Distant Blood

5

I thought I'd seenGretchen wandering out from the house toward the scrubby trees that freckled the island, but I wasn't quite sure it was her moving in the shadows of the branches. Tired of feeling like I was hiding away from my new kinfolks, I felt vast relief when Deborah knocked on our door and offered to escort us downstairs. She'd fixed up a room for Candace, just as promised. Her hug and her reassuring smile were so welcome, I felt a pang of guilt for harboring any suspicions about her being my hate-mail fiend.

We sauntered downstairs quickly to find that the promised cocktail hour had just begun. I had thought that the rest of the family might have come knocking on our doors to meet me, the latest curiosity, but they'd minded their distance. I felt miffed that even Bob Don had not been about, to play kind introducer, but he and Gretchen had both absented themselves. Perhaps my arrival was not such a big deal after all, but at my family reunions, the family actually tended to gather.

“Feel like the Christian heading toward the lions?” Deborah joked as we went downstairs. Candace laid a hand on my shoulder, behind me on the stairs.

“A little,” I confessed.

“Don't be fretful,” Deborah counseled. “I mean, as families go, we're not so”-she paused, casting about for the correct adjective-”bad. I guess. I suppose I'm just used to them. Ignore them if they get tiresome.”

Or threatening, I silently added. I put my smile firmly on, wiped my damp palm on my khakis, took Candace's hand, and followed my cousin Deborah into my great-uncle's large den. I realized I wasn't exactly sure how she and I were cousined. She'd referred to the infamous Sass as “Aunt Sass”; there must be another sibling of Bob Don's that Deborah was daughter to.

It was a handsome room that spoke of an interesting mind. Books lined the walls, many worn with use. A collection of globes lay scattered around the room, so that the world always seemed in easy reach. A stag's head crowned a stone fireplace and its glassy eyes surveyed the assemblage. Drawings of old ships, with careful calligraphied notations, hung next to the stone fireplace. A reproduction of a Republic of Texas battle flag hung in framed honor near the window, complete with singed bullet holes. Bob Don and Gretchen were talking with Tom in the corner.

We entered the room as Tom nonchalantly announced “Deb's gone to fetch them”-presumably in answer to a question of Bob Don's. I wondered if this was what a foster child dumped into a new family felt on his terrifying first day. I could practically sense their communal gaze hone in on me.

Go ahead. Look me over. Candace's other hand closed around my arm. I knew she meant well, but for a moment I wanted her to stand away. These people would be my kin and I needed to face them alone. Which one of you charming folks sent me letters?

A man who had to be pushing one hundred sat bent in a wheelchair, eyeing me with undisguised curiosity. Another man, in his mid-forties, lounged in a chair, a glass of iced tea by his side. He looked remarkably like-but not identical to-Cousin Tom, and I deduced he must have been the other twin-Philip-that Bob Don had alluded to back in Mirabeau.

The silence held for an awkward interval, then Bob Don began earnest introductions. “Well, everyone, this is my son, Jordan, and his girlfriend, Candace.” He came and squeezed my shoulder with a reassuring hand. “Let's get the introductions started. Where on earth is Uncle Mutt-”

“Right here, Bob Don.” A tall, fit-looking fellow, in his early seventies, but radiating the vigor of a man half his age, strutted into the den. His hair was solid gray and still thick. His eyes were a piercing green, and he riveted them on me as soon as he entered. Bob Don made a beeline for him, real happiness lighting his face.

“Goddamn, Uncle Mutt, you look good.”

Uncle Mutt extended his right hand and I could see it was mutilated-the middle two fingers were cleanly gone, giving his hand the look of a claw. Bob Don enclosed the three-fingered hand in a warm handshake that quickly transformed to a back-pounding hug.

“Bob Don, you goat. Still got that car lot you're wasting your time with?”

Bob Don laughed and I figured this was an old, standing joke between them. “Still selling most of the cars I can, Uncle Mutt.”

Uncle Mutt coughed dryly. “Best damn investment I ever made.” He shot a pointed look toward the lounging man I assumed to be Philip Bedrich. “As opposed to some other ventures I could name.” Tom's twin fidgeted, averting his eyes from the rest of us. I felt a spike of tension jolt the room, and Aunt Lolly stifled a nervous titter.

Mutt nodded at Gretchen. “How do, Gretchen?”

“Fine, Uncle Mutt, I'm fine.” She smiled around at the gathering. “I've been sober for nearly a year now. We wanted to surprise y'all.”

