by Jeff Abbott
“Let's not forget Uncle Jake. How about a chapter on old farts who don't do a single kind thing in their lives?”
“Write about yourself, then, Miss Sass,” Uncle Jake retorted, unshaken by Sass's swipe.
I felt an acrid taste creep into my mouth. Something was terribly wrong here. This wasn't teasing, either from Lolly or Sass. This was verbal flogging, pure and simple. And the rest of them appeared to endure the whip. I couldn't see for the life of me why.
Perhaps Sass saw the revulsion on my face. “Bob Don and Jordan certainly rate a discussion, don't you think, dear? The long-suffering father and the unsuspecting son. It's so charming. Perhaps they can join you on Oprah when you tour for the book. Brothers and bastards, that makes for a good episode.” She laughed at her own joke. “Brothers. Rich, isn't it, Bob Don?”
“Stop it.” Lolly sipped at her red wine again. “You're terrible. You're making me feel ill with all these histrionics.”
“Are you quite done, Cecilia?” Bob Don asked, his voice low and implacable. “Just hush now, you're drunk and you're embarrassing yourself terribly. You and Aunt Lolly both should be ashamed of how you've acted this evening.”
I glanced down at Uncle Mutt; after all, he did seem to be the family patriarch and I expected a thundering fist on the table to demand dignity and decency at dinner. He sat back, rubbing one cheek with his disfigured hand. He didn't seem inclined to stop Sass's rave; I wasn't even sure he was listening to her; he seemed lost in his own world of thought. I'd abandoned all plans to produce the hate mail; the time was inopportune, and the tension in the air already smothering.
At least one of us tired of the tirades. Deborah dabbed at her lips with her napkin, murmured “Excuse me,” and stood. Sass watched her and I saw her face darken in regret. “Deb, hon, I'm sorry-” Sass began, then her voice faltered.
Deborah had not taken three steps toward the door when Lolly's words struck like a child's stone, cruelly thrown.
“And of course, we can't forget our darling Deborah. While you're compiling chapters, Sass, you should add a whole book of them for Deb. There's simply so much ground to cover with her. Let's see, Aubrey could talk about the family ingrate, or the family basket case, or the family embarrassment-or the family slut.” And for one brief second Lolly's eyes lit on Gretchen. I saw her smile crookedly for a moment, then she returned her gaze to Deborah. My cousin stood by the door, her fingers trembling in anger on the knob. Her dark eyes glowed with pure hate.
“Stop it!” Aubrey bellowed. He stood and poked a finger into Lolly's face. “How about your chapter? The family tyrant? We're not little kids you can bully anymore. Or the family nut? Sweetie isn't anything but a dog. He's not Uncle Charles come back to life, you pathetic witch.
Because why on earth would Charles come back to vow? The tortures of hell have to be preferable to your company.”
Lolly simply smiled back at him, her grin brittle with rancor. She drew a quivering hand along her brow.
Uncle Mutt finally spoke. “Stop it, Lolly. You, too, Aubrey, and Sass, if you make another sound I'll cut you out of the will.” Uncle Mutt didn't need to yell; the tone of his voice carried its own thunder, and the squabblers fell quiet. Sass pressed fingertips to her eyelids and I wondered if she was already regretting her drunken outburst.
“Aubrey, write all you want about dys-whatever families. I don't give a green shit. But I forbid you to write a word about anyone sitting at this table. You understand me, boy?”
Aubrey stared back at our great-uncle. “Who's playing the family bully now. Uncle Mutt? You can't tell me what to do in my career-”
Uncle Mutt exploded. “Y'all are like a bunch of kids bickering amongst yourselves-unruly, contentious little brats.” I took umbrage at being called names-I for one had not raised my voice or done one thing untoward. But I kept my silence. “And now I got to tell all y'all how to act before I leave the room.” He stood and stared down the table at the upturned faces, and for a moment I didn't doubt we resembled children-we all hung on his words. “And I'm leaving the room forever.”
Silence fell like the guillotine's blade. I heard the hollow, whispering shudder of Aunt Lolly breathing hard next to me. Her rasp grated on my nerves and I glanced back at her; her skin was pale as bone.
Mutt let the quiet play itself out. His gaze carefully came to rest on each of our faces. He gave me a long, considered look of sadness and I felt a thickness coat my throat.
