it be you really, really need him to bail your ass out of the fire?”
He glared at me with undisguised contempt. “Maybe I do. But at least I've got every right to his money. You don't.”
“I don't want his money-”
“Save it for morons like Gretchen and Bob Don.” He laughed. “You don't fool me for one blessed second. In fact, I'm not the only one who'd like to see some DNA proof or the like that you're really a Goertz. After all, we just got your word and Bob Don's. And while he's stupid as the day is long, even he might be able to cook up a scheme to get his hands on more of Mutt's money.”
I leaned down and seized his collar, yanking his deadweight up from the chair. My strength surprised him-and me.
“Listen,” I said softly to him. “You ever say anything bad about Bob Don again to me, and I'll clean up the floor with your ass. He's not a liar. And neither am I.”
“My, my, physical threats. How very unlibrarianlike of you.” He met my stare with his own, his blue eyes lightless like pebbles in a stream.
“Give it up, Philip.” I turned to leave, tired of his innuendo and threats.
“You're not going to win, Jordan.”
I paused by the door. “Win what? I told you, I'm not after Uncle Mutt's money. Get that through your thick skull.”
Philip stood, straightening his polo shirt where I'd pulled on it and tucking a hand over the heavy, ugly, braided gold chain at his neck. “Don't cross me. It's a real serious mistake.”
“Are you threatening me?” I asked in a low voice. I almost hoped he'd say yes; my fist ached to throw a punch into his sneering face.
Philip Bedrich smiled softly. “Famous last words, cousin. Famous last words.”
11
I stormed down to the beach, anger cours ing through my marrow. I despise bullies of any sort and I particularly disliked Philip. So much for cousinly accord. He'd struck a sore spot with me and I'd seen he knew so in his beady, damp eyes.
I felt hot shame that Philip might have detected any vestige of greed in my face. I was here for Bob Don's sake; and no one else's. How could I have known that Uncle Mutt was dying? No one-
I stopped dead in my tracks, nearly stumbling over the sand-gritted balloon of a beached jellyfish. Philip implied that I'd come here for the sole reason of cajoling my way into Uncle Mutt's will. But how was I to know his will would be put into use soon? I couldn't. No one knew that Mutt was dying-or did they? Had Philip known? Was that why he was willing to endure Mutt's jabs, knowing that they were destined to end soon? The thought gave me definite pause.
And the hatred that oozed from this family: the venom of Aunt Sass, the callow threats of Philip, the deliberate spite that flowed from Aunt Lolly during her fatal dinner-why? Some force, unseen, warped this family as surely as an inexorable weight warps a support. I self-indulgently had supposed that it was simply me, the unwelcome bastard. But I suspected, despite Philip's baiting, that I was merely a bruise on the mortal wound of this clan. Thank God I had my sweetheart here to help me, to talk to me, to help me understand-
My God. I realized, with a jolt, that I'd brought the only guest to this reunion. Philip, Tom, Aubrey, Sass, Deborah- why didn't they bring their significant others, their Can-daces-to a gathering of the Goertzes? Maybe they knew from experience no fun was to be had on this island.
Why not? After all, the beach where I stood was the site of mass murder. I felt a cringe in my legs as I surveyed the beach, the remains of jellyfish scattered about like victims of a more recent massacre. Did those boys from the Reliant cry and beg for their lives, or did they stare straight ahead as the blades sliced open their throats and their blood ran like a crimson tide? The sand felt seductively warm beneath my feet; I didn't have to dwell on the dark past. The day was beautiful and the relaxing whoosh of the surf reminded me I was supposed to be on vacation, viciousness and death and secrecy aside.
I skirted the littered jellyfish corpses and headed toward the dock. Mutt's second boat, the Little Brutus, bobbed in the waves. He'd taken the boat Rufus had ferried us over in to Port Lavaca.
I could see Deborah and Candace still standing on the edge of the dock-but Candace stood with one hand on Deborah's shoulder, her head bowed with some great weight. She was crying.
Sudden pain nipped at my heart. I can't bear to see women weep, and Candace's rare tears always drain me. I suspected I was the source of her distress and a hot flush of guilt crept up my face. I didn't mean to make her cry. We'd argued, but surely not intensely enough to evoke weeping. My throat dried and I stood still, unsure if I should encroach on her private moment. She might not want my brand of comfort.
She wiped her eyes and saw me. She turned away, toward the bay and the wind. Deborah glanced over at me, a sad look painting her face.
Hell's bells. I walked slowly onto the dock. “Candace? You okay?”
“I'm fine,” she said softly, glancing back at me. “Deborah and I were just chatting and I got a little emotional. That's all.”
I reached out for her shoulder; she didn't flinch away. “I'm sorry.”
“Excuse me,” Deborah murmured. “I think I'll run up to the house and get a Coke. Candace, you're sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine, Deborah, thanks.”
Deborah smiled softly at me, turned, and hurried toward the house.
“She's sweet,” I said, feeling awkward. I looked at Can-dace; she stared up at the vast vault of summer sky. The clouds resembled old, sculpted bone.
“She is kind,” Candace finally said. “I like Deborah.”
“I like her, too.” The topic of Deborah exhausted, I cast about for the words to frame my apology in. “Sugar, I'm sorry I blew up at you. I had no call to say what I did. I'm feeling awkward around these folks, I don't know how to be myself here, and I should have listened to you. I'm really sorry.”
“Are you apologizing to me because I feel bad or because you feel bad, Jordy?” She kept her gaze on the whitecapped waves lapping at the beach. One strand of walnut-brown hair kept whipping around her face and I slowly guided it back into place. The cup of her ear felt warm against my fingers.
“Both.”
She smiled then, the vaguest trace of a grin, and she turned her face into my palm, her breath tickling my life line. I kissed her cheek and she kissed my hand.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered into her soft hair. “I'm a real butt sometimes.”
“I'm sorry, too.” Her voice was whispery and strong, like silk. “I should have told you how I got Arlene on the side of this trip so you wouldn't find out the wrong way. And I shouldn't have used that tactic-it wasn't kind.” She sighed. “You're in such a weird situation with these people, and I just mouth off with my free advice. You've got to decide what your relationship is with your father. I can't tell you what it should be, nobody can.”
“No. You were right. I've pretended far too long that I can just sweep Bob Don under the rug, that he'll be satisfied with only being my friend. I've got to let him be a dad to me.”
She stared up into my face with such tenderness I felt the breath in my throat halt. It's a terrible responsibility for someone to look at you with such love. I didn't deserve her-her strength, her kindness, her forgiveness of my multitude of faults. I specialized in alienating people and raising hackles. I couldn't walk past the anthill without kicking it over to see what ruckus I could raise. I could not be an easy man to love.
One of her eyebrows arched. “Oh, babe, don't give me that look. It wears me out for you to think I'm perfect.”
I blinked to clear my face of any offending expression. “You may not be perfect, but you're the perfect one for me.” I bent down to her. As we kissed, her hands tangled in my hair. I reveled in the gentle scratch of her fingernails against my scalp, the pressure of her arm against my neck, the nip of her tongue against my lips. I lifted her up into my arms.