“I'm sure surprised,” the old man in the wheelchair cawed.

“Aunt Gretchen! How wonderful!” Deborah abandoned pouring margaritas at the bar and embraced Gretchen in a hug. “Oh, I'm so pleased for you!”

Gretchen hugged back, and tears of happiness filled her eyes. I glanced away, back toward Uncle Mutt.

He studied me with a frank stare. “So this is him? So this is your surprise boy, Bob Don?”

My face flamed red, I'm sure. Bob Don stiffened. “Yes, sir, this is my son, Jordan. Jordan, this is your great-uncle Emmett.”

Uncle Mutt moved to me, eyed me, and then embraced me in a fierce bear hug. He clapped me hard on the back. I didn't really hug back. “Lord, son. Welcome to our family. Tickled to death to have you here.”

“Hello, Mr. Goertz,” I said when he released me, my usually laid-back rasp sounding stiff and formal. “Bob Don has told me all about you.”

“Only believe the stories that make me sound studly.” He took my chin in his three-fingered hand and examined my face closely. I didn't flinch away. “Goddamn it, you're a Goertz all right. Got my daddy's eyes, you do, and that thick blond hair.” I twitched and he released my chin, patting me on the cheek. “I know Bob Don's real proud of you and it's a pleasure to have you in the fold. Welcome to our family, son.”

“Thanks, Mr. Goertz.”

He grinned. “Don't call me that. I'm Uncle Mutt. And I'm mean as a junkyard dog when I get riled, so mind your manners.” He seemed accustomed to barking out orders and comments without being crossed. After giving my face another long appraisal, he offered his good hand to Can-dace.

“My goodness, boy, you can pick them. What's your name, sweetheart?”

I quickly introduced Candace and saw the same glint of appreciation in Uncle Mutt's eyes as I'd seen in Cousin Tom's. Apparently the Goertz men were roosters. As if I hadn't already known that.

“Honey, if you're as smart as you are pretty, this boy's made the choice of a lifetime.”

Candace blushed. Really. The woman who'd been a continual rock, who seemed unflappable by all the ups and downs of our lives, went red as a beet. She ran a fidgety hand through a lank of brown hair. I wasn't sure if she was flustered by the magnitude of the compliment or by the whole lifetime suggestion that lay underneath Uncle Mutt's accolade. Or maybe it was simply Uncle Mutt himself-his presence in a room was overwhelming. No wonder he'd been such a legendary ladies' man. So much for Candace being on guard.

“If Jordan's destined to look like you when he's older, then I'll have made the smart choice.” Candace offered her best belle smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Philip Bedrich make a mock-gagging motion.

Uncle Mutt guffawed, squeezed her hand, and punched me lightly in the shoulder. “You got you a live wire there, boy! All right, I stand apologetic and corrected, Miss Can-dace.” He took me by one arm, Candace with the other, and introduced me to the rest of my new family.

“And this is my nephew Philip Bedrich,” Uncle Mutt indicated the loosely lounging fellow on the couch. “Don't give him money.”

Philip Bedrich colored at the gibe, but gave me a weak smile. “Uncle Mutt's a bully, but he's our bully. You'll soon grow used to his little tirades.” He didn't have the physi-cality evident in his twin, Tom-he wasn't heavy, but his body was rounder, softer, and his indolent pose on the couch appeared practiced. His clothes looked expensive, but not in the best taste-a showy gold necklace adorned his throat, and his shirt was designed for a younger man. A slow, languorous drawl oozed from his mouth when he spoke. I shook Philip's hand; his palm felt flaccid against my skin.

“I met your brother already.” I turned to indicate Tom, but he'd left the library.

“Aren't you lucky?” Philip laughed dryly. “Tom rarely opts to socialize with the rest of us. We're not smart enough for Mr. Scientist.”

“Scientist?” I asked.

“Tom's an oceanographer. Spends days talking with fish.” Philip sipped at his drink.

“Don't act so envious.” Uncle Mutt jabbed Philip in the shoulder and turned back to me. “Philip's my special project right now in the training camp of life. He's hit the bankruptcy court so often-”

“For God's sake, Uncle Mutt! That's private business.” Philip's face colored with anger and I felt embarrassed for him. I resolved not to share any secrets with Uncle Mutt. He apparently served as the family megaphone.

“Ain't no private business involving my money in my house,” Uncle Mutt declared. “We're all going to put our heads together to get you out of your mess, Philip.”