“I'm a dead man, you see,” Uncle Mutt announced. A moment of absolute hush was followed by a guffaw from Aunt Lolly. I can't say she had a hearty titter; but rather it was a giggle of sick disbelief. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, her fingers trembling.
No one else laughed. Deborah sagged against the door.
“What the hell are you talking about, Emmett?” Uncle Jake wheezed. He sat, looking crumpled, in his chair next to Uncle Mutt. The older man put one withered hand over Mutt's, as though to say, Don't joke with me, son.
“Y'all know I ain't one to mince words. I been to the doctors in Houston. I got brain cancer, and it's spreading. I got maybe a few months, that's all. And I ain't gonna have all of y'all bickering and sniping the last time we're together while I'm alive.”
I felt shock and distress at this announcement, but I hadn't known Uncle Mutt my whole life-these people had. I glanced across the table at Bob Don-his face was ashen. I wanted to reach out to him in reassurance, but he was too far down the table. I kept my hands folded in my lap.
“Oh, God, Uncle Mutt-” Bob Don tried, but couldn't speak.
“Oh, Uncle Mutt, no-” Aunt Sass finally seemed speechless; the back of her hand was pressed against her lips and she shot a wild look toward Aubrey, who remained mortally silent. Next to me, Aunt Lolly began to cry. I took her hand, not knowing what else to do. She leaned against my shoulder. She was a spiteful old witch, but she was losing her brother-I couldn't help but sympathize with her.
“Why didn't you tell us before? How long have you known?” Tom Bedrich asked, his voice unchanged.
“For a while.” He smiled at his family. “Now, now, Lolly, don't cry. Y'all needed to know, so I've told you.” Lolly ignored his calm plea for strength; her nails practically dug into my neck as she shuddered with grief.
“What doctors? Where did you go in Houston? We can get a second opinion-” Deborah tried the next level of denial, but it didn't work. Her voice sounded like a weak child's whisper.
“Naw, honey, I been everywhere. I can afford second opinions from every doctor in Houston. I'm plumb MRI-ed out. It ain't gonna change nothing. I just hope God takes me before my mind starts slipping away.” He glanced at Lolly. “As is, I might lose my sight eventually from it. If I last that long.” He then smiled thinly and looked younger than his years. I couldn't help but admire his bravery in light of the circumstances. Mutt was everything Bob Don claimed-a real pistol. If he was afraid of dying, his family would not see it now. The only fear in the room seemed to be our own.
There was a long hush, broken only by Lolly's racked sobbing. She finally pulled away from my shoulder, her face damp with tears. “You'll come back to me, Emmett. I know you will. Just like Charles did. Maybe you'll be a nice kitty for me, or a bird that sings pretty. Promise me you'll come back to me, won't you?”
Uncle Mutt watched his sister with sadness. “I don't know, Lolly. I think I'm nearly ready for a rest. I don't got any complaints about my life-but maybe a little more time would have been nice. Just a little more.” He cleared his throat. “I told Rufus and Wendy already-”
“You told your help before you told us?” Aunt Sass exploded. Her face reddened in anger. “I can't believe you told that drunken coonass and-”
“Quiet!” Uncle Mutt bellowed. He leveled a hard glance at Sass. “You just hush about them, Sass. Rufus and Wendy have been wonderful to me. They live here, they see me every day. And not everybody at this table can make the same claim.”
Sass wasn't daunted,
and she ignored Bob Don's plea to calm down. “Oh, so we don't live on your stupid island, we don't get as much consideration as the hired help?” I couldn't tell if anger or grief-or a combination of both- fueled her voice.
“I've known Rufus for fifty years. He's my oldest friend-”
Sass gulped at her Scotch. I saw her hand tremble. “Blood's thicker, Uncle Mutt.” Is it? I wondered. No one had embraced him. They all seemed frozen.
Sass continued:. “And then to put that little tramp-”
Uncle Mutt's fist thundered down on the table. “Hush! I won't have you talking about Wendy that way! Shut up right now!”
“Mother,” Aubrey ventured quietly, “I think we all need to take a rejuvenating, deep-lung breath, don't you?”
“Aubrey,” Sass said slowly, covering her face with her hands, “be quiet or I will slap the tar out of you. I don't want a rejuvenating breath. I don't want to deep-lung anything. Shut up.”
