Distant Blood (23 page)

“That's no excuse.” Deborah slapped Tom on the arm; he didn't flinch. “What the hell's wrong with you?” she asked. “Aunt Lolly dead, this house in an uproar, and you pull this stunt?”

“Sorry,” Tom mumbled.

“Good Lord, wait till Aunt Sass gets a load of this—” Deborah began, and Aubrey jerked away from her gentle touch.

“Goddamn it, I'm not some puny kid that has to go hide his face in his mama's apron! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Aren't I, Tom?” Aubrey shouted. It seemed an odd comment in light of Tom's whaling of him; but now was not the time for semantic analysis. Aubrey's voice cut the air in cold fury. I stepped between the combatants.

“Aubrey, go get cleaned up and calm down,” I said. “I'll have a talk with Tom.”

“You made a serious mistake, Tom. Real serious. Why don't you ponder it for a while?” Aubrey said. He spat blood. I saw dark hatred color his face.

“C'mon, trouble.” Deborah took firm hold of Aubrey's arm and hauled him toward the house. He shot one last venomous look toward Tom before leaning on Deborah's shoulder.

I regarded Tom with a disapproving glare. “You resorted to punches because Aubrey laid some of his greeting-card psychology on you?”

Tom poked the inside of his cheek—unshaven and covered with blondish fuzz—with his tongue and didn't meet my eyes. Finally he looked at me and said, “Keep your nose out of my business, Jordan.”

“I see. You're sticking to the role of the silent, moody relative, right? Now that you've had your tussle for the day, I assume drinking heavily and composing bad poetry are next on the agenda.”

“Now you're sounding like Aubrey.” Tom shook his head.

“Definitely don't throw a punch at me, Tom. I'm a lot meaner and tougher in a fight than Aubrey ever thought of being.”

He surprised me by laughing. “Meaner than Aubrey? Nope. Under all that sugary concern for his fellow man,
Aubrey's a conniving little bastard.” He paused and met my gaze directly. “Sorry. No offense intended.”

“Oh, Tom.” I shook my head with an indulgent smile. “Surely an educated man like you can arm himself well in a battle of wits. Bob Don claims you're smart. Are insults just not your specialty?”

“No. I have better things to do with my time than trade barbs with you.” Tom turned to leave.

“Wait a second.” I grabbed his arm and he stopped. A hint of ire fired his pale eyes and I released his arm. “What other responsibilities demand your attention? Staring out at the sea?”

“I prefer my own company, Jordan. And after you've been around this crew awhile, you might, too.”

“Indulge me. Why does Aubrey hate you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I'm more than a little curious about the rather peculiar relationships pervading this family, now that I'm a member.”

“Then take some familial advice,
cuz.
Curiosity isn't a Goertz virtue.” His mouth set in vexation and his cheeks reddened. “In fact, curiosity kills.”

“Kills who? Lolly?”

He jerked away and headed off past the greenhouse and down the path. I saw him rub his knuckles against the side of his cutoffs and I realized, with a twinge in my gut, that he was wiping Aubrey's blood off his hands. With as much concern as if he were wiping away water or soda.

Tension infected this family like a deadly strain. Now it had erupted into open violence. Distaste burned in my throat. Just as soon as Aunt Lolly was decently scattered, and I'd done my duty to Bob Don, we'd be off and I'd never have to set foot on this godforsaken island again.

I watched Tom leave. Damn it, I wanted to like him. I thought with his education—Bob Don mentioned he was an oceanographer—Tom and I would have lots in common. Apparently not. He vanished around what Bob Don had called a secondary dune, a sand dune that becomes isolated on the barrier flat, behind the main dune ridge. To me it looked like a small hill, covered with vegetation. Probably
he was seeking refuge for when Aunt Sass found out what he'd done to her darling baby angel. I let that consideration die a natural death; Tom wouldn't flinch at anything Sass said. He wore his silence like a snail wears its shell, conveniently attached for retreat.

But Tom could be prodded from that armor with the right ammunition. Aubrey's bloodied face offered proof. The question was, what weapon did Aubrey wield?

