quick friends. But I still wanted to know why Deborah had snuck into Lolly's room. I couldn't dismiss her presence there as easily as I could Bob Don's. I admit to personal bias.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I knew it wasn't Candace come to mend fences, so I didn't give a particularly hearty “Come in.”
Aubrey stuck his head in like he expected it to get chomped off. “Hi. Got a second?”
“As long as it's not for getting in touch with my inner Neanderthal, Aubrey.” I sat down and gestured toward a chair. “What's up?”
He ignored my rudeness, settling down with a folder and, to my dismay, a laptop computer.
“Heading off to do some work on your book?”
He smiled. “It's a nice day and I thought it would be good public relations to retire to the porch and woo the muse. Let everyone see that I've nothing to hide-and no one here has anything to worry about-in writing this book about families.” He paused for a moment. “Listen, Jordan, I'm sorry my mom went off on such a tear. She's just very blunt and plainspoken.”
“I like plainspoken, Aubrey. I just think that your mother's having a hard time accepting me into the family.” Hurt flared in his eyes and I tried to soften the blow. “Look, I know I was a big surprise to y'all. But that's not my fault. I'd like to make the best of a difficult situation.”
“Yes, so would I.” He drummed fingers along his computer and his folder of notes. “I know I can irritate people with my theories on human interaction, but I mean well. No one seems to understand that.”
I blinked. Here was Aubrey, who claimed to have anodynes for every emotional trauma, and he didn't have the first clue as to dealing with people. “Aubrey, you can't continually tell folks how to fix their problems. No one wants advice all the time. Sometimes they just want to vent and not be told what to do about their sadness or disappointment. Or anger.”
“Did you read my last book?”
“No,” I admitted. “I'm sorry, if I'd known you'd written it before I came here I would have. Bob Don didn't mention he had an author for a nephew.”
“Well, then, maybe you'll let me donate a copy to your library, and send a signed copy to you? I'd like to, since we haven't gotten off on the best foot.”
Kindness had been a rare treat since I arrived on the island, and I thought: You've judged him too quick, too harshly. But then I-being a terribly bad and suspicious person-remembered the heated whispers I'd heard between Sass and Aubrey on the staircase after my arrival. But if I kept jumping at every conclusion that presented itself, I'd break a leg. I offered my best smile to my cousin. “Of course, Aubrey. I'd be delighted to have a copy of your book.”
“The new one's going to be even better. I'm doing audio-tapes, videotapes, and a CD-ROM to go along with the text-taking therapy and self-awareness into the multimedia age.” He fixed me with a catlike stare that showed him to be his mother's son. “It must have been quite an experience to discover Bob Don was your father. The very idea of it just drips with potential personality destabilization. Such a basic challenge to your identity. Do you think you'd ever care to talk about it?”
So much for cousinhood without strings. Apparently my private life was destined to be a track on a self-help tape from hell. At that moment I forged my plan for dealing with Aubrey and his psychobabble. I would play stupid. After all, I was blond, so my slowness would be expected by those with less developed cerebellums. Aubrey qualified.
I sugared my voice, acting as though I'd suffered a sudden 1Q drop, and gave a slow, vacuous blink. “Well, sure, Aubrey, if you want me to. I'm not sure I'd ever really know how to describe how I felt.” If I'd had gum in my mouth, I'd have popped it. I gestured at the laptop. “You want to take notes with that?”
He was not a clever boy. “Oh, that'd be great, Jordan. How's about now?” He had the laptop open and powered on before I could blink, his hands poised above the keyboard to record my innermost longings and tortures.
“No.” I meandered back toward the window. “Maybe we should talk about how we feel about Aunt Lolly's death, since that's so much more recent a pain.” I did feel pain- and confusion and a sick fear-over Lolly's death and I put the wound into my voice.
“Well, sure, of course, if you like,” Aubrey burbled. I suspected he just wanted to get family members talking for his latest self-analysis project. If we had to start with irrelevant topics, that was a necessary sacrifice to get those jaws moving and emotions flowing.
I sat down. “Was Aunt Lolly very loved in the family?”
Aubrey laughed. “I don't mean to sound cruel. Of course we all loved her. You can still love a dog after it bites you, but you'll never feel the same about it entirely.”
“I got a sample of Lolly's teeth at dinner. She certainly chewed you and Deborah up.”
Aubrey shrugged. “She had a lot of mental problems, if you ask me. The family won't admit it.”
I didn't tell him Jake was already admitting away. “Mental problems? But she was Jake's caretaker.”
A snort was Aubrey's only reply for a long moment; he seemed to be considering his answer carefully. Finally he offered: “Taking care of Uncle Jake could impair anyone's emotional health.”
“So why not just get Jake a nurse?”
“Uncle Mutt wouldn't hear of it. Said family always takes care of family.”
“Yet he hires Wendy and Rufus.”
“True. And I suppose Lolly was happy enough, taking care of Jake. It kept her out of mischief.”
“You didn't like Lolly much, did you? Let's cut to the honest chase here.”
Aubrey rolled his tongue in the hollow of his cheek. “I loved her because you're supposed to love your relatives. But no, I didn't like her much as a person. She didn't like anyone-except Uncle Mutt. And Sweetie, of course. I think she used to have a few friends over on the mainland, but I don't think she'd been doing much with them lately.”
“Did you talk to her often?” I remembered her note to call Aubrey on her pad.
“Sometimes. She'd call Mom and I'd take the message. I've been living with Mom for the past few months.” He seemed embarrassed, as though I might criticize him. Since I'd moved home myself, I wasn't about to tease him for his living arrangements.
I pressed on: “These mental problems you mentioned- did it go along with her fixation on her dog?”
My new cousin smiled slyly. “There's two schools of thought. Some of us believed Lolly had real problems. Others-like Philip and Mutt-think it was all a little charade.”
“Charade?”
“Sometimes we wondered if Aunt Lolly was having a big joke on us all-pretending to be just an amusing amount of crazy.”
For a moment my dumb act was the real thing. “You're saying she faked believing that Sweetie was Uncle Charles back from the dead? And any other eccentricities she had?”
Aubrey nodded. “Well, it's one theory.”
“Why? What would be Lolly's motivation?”
“Attention. Power. Aunt Lolly was a control addict from time immemorial. She liked everyone's lives just the way she had arranged them.”
“I still don't understand.”
“If everyone in your family believes you're a little crazy, they go out of their way to accommodate you. They don't disagree with you often, if at all. Everyone views you as a sad case to be coddled.” Aubrey smiled at the shock on my face. “I understand your mother has Alzheimer's. I'm terribly sorry. But wouldn't you say it's true that your mom's condition-her craziness, for lack of a better term, and don't take offense-dictates a lot of how you live your life?”
I didn't answer him immediately. “So Philip thought she was pretend crazy. Who thought she was truly ill?”
Aubrey shrugged. “Me. My mother. Probably Uncle Jake, they had a rocky relationship. And even though Lolly raised her, Deborah has never had a good relationship with Lolly. She's convinced Lolly was sick.”
“But Lolly was taking care of Uncle Jake. If anyone thought she was mentally ill, she had no business being his caretaker,” I said. “Him being at her mercy…”
For the first time Aubrey laughed and I had a sneaking suspicion there might be a likable fellow lurking