“Oh,” Lolly moaned. “Y'all stop bickering. I feel sick.” Philip got up and murmured to his aunt; no one else seemed overly alarmed by Lolly's illness-I wondered if she was the clan hypochondriac. Or perhaps they were too stunned after Mutt's showstopper announcement or no one felt particularly kindhearted toward her after her vicious monologue. I was bothered, though-Lolly's hand was pressed to her chest and she kept blinking, as though trying to clear her vision.
“I'm sorry, Lolly. I shouldn't have made it a shock to you-” Uncle Mutt stood. “Wendy!” he called.
The young woman who had been in the kitchen with Uncle Mutt ventured out into the dining room. I hadn't seen her since we started eating-the superb dinner had been set out on the sideboard buffet-style, and we'd all helped ourselves. But there was no doubt that she would have heard Sass's nasty comments.
She was stunning. Not in the casual way that some women are pretty-but in a knock-you-down-dead level of beauty, the kind of loveliness that a man might see just once and remember for decades. She was Vietnamese-her eyes brown and softly almond-shaped, the brows naturally delicate, her skin perfect, her hair a long, dark lank that framed her impeccable face. Her lips were razor thin, but strangely erotic. She wore a simple T-shirt dress, with a stained apron. She didn't look at Sass, who glared at her with undisguised dislike.
“Lolly's not feeling well. Would you help get her up to bed?”
“Of course, Mutt,” Wendy answered. Her voice wasn't a musical one-but steely-strong, determined, intelligent. She glanced at me as I stood, supporting Lolly.
“I'll help you-” I offered, and Lolly moaned, collapsing against me-and vomiting. I didn't have time to react; the warm, sour effluence splashed over my clothes. Her hand struck the table, hard and spasmodic, and her wineglass tumbled over, spreading a stain as red as blood across the immaculate linen. I quickly lowered her to the floor, turning her on her side so she didn't choke on her bile. When the spasm was done, she tried to gasp an apology but couldn't. Deborah pushed me out of the way and knelt by her great-aunt. She elevated her aunt's head and yanked open Lolly's blouse and pressed her fingers against the older woman's chest. I cradled Lolly's head in my lap.
“Call 911! Hurry!” Deborah ordered. Wendy dashed for the phone. “Help me here, Jordan. Loosen her clothing, keep her head up. It's going to be okay, Aunt Lolly.”
“We're on an island, Deb. Remember?” Sass said softly. She turned to Mutt. “Surely you've got a first-aid kit…” Mutt nodded and hurried into the kitchen.
I watched, stunned while Deborah cleaned the bile from Lolly's mouth. Lolly jerked spasmodically, murmuring, “Oh, my sweet Charles, oh my God, oh, Deb, you get away from me…”
“Now, Aunt Lolly, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay-” Deb reassured her, but her eyes came up to mine and I saw a glint of panic behind the calm, professional facade. Heart attack. Maybe, her lips moved. I felt my own chest shudder. Tom, kneeling behind me, rose and rushed to Jake. They spoke softly, quickly, and then Tom bolted from the room.
“I know CPR.” Candace knelt beside us.
“We're not to that point yet,” Deborah whispered. “I'm an RN. Let's get her comfortable, see if we can calm her…”
I glanced at the others. Gretchen pressed against Bob Don, his arms wrapped around her. Philip and Aubrey stood together, stunned into stony silence. Sass stood apart, near the window, as though Lolly's condition might be contagious. Uncle Jake wavered on his cane, staring at Lolly with a mixture of shock and sorrow.
“Oh, God, oh, Charles, oh, where's Sweetie…?” Lolly Throckmorton moaned. “Oh, my blouse is open. Everyone will see my bra. Oh, dear.” Her hands painted figures in the air above her, pleadings with her fingers. Candace closed her hands around Lolly's and held them tightly.
The thudding of feet heralded Tom. He stumbled into the dining room, shock on his face, a pill bottle in his hand- and waved it back and forth.
“It's empty,” Tom panted. “It's gone. Where's the extra bottle, Uncle Jake?”
“No, that can't be.” Uncle Jake coughed. “It can't be gone-that's the only bottle.”
“What on earth-?” I began.
“Digoxin,” Jake called to Deb and me. “It's my heart medication-Tom thought it would help-”
“No, it won't. Too unpredictable,” Deb said. Lolly stopped breathing; I felt the shudder of her back against my knees. I moved back and Deb began the ritual of CPR.