I headed back to the house, lost in my own musings, and therefore nearly fell flat on my face. J tripped over a shovel lying near the greenhouse. I mentally chided Rufus for not cleaning up properly. The shovel was in reach of either Aubrey or Tom, had the fight escalated. I picked up the implement myself, knocked the clots from its blade—and noticed sand mixed in with the mud and clay. The dirt smelled vaguely sulfurous. I finished cleaning the shovel and tried the greenhouse door. It swung open.

The greenhouse looked much bigger on the inside. It was elaborate, divided up into four sealed compartments for different levels of warmth and humidity. Plants of all shapes and sizes grew in heady profusion—roses, flowers of many colors, growing foliage that looked common from the mainland but that I couldn't recognize. I found what looked like another room for tools—locked, oddly enough—and set the shovel down.

I wandered toward the back of the greenhouse and found Aunt Sass sitting before a beautifully growing rosebush in one of the compartments. She seemed lost in thought and I paused for a moment, not wishing to disturb her reverie.

She sensed my presence, though, and glanced at me uncertainly, then returned her gaze to the flowering roses. My whole body tensed. Her dislike for me felt as constant as the unending breeze. And I felt tired of being continually defensive. I'd decided to let Bob Don be a father to me—I had to make peace with his loved ones. Might as well tackle the most difficult project first.

I went and sat on the bench next to her, my fingers reaching out for the delicate petals of the rosebush. “This is a really cool greenhouse.”

“It's Jake and Mutt's pride and joy. They're both big on plants.” Her voice was carefully neutral, but at least she wasn't leaving at the sight of me.

“I don't suppose I could interest you in a peace treaty?”

She fidgeted. “I need to go find Aubrey—”

I interrupted her excuse to tell her about the fight outside the greenhouse she'd just missed. I thought for sure she'd bolt to the house to comfort her son. Instead she stared into the unfolding depths of one of the roses.

“And you took up for Aubrey?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She gave me a crimped smile. 'Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” The ceremonial bows out of the way, I let out a sigh of relief. “I don't know what he said to set Tom's fists flying. Has your cousin always been so short-tempered?”

“No,” she answered after a pause. 'Tom's a slow burn. That's what worries me.” She didn't elaborate for a moment, then added, “Aubrey has an annoying habit of finding someone's weakness and prodding it to see what happens. Then they blow up at him and he offers his pop psychology as an antidote. It's his worst feature.”

“Tom's retreated. I wish I could say he was licking his wounds, but I don't believe Aubrey landed a punch.”

One of her eyebrows arched and she permitted herself a smile. “Don't underestimate Aubrey. Oh, yes, he can sound like a complete jackass when he decides to play the amateur Freud, but he's a tough boy. He's overcome a lot.”

“He didn't seem too cowed by Tom,” I offered. No need to mention Aubrey's spitting-cobra impersonation to Sass. I decided a change of subject was in order. “How's Gretchen feeling?”

“I checked on her a minute ago. She's resting. I'm afraid she'll have a rotten headache when she wakes up.” Sass touched a rose stem and breathed in the flower's perfume. “It'll be worse for a while, now, won't it? Her craving for liquor?”

“I don't know. I would imagine so. I don't think it ever entirely goes away.” I wasn't going to pretend to understand the seduction of alcoholism. I enjoyed a beer or a glass of
wine on occasion, but to have an unquenchable need for a beverage—no matter how good it made you feel—was a thirst I didn't understand. The why of Gretchen's drinking was not a question I'd pondered for any amount of time. I should have.

“You knew her when she was drinking?” Sass asked.

“Oh, yes. In the worst way. She was the one who informed me that Bob Don was my father. I hadn't known before then. She was stinking drunk and yelled the news out at me.”

Aunt Sass stayed silent for a long moment. “That's a terrible way to find out such a”—she stumbled for the appropriate word—”revelation.”

“Yes, it is. It was followed by a rather tearful explanation from your brother. I didn't want to believe him.” Gretchen's words, then his words, had slid into my heart like an ice pick gracefully inserted between my ribs.

Silence again. Aunt Sass's lips, red and full, twitched slightly, unaccustomed to holding her words at bay. “He'll be a wonderful father to you, if you'll let him. But if you ever hurt him, ever disappoint him, I'll see that you're sorry for it.”

“Why are there so many threats flying through the air in this house?” I asked, my voice surprisingly mild. “Should I be afraid of you, Sass? I know you don't care much for me.”

“I don't know you. I'm not sure that I want to.”

