn the pancakes, coaching me through this simplest of acts. When he died in the Mirabeau hospital, the cancer had eaten through him like a miniature shark. I held his hand, my nose wrinkling with his terrible odor of sickness and impending death, and he'd joked he couldn't get any good blueberry pancakes in the hospital, would I fix him a batch and sneak them in? His fingers had felt paper-thin with weakness against my own. I agreed and smiled, determined he would not see my tears. Daddy hated crying. I hated he'd made me cry. I'd gone home, fixed him our special blueberry pancakes, then snuck them back into his hospital room. He never ate them because he never regained full consciousness.