I happened to glance over at the centenarian in the plush leather chair; a wry smile accentuated his many wrinkles as he watched the exchange. His spotted, palsied hands wrapped around the head of his cane and his eyes glittered with intelligence.

“Thank you, I don't need anyone's help.” Philip glared at Uncle Mutt.

“That, Philip, definitely remains to be seen.” Uncle Mutt steered me away from the fuming Philip and toward the gentleman by the fireplace. Aunt Lolly scurried to him and plopped Sweetie on top of the light cotton blanket that covered his legs.

“Get that goddamned rat-dog off me, Lolly!” the old man bellowed. His voice reminded me of nails raking down a chalkboard. Aunt Lolly ignored his request. She stroked the old man's head absentmindedly and he flinched away in annoyance. She leaned down and hollered in his ear, “Uncle Jake! This here's Bob Don's boy and his girlfriend!”

“Goddamn it, Lolly!” Uncle Jake bellowed back, pressing fingers defensively against the cup of his ear. “I ain't that deaf. I can see clearly who Jordan and Candace are.” He offered me an arthritic hand. “How you, son? My sister Mildred was your great-grandmother.” He jabbed a finger toward Mutt and Lolly. “They ain't her kids, though. Praise God.”

Lolly slapped Jake's shoulder playfully-but a little too hard for my liking. She scooped up the offended Sweetie in her arms. “Uncle Jake likes to remind Mutt and me we ain't his blood kin. But we do all the takin' care of him that he needs. He forgets how kind we are sometimes.” A vinegar tone lay underneath her honeyed voice.

“Hmmph,” Uncle Jake said, but he huddled down in his chair. Aunt Lolly crossed her arms, imprisoning Sweetie, and smiled beatifically at him. I took a step back-a sudden dislike of Lolly Throckmorton surged through me. Her bullying tone toward the old man riled me. Her sugary but hard-edged voice reminded me of a candied apple-with a razor hidden in it.

“Well, well, well,” a voice sounded behind us. I turned and saw a tall, buxom woman in her early fifties standing in the library entrance. She was resplendently attired in a brightly flowered blouse with white jeans. Her hair was dyed a dark auburn; her bright blue eyes were ringed with mascara. Under the makeup her face resembled a softened version of Bob Don's. She came forward and pecked Bob Don on the cheek.

“Hello, brother.” She favored Gretchen with a smile bordering on distasteful. “Gretchen, darling. Don't you look lively today?” Her smile rested on me. “This must be my new nephew.” She extended a hand. “How do you do, Jordan? I'm your aunt Cecilia Goertz.”

I shook her hand and introduced Candace while Gretchen trilled, “Sass, honey, I've been telling Jordy all about you and he's just so excited to meet you.”

“Yeah, I can see he's all atwitter over making my acquaintance.” She gave Candace a dismissive glance-one woman boldly appraising another-and turned her attention back to me.

“So you going by Goertz again, Sass?” Philip Bedrich called from his couch. He sipped at his iced tea and sucked on the lemon, letting the rind drop back into the glass. “After all, you do have a plethora of surnames to choose from.”

“You'll probably need to borrow a good name when you go bankrupt again, Philip. I'll loan you one with a good credit rating.” Sass, like the others, gave my face and my body an unwavering assessment. “You got all my brother's best features, honey. Did you get any of his brains?”

Bob Don laughed. “Hell, he got your nerve, Sass. Just keep prodding him; he can take care of himself.”

I wasn't anxious to get into a battle of repartee with Cecilia Goertz; she obviously had a nimble wit. Her eyes stayed locked on me as I fidgeted on my feet. One polished nail rested against her chin, tapping, and I imagined it running along an envelope's seal, securing a message of hate inside.

“Where's Aubrey, Sass? I want him to meet Jordan and Candace,” Uncle Mutt said.

“I don't know. Gettin' in touch with his inner child or some such garbage.” Sass sauntered to where Deborah Goertz stood by the drink cart and poured the last of the margaritas into a glass. She sipped and hummed appreciatively. She glanced over at Gretchen. “Where's your pick-me-up, darling? Thought you'd be parched after your long trip.”

Gretchen beamed with pride. “I'm sober now, Sass. I haven't had a drink in nearly a year.”

Sass ran a tongue along her lips. I watched her watch Gretchen. Apparently no congratulatory message was forthcoming from her sister-in-law.