Uncle Mutt and Wendy ran back into the room at the same time, her announcing that the Coast Guard was on its way from the station in Port O'Connor, him lugging a small satchel with a red cross on the side. He dumped the contents of the case open, fumbling madly through them, as though his sister's salvation lay among the scattered medications and bandages. I saw his hands shake above the spill.
“Do something!” he screamed at Deborah, who still concentrated on Lolly's still form. She did not look at her uncle and she pressed hard against Lolly's chest, counting out her own cadence to keep her aunt alive.
But the end came quickly. Louisa Goertz Throckmorton heaved and turned red. She spasmed and fell back against the floor, as though drifting into sleep.
I heard Gretchen murmur, “No. Oh, no,” behind me, and perhaps she was the next to realize that it was over. I felt numb to the bone and reached for the back of a chair to stand. I became aware that I reeked of Lolly's vomit.
Surprisingly, Aubrey helped me up, as though I were an old friend. A smile of disbelief played along his face.
Uncle Mutt kept repeating “No, no, no” as though it were some incantation to turn back time. Wendy drew close to him and took his hand. I looked over at Bob Don; he stared back at me, shock twisting his features into an empty glaze.
Deborah and Candace still worked feverishly over her, Deborah leaning on Lolly's chest. Only when Candace touched her shoulder and said, “I think she's gone,” did Deborah stop and listen to the silence in the throat and the chest. Despite the unpleasantness that had passed between them at dinner, Deborah began to cry softly over her aunt's body.
I sank into ray chair. A horrific quiet, like the still of the grave, permeated the house. It was as though we were all frozen into place. Except for Torn Bedrich, who quickly set down the empty Digoxin bottle as if it scalded his skin.
Nobody who has not been in the interior of a family can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be. -Jane Austen,
Emma
7
“You're suggesting murder?” Calhoun County Lieutenant Victor Mendez tented his fingers and looked at me. I felt a hot flush creep up my skin. “And just why would anyone want to kill Mrs. Throckmorton?”
“I'm not sure she was the target. I might have been.” My throat felt like dried papier-mache; I coughed and took a hard gulp of water.
Justice of the Peace Tricia Yarbrough, sitting behind Uncle Mutt's desk, frowned. “And why would anyone want to kill you, Mr. Poteet?” She was a good-looking woman, in her late fifties, chubby, with smart brown eyes and reddish hair laced with a shock
of gray. I thought she seemed a tremendously good listener.
Lieutenant Mendez, Judge Yarbrough, and I sat in Uncle Mutt's private office, near the back of the sprawling house. Mendez and Judge Yarbrough had quickly appropriated the space from the stunned and grieving Mutt to get each of our statements. I was the last one to be questioned and apparently the first to suggest foul play. At least, that's how I read Mendez's expression-interested but slightly scoffing. Yarbrough seemed a tad more concerned.
Mendez was only a bit older than me, clean-cut, with night-dark eyes and rapidly receding hair. Otherwise, his face was boyish, a bit unformed, like a pudding that hadn't quite set. He was one of those men who never quite seem to shed their baby fat-some morsel of youth remains eternally on their face or frame. He was professional, to the point, and I felt thoroughly intimidated by him.
Not to mention my own emotional state at having had Aunt Lolly die right next to me. I should have been trembling and incoherent; instead I felt a vast numbness seep into my pores, anesthetizing my muscles, dulling my mind.
I realized suddenly, I hadn't answered Tricia Yarbrough's question.
“Mr. Poteet? Judge Yarbrough asked why would someone want to kill you.” Lieutenant Mendez decamped his tent of fingers and instead settled back further on Uncle Mutt's sofa. Yarbrough tapped her nails against the glass covering Uncle Mutt's desk.
“I've been receiving threatening cards ever since I agreed to come to this reunion,” I said, producing the cards and laying them on the desk in front of the justice of the peace. Mendez got up to eye them as well. I let them look through the malicious missives in silence. Mendez carefully handled them with a handkerchief, easing them out of the protective Baggies I kept them in.
Tricia Yarbrough made a choked noise of disgust.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Mendez finally mumbled. He leaned back from the cards, as if their hate was contagious. He glanced up at me. “Any idea who's been sending these?”