go upstairs.”
She took my hand and we retired to my bedroom. I lost myself in her, in the warm tangle of her arms, in the delectable slide of skin against skin, the soft wonder of her lips against mine.
“An island? Your uncle lives on an island?” I lowered my fork (replete with a goodly chunk of my sister's chicken-fried steak) back to my plate.
“It ain't a big one, Jordan, but it's all his.” Bob Don Goertz beamed witii pride. “Uncle Mutt's done real well for himself. He gave me the seed money for my car lots.”
“Uncle Mutt?”
“His Christian name's Emmett, but when me and my brother and my sister were little we couldn't say Emmett- we said Em-mutt. It got shortened to Mutt.”
“Do you have an Uncle Jeff to go along with this Uncle Mutt?”
Bob Don guffawed. “God, you're funny, son!”
I could recite the Magna Carta and he'd think it was amusing. I don't like it a bit when he starts edging the pedestal over for me to climb up on.
“Naw, no Uncle Jeff. But they're all just gonna love you, Jordan, I can tell already-”
“I'm sure.” I was more than willing to let the assembled Goertzes devise their own opinions about me. I certainly planned on forming my own judgments regarding them. “And how did-excuse me-Uncle Mutt acquire this island?”
“Won it in a poker game.”
I managed to keep hold of my fork, but barely. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my big sister Arlene hovering, pretending to wipe down a table. I'd had a grueling day running the Mirabeau Public Library, and I'd offered to take Bob Don to lunch. Of course I picked the Sit-a-Spell, the downtown cafe co-owned by my sister and Candace. To be seen dining elsewhere in Mirabeau would have been to invite retribution the likes of which I cannot imagine. Of course, Sister isn't exactly kind-minded toward Bob Don. He would forever be the man who nearly ended our parents' marriage. If I told her I was accompanying Bob Don to visit his uncle who'd won offshore real estate while gambling, she'd have a conniption fit.
“I hope I won't be expected to play poker wim him. I don't believe I could ante up.”
“Oh, Uncle Mutt doesn't gamble much anymore. Says he's older and wiser. Plus it's harder for him to hold his cards since his middle fingers got shot off.” Bob Don popped a potato pancake into his mouth and chewed with a grin.
“Shot off? During a poker game?” I asked faintly.
“Oh, no. That was over a woman. A fellow caught Uncle Mutt in bed with his wife.” Bob Don seemed amused at this family trait.
“Oh.”
“And his ex-wife.”
I swallowed my food-untasted. The rough edge of the fried meat left a burning trail down my throat. I coughed and gulped water. “Uncle Mutt was in bed with this man's wife and ex-wife-at the same time?”
“Yeah. Uncle Mutt's always had what you'd call a fair amount of energy. I always figured I got my initiative from him.”
“I sincerely hope you're referring to selling cars, Bob Don, and not bedding women.” I prefer not to dwell overmuch on the sex life that my mother and Bob Don shared.
“Oh, yeah.” He quickly tucked into his green-bean casserole. (It was what Sister termed “the fancy kind,” made with fried onions and mushroom soup.) He never wanted to talk about his relationship with my mother either, except the never-ending litany of how he had loved her. I wondered if he still did. And as for Bob Don's wife Gretchen-well, her husband's emotional investment in my mother couldn't be comforting.
“And just how old is Uncle Mutt now?” Considering Bob Don was in his fifties, Uncle Mutt could hardly still be giving new meaning to simultaneous orgasm.
“Oh, he's around seventy. Still got a lot of gumption. 'Course he's not the oldest member of the family. That'd be Uncle Jake.”
“Older brother to Uncle Mutt?”
“No, he's Uncle Mutt's uncle. Sort of. You see, Uncle Mutt's daddy, Thomas Goertz-he was my granddaddy- he had two wives. The first was named Mildred, and she was my grandmother. Uncle Jake's her bachelor brother and he's nearly a hundred now. Anyway, Jake always lived with Papaw Tommy and his family. Mama Mildred had two children with Papaw Tommy, then she died in the flu epidemic in 1918. Papaw Tommy remarried-we called his second wife Mama Claudia-and she was mother to Uncle Mutt and Aunt Lolly.”
“Aunt Lolly?” I felt the need for a scorecard and resisted the urge to jot notes down on a napkin.
“Uncle Mutt's younger sister. Her real name's Louisa, but we all call her Lolly. She's widowed, so she takes care of Uncle Jake.” He picked at his food, suddenly ill at ease. “Aunt Lolly's sweet, but she's gettin' nuttier than a pecan tree. I don't think she'll be able to take care of Uncle Jake too much longer.”
“But”-I counted on my fingers, retracing the convoluted Goertz family tree-”Jake's not really Lolly's kin, right? He's the brother of her father's first wife, right?”
“Yep. But Uncle Jake was forever part of the family, even after his sister died.” Bob Don appeared horrified at the suggestion Uncle Jake be turned out from the hearth simply because his sister had been dead for nearly eighty years. “And then there's the twins, Philip and Tom-except they don't look alike, ain't that a kicker?-and then your aunt Sass and your cousin Aubrey-”
I held up my hand. “Please, no more. I'll chart the tree when I meet the clan.” If the Goertz family history was as twisty as it sounded, I'd need the services of a genealogist whose hobby was contortionism. I smiled at Bob Don. “I'm sure they're all fine folks.”
He snorted. “Well, I guess I love 'em. But I'm particularly partial to Uncle Mutt. He's my favorite. Aside from you.”
I smiled. I could see now just how much this reunion meant to Bob Don. He was proud of being my father and wanted to share his happiness with his loved ones.
I couldn't help but wonder-would I have invited him to a family reunion of my mother's kin? I wasn't exactly trumpeting from the rooftops that my surname should be, by all rights, a little further up the alphabet. He took more pride in me than I did in him-after all, he'd known I belonged to him since the day I was born. He'd had thirty years to get used to the notion; I had barely a year. It's still not enough time. But shame at the thought that I was treating Bob Don unkindly colored my face.
“As long as Uncle Mutt doesn't challenge me to cards, I'll be fine.”
“He won't. Probably. Of course it's a bit hard to foretell exactly what Uncle Mutt's going to do-” The further misadventures of Bob Don's kinsman were delayed by the arrival of my sister, setting big bowls of banana pudding crowned with vanilla wafers on the table. If you've never had this, it's God's own treat.
“I don't think we'd ordered dessert quite yet.” I smiled. Sister favored me with a wry scowl.
“On the house.” She plopped a third bowl down and scooted into the booth, next to Bob Don. “Gretchen says that y'all are heading out to a-family reunion soon.”
Sister never took the news of my paternity very well. I believe she's grateful to Bob Don for his many kindnesses to us, but his new position in my life rankles her. You don't like to regard your adored little brother as a constant reminder of your own mama's unfaithfulness. I'd become a symbol of my mother's imperfections.
“Well, yes, Arlene, I have asked Jordan to come with me to my family reunion in July. I'd really like for him to know his Goertz relations.”
Sister smiled a smile that said, He already has a family, thank you kindly. Fortunately Bob Don lacks a Berlitz book for Sister's various eyebrow raises and gleaming stares, so he plunged on in happy ignorance. “I'm just so pleased that he's decided to come, 'cause everyone's gonna be thrilled to meet him.”
“Sister-” I started, but she didn't let me finish.
“I just don't know if July's a good time for Jordan to be away from the horse farm,” she said airily.
“Why? Has Mark forgotten how to shovel manure?” Let me be the first to say how minimal my contributions to the horse farm are. I modernized the software; I did most of the hiring, although most of the folks working there