“We're all very proud of Gretchen,” I ventured. Gretchen started in surprise but said nothing.

“I'm sure you must be.” Sass went over and kissed Gretchen lightly on the cheek. “I hope it won't bother you if the rest of us drink. I'm stone dry, darling.”

“Of course not,” Gretchen assured her, but I saw her gaze light on the glimmering bottles on the drink cart for the briefest of moments.

Sass smiled thinly, then wiped her fingers along Gretchen's cheek where she had kissed her. “Sorry. I shouldn't sip at that delicious margarita, then kiss you. I wouldn't want a trace of alcohol touching you, darling.”

Gretchen didn't flinch. She turned away after a moment and asked Bob Don for a Dr Pepper. He hurried to pour her soda. Uncle Mutt broke the embarrassed silence.

“All right, everyone get your drinks and let's unwind before dinner. I got an announcement to make.” Uncle Mutt's glare went to every face in the room.

“Announcement?” Aunt Lolly murmured to Sweetie. “How exciting.”

She didn't know the half of it.

“Where are the kids?” I asked Aunt Lolly after fifteen minutes of idle conversation with my new family. Silence crashed down like a curtain falling unexpectedly on actors in mid-scene.

Aunt Lolly paled and a hand fluttered near her throat, smoothing out her skin. “Kids? What kids?”

“Well, at every family reunion I've been at, there's always lots of kids underfoot…” I became aware of the uncomfortable quiet holding sway in the room. Uncle Jake coughed. The fleeting sense of acceptance and comfort I'd started to feel from the Goertzes wisped away like smoke.

“Did I say something wrong?” I finally managed.

Aunt Lolly offered a fatuous smile. “Oh, no, honey, not at all. You see, Deborah's not been able to keep a man, and the twins are both divorced. And Aubrey, well-” She didn't elaborate. “Tom has a couple of kids”-she fixed a baleful eye on him-”but he doesn't have much contact with them, do you, Tommy? Not a good idea, is it?” She took a long, slow sip of her red wine.

Tom Bedrich didn't appear rattled by his aunt's jeer. “No, Aunt Lolly, I don't. I'm not sure how that's any of your concern, though.”

Abashment colored my face. “Listen, Tom, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have raised the subject.”

“Would you bring young'uns around this crowd?” Uncle Jake asked, drawing his blanket tighter around his legs. “I sure as hell wouldn't. Foulmouthed and ornery they are- and I don't mean kids.”

“Anyone got a mirror for old Jake?” Philip murmured from the safety of his chair.

“Well, maybe you and Candace will marry and have kids,” Aunt Lolly offered. She blew a puckered kiss at Can-dace, who stood talking with Deborah. “And then you can bring them to the island for a visit. Wouldn't that be grand?”

Deborah excused herself, and I saw a hot light of anger pulse in her dark eyes. Aunt Lolly rocked back on her heels, as though she'd scored a point in a child's game.

The gathering had thinned: Sass had departed in search of her son, Bob Don and Mutt had excused themselves for several minutes, and Gretchen had gone for a predinner stroll. I pardoned myself from the crowd and headed up to my room.

Candace might have planned to play bodyguard all weekend, but I believed in the direct approach. I'd fetch the profane epistles I'd received and produce them at the dinner table. Make a stand, and make it early. Whoever my correspondent was, let him or her know immediately that I wasn't going to be cowed. If the rest of the family was as shocked as I hoped they'd be, I'd smoke out the culprit early. And get on to the business of fitting in.

Fitting in? I stopped with my hands on the stair, halfway toward the third landing. Did I really want to do that with this clan? I liked Deborah and Mutt and felt ambivalent about the rest. But for Bob Don, I would have to make the effort. I didn't delve into analyzing what my attitude meant toward my relationship with him.

I began climbing the stairs again, but paused as I heard voices whispering below in urgency: “Don't walk away from me! I'm telling you, you better do something now. Now!”

Aunt Sass.

“Don't be silly. He's not a threat.” A voice I didn't know, male, younger, calm, with a slow rasp of a drawl not unlike my own.

“If you blow this-”

I stayed still, not daring to move, chastising myself for eavesdropping.

“You're overreacting, as usual. You've got way, way too many emotional triggers.” The man's voice sounded weary, as though he'd repeated this conversation before with Aunt Sass.