“Why?” I ventured. I felt suddenly that the spiderwebs of subterfuge were trembling in the building breeze of truth. She and I were on honest ground.

“You're a mistake,” she said softly. “I don't mean to sound cruel, but it's true. My brother had an affair with a married woman and it was horrible for him. Your mother should have stayed in her own bed, with her own man. How she could seduce Bob Don, get herself with child—a son, no less, exactly what Bob Don has always wanted and prayed for—and then blithely go back to her husband and raise Bob Don's child like it wasn't even his? And deny him having diddly to do with you all those years? It's sick and it's selfish and it's mean-hearted.”

Heaviness pressed against my chest. “You don't even know my mother. She was the greatest mother anyone could ask for. It's awful easy to sit in judgment of a stranger.”

“Maybe. But my brother has never excelled at picking the right women, and I can't help but think she was a sorry excuse for a person.”

I stifled the fury I felt. Finally I spoke: “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that Aunt Lolly's death has you terribly upset, and I'll just pretend I didn't hear that garbage.”

“Don't you patronize me. I know exactly what I'm saying. It's just the truth that you don't want to hear.”

“I don't have to listen to this crap,” I said, brushing past her. She seized my arm with surprising strength and brought her mouth close to my ear, like a lover whispering an endearment.

“If you're not going to let him be a father to you, just leave his life. Get out. Don't you think he's been tortured enough already? You've been the carrot dangled in front of him for years, the great reward. Maybe he could get on with his life if he knew what your intentions were.”

“You make it sound like I'm marrying him.” I didn't look at her face.

“It ain't that different, sugar. You're either gonna be a big part of his life or not at all. There's not any middle ground for you to stand on and dither.”

“I don't see how this is any of your concern.” Now I looked at her and saw the strained smile on her face.

“Oh, honey, it is. Because next to Aubrey, no one matters more to me than my brother. And I'm not about to sit knitting while you stomp all over him.”

“I'd never want to hurt Bob Don!”

“Every day you keep him at arm's length hurts him. Every day you call him by his right name instead of
Dad
hurts him. Every day you try and overanalyze what his being your daddy means—and you are just the bookish sort that'd fret till you're blue—hurts him. Now that I know about you, you aren't gonna hurt him no more.”

I took a steadying breath. “I see where Aubrey gets his
penchant for dispensing unsolicited advice. You don't know beans about me and yet you've decided to sit in judgment.”

“All I need to know,” she hissed, “is that you have one of the kindest men in the world chomping at the bit to be your father, and you ain't letting him. And it's hurting him bad. I can see it in his face.”

“He seems fine to me.”

“I've known him a lot longer than you have, Jordan. I care about him, which you apparently don't.” A slight sneer played its way onto her face. “What is it he calls you—
Jordyl
What a childish nickname. It suits you.”

“If you're done?” I challenged.

“He told me this morning. He took a bullet for you. He nearly died for you.” Her words felt like slivers of ice against my skin, even in the summer heat. “He laid his life on the line for you, and you still can't decide if he's worthy enough to be your father? Fuck you, the decision's easy. You're not worthy to be his son.” She pushed past me, her shoulder setting the roses quivering as she grazed the bush, and stormed out of the compartment. I heard her slam the main greenhouse door a few moments later.

I stood watching one of the rose petals drift to the floor, lost from its fellows.

I went back to the house, easing the door shut behind me. My throat ached and I wondered if I'd screamed at Sass without realizing it. A cold languor filled my limbs despite the heat of the day.

Part of me wanted to run up the stairs, find Bob Don, ask him if anything his sister spat was true. It couldn't be. I wasn't that unthinkingly cruel, and my mother certainly wasn't the conniving slut. Sass was only looking at one side of a very difficult and painful situation. Overanalyze? Not me. No way.

Of course Bob Don knew I cared. When he'd gotten shot saving me, my mother, and my nephew from a deranged killer, I'd stood by him at the hospital, admitted he was family, worried and fretted over him. I wasn't a callous man.

And as soon as he got home from that hospital, you carefully slotted him into a place in your life where you
demanded nothing of him and he could demand nothing of you. Isn't that called sweeping the dirt under the rug? Damned inconvenient new father. Let's just pretend we have eternity to decide if he ever gets a chance to be more to you than an embarrassment, or a debt unpaid.