Distant Blood

by Jeff Abbott

  “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.

  SUPPER WAS EXCRUCIATING. Not that the food was bad; hardly so. The pork tenderloin was tender and delicately spiced, the green beans freshly steamed and brimming with flavor, the marinated carrots chilled and tangy, the salad crisp, the wines Texas-made, dry and flavorful.

  But I expected a family dinner to be convivial, a chance to laugh and hear time-honored stories that are customarily retold at these gatherings. The web of love that meshes a clan together should shine at these moments, even when relatives sometimes don't always get along.

  The reunions on my mother's side of the family were long, joined moments of happiness in my memory: good food, restless play with my cousins, jolting laughter from the adults. When I'd attended Poteet reunions, my cousins and I would often be convulsed in laughter, remembering some anecdote connected to Uncle Bid or Aunt Pearl or Cousin Maggie. The stories were never new, and therein lay their charm. You learn a lot from a family's laughter.

  The Goertzes were not one for familial chortles. The clink of fork against plate remained the dominant noise. I wondered if my own presence caused this recalcitrance; after all, I was like some rare zoo specimen to these people, an actual love child. Bastardis Goertzis, a rare genus and species, I told myself, sure to be labeled and catalogued. This oddity had teeth, however. After seeing Uncle Mutt's tender embrace with his cook, I'd opted to produce the letters myself to the gathering. Sated with food and wine (as no one seemed to be picking at their dinner much—they gobbled like wolves), my admirer might be off guard. After dinner, then, I resolved. I permitted myself a smile, which Aunt Lolly swooped on like an owl on a field mouse.

  “Something funny, Jordan?” she purred, her fork idling in her salad. Her eyes fixed on me, bright and disturbing.

  “No, not at all.” I smiled back. Bob Don glanced at me, so I broadened my grin. “I'm just happy to be here.” I took refuge in a fortifying sip of wine.

  Lolly, sitting next to me, rubbed the back of my hand. “And we're all happy you're here, too, dear.” Her lips narrowed in a malicious grin. “Such a nice, successful boy. You may restore my faith in this particular generation of Goertzes. Deb and Aubrey have been disappointments, haven't you, sugars?”

  I had no words to respond to her rotten prod at my cousins. She'd been downing red wine steadily—I wondered if she was a mean drunk. Aubrey and Deborah, sitting together on the other side of the long table, both glared at Lolly. Sass, like a tigress, leaped to her son's defense, claws bared for battle.

  “Aunt Lolly, I hardly think it's fair to label Aubrey a failure. He's a published author—”

  “That psychobabble claptrap?” Lolly snorted. The sweetness
that had characterized her earlier ramblings was gone, replaced by sourness. “The only amazing thing is that people lay down money to be analyzed from a page. Especially by someone who never attended medical school. Aubrey, dear, don't get me wrong, we're all tickled you got your cute little book published, but don't you think it's time you got involved in Uncle Mutt's business?”

  “Leave the boy alone, Lolly,” Mutt grunted, digging into his tenderloin. Lolly apparently was immune to the power of Mutt's charisma. I wondered how she could dismiss Aubrey's advice as psychobabble when she thought her dog was her husband reborn. I didn't know Aubrey had penned a book, and searched my memory for his name; I wondered if we had his text at the library. I opened my mouth to ask him the title, but didn't get a chance.

  “I'm not really interested in investment portfolios, Aunt Lolly,” Aubrey said. I sat, waiting for the next platitude, but he stared down at his plate, prodding a green bean with intense concentration. I suspected this was an old battle.

  Aunt Lolly tired of him and moved on to her next subject. “Candace, dear, do you know any eligible bachelors? We're waiting still on Deborah dear here to settle down and become an honest woman.”

  Why is Lolly so bitter? I wondered. Tired of being Jake's caretaker? And why don't they just hire a nurse for him instead? Why put the burden on Lolly?

  Candace attempted a salvage. “Aunt Lolly, I'm sure a woman as pretty and smart as Deborah can find her own dates.”

  Deborah flashed a brief smile at Candace and then turned her grin toward Lolly. “Lolly—remind me, when was your last date? Was that when the astronauts returned from the moon? Or when Columbus sailed by?”

  “Ladies,” Uncle Mutt rumbled, “let's be nice.”

  Lolly smirked at her niece. “You have to understand, Jordan, I raised Deborah after her father murdered her mother and then killed himself. She and I just love each other to pieces. We like to tease. Don't pay her any heed.” She sipped at her Cabernet—she was the only one who'd opted for red wine with dinner—and then ran a speck of tongue along her thin lips.