I emboldened myself and thudded my feet along the stairs, turning and heading down to the second-story landing. Aunt Sass stood frozen there, talking with a young fellow around my age. He had brown hair, with the trademark Goertz blue eyes. A band of freckles across his nose invested his face with a boyish air. His countenance looked oddly familiar, in the way that an actor sometimes will on the late show. You know you've seen him before but you can't place him.

I greeted Aunt Sass with a nonchalant smile that suggested that I hadn't heard a word of her demanded murmurings to the young man. “Hi, Aunt Sass. You're sure you don't mind me calling you that?”

“Of course not, honey. You're my brother's boy, after all.” Her lipsticked smile worked itself into broadness. “And I want you to meet your cousin. This is my son, Aubrey Keller. Aubrey, this is Bob Don's long-lost boy, Jordan Goertz.”

Aubrey flailed my hand with an intense grip. His smile lasered me. I was under a mortar barrage of enthusiasm. “Jordan! Absolutely great to meet you! Welcome to the family.”

I returned his handshake with a little less verve-after all, I wasn't fueled by a nuclear reactor, and Aubrey apparently was. “Thanks, Aubrey, it's nice to meet you, too. But, Aunt Sass, my name's not Goertz. It's Poteet.”

“Poteet? You're not using Bob Don's name?” Her eyes narrowed and her voice fell back to a whisper.

“No, I'm not,” I answered, trying not to sound defensive. Not acknowledging Bob Don, I realized belatedly, might seem boorish to my new relations. I pressed onward. “My name's always been Poteet and I just decided to keep the one I grew up with. Seemed easiest.”

“Of course.” She smiled again and I wondered if joy ever evoked her grin. Aubrey's smile seemed warmer if a tad saccharine. I wondered again where I'd seen him before.

“Excuse me, I need to wash before dinner.” I pardoned myself and went up the remainder of the stairs. I didn't tarry to find out who Aubrey and Sass were arguing about-but an unpleasant tickle at the base of my spine suggested it might be me.

I'd secreted the heinous communications in an interior lining of my suitcase. I retrieved them and carefully placed them in the inside pocket of my seersucker jacket. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. Whatever big proclamation Mutt had planned would be eclipsed by my announcement. I wasn't about to be intimidated by bloodied Hallmark cards. I'd teach these folks to try to bully Jordan Poteet.

Or, perhaps, I reflected, I wouldn't have to make the accusations myself. If I told Uncle Mutt what'd been happening, he'd explode and he could play bad cop. He'd even be more likely to spot the culprit than I would. The Goertzes were obviously much more likely to be browbeaten by Mutt than by me. I congratulated myself on the excellence of my idea. Unless they were one of those families that stuck together through sick and sin. Probably not, given the sniping over cocktails.

I headed back downstairs, to find that the gathering in the den had spilled out onto the wraparound porch, where the family watched the setting sun turn the Gulf waves molten with light. The den had emptied, except for Rufus Beaulac lolling in a chair, drinking beer and watching a Rangers baseball game on a huge television.

“Where's Uncle Mutt?” I asked.

He waited until the batter swung and missed before he answered. “Off in the kitchen, helping the cook.” He giggled. “Yeah, he's probably helpin' her slice and dice and julienne-fry. Can't hardly lose no more fingers, can he?” Rufus was either well on his way to inebriation or fancied himself damn funny. His comment produced a gale of laughter, but only from him.

“And which way's the kitchen?”

He gestured with the beer can. “Go back through the entrance hall, the big dining room, then to your left. Kitchen's back there.”

I followed his directions, ambling through rooms full of antique furniture, all arranged with a careful eye to give the entire house the rough ambience of a hunting lodge. The dining room was large, as befitting houses of its era, and I gently pushed on the service door that led to the kitchen.

I saw them before they saw me-Uncle Mutt talking softly, his voice cajoling, his hands on the soft shoulders of a young woman who was stirring food in a pot. She leaned slightly back against him and laughed at his whisper.

“No, Emmett,” I heard her say clearly, her voice a sweet bell. She could not have been over twenty-five. I could not see her face, but her hair was long and ebony, tied back in a ponytail.

He laughed quietly and whispered again, rubbing his palms against her smooth hips. I could imagine the heat of her body. She laughed, leaning her head back against his shoulder as he wrapped both arms around her.

I stepped back out of the kitchen, an intruder in a private moment, letting the door ease back into place. Uncle Mutt murmuring sweet nothings to a woman a third his age? No wonder this family was so god-awful tense. And I thought I knew, with a blush, exactly what his momentous announcement might be.