“I don't know. I would imagine so. I don't think it ever entirely goes away.” I wasn't going to pretend to understand the seduction of alcoholism. I enjoyed a beer or a glass of wine on occasion, but to have an unquenchable need for a beverage-no matter how good it made you feel-was a thirst I didn't understand. The why of Gretchen's drinking was not a question I'd pondered for any amount of time. I should have.
“You knew her when she was drinking?” Sass asked.
“Oh, yes. In the worst way. She was the one who informed me that Bob Don was my father. I hadn't known before then. She was stinking drunk and yelled the news out at me.”
Aunt Sass stayed silent for a long moment. “That's a terrible way to find out such a”-she stumbled for the appropriate word-”revelation.”
“Yes, it is. It was followed by a rather tearful explanation from your brother. I didn't want to believe him.” Gretchen's words, then his words, had slid into my heart like an ice pick gracefully inserted between my ribs.
Silence again. Aunt Sass's lips, red and full, twitched slightly, unaccustomed to holding her words at bay. “He'll be a wonderful father to you, if you'll let him. But if you ever hurt him, ever disappoint him, I'll see that you're sorry for it.”
“Why are there so many threats flying through the air in this house?” I asked, my voice surprisingly mild. “Should I be afraid of you, Sass? I know you don't care much for me.”
“I don't know you. I'm not sure that I want to.”
“Why?” I ventured. I felt suddenly that the spiderwebs of subterfuge were trembling in the building breeze of truth. She and I were on honest ground.
“You're a mistake,” she said softly. “I don't mean to sound cruel, but it's true. My brother had an affair with a married woman and it was horrible for him. Your mother should have stayed in her own bed, with her own man. How she could seduce Bob Don, get herself with child-a son, no less, exactly what Bob Don has always wanted and prayed for-and then blithely go back to her husband and raise Bob Don's child like it wasn't even his? And deny him having diddly to do with you all those years? It's sick and it's selfish and it's mean-hearted.”
Heaviness pressed against my chest. “You don't even know my mother. She was the greatest mother anyone could ask for. It's awful easy to sit in judgment of a stranger.”
“Maybe. But my brother has never excelled at picking the right women, and I can't help but think she was a sorry excuse for a person.”
I stifled the fury I felt. Finally I spoke: “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that Aunt Lolly's death has you terribly upset, and I'll just pretend I didn't hear that garbage.”
“Don't you patronize me. I know exactly what I'm saying. It's just the truth that you don't want to hear.”
“I don't have to listen to this crap,” I said, brushing past her. She seized my arm with surprising strength and brought her mouth close to my ear, like a lover whispering an endearment.
“If you're not going to let him be a father to you, just leave his life. Get out. Don't you think he's been tortured enough already? You've been the carrot dangled in front of him for years, the great reward. Maybe he could get on with his life if he knew what your intentions were.”
“You make it sound like I'm marrying him.” I didn't look at her face.
“It ain't that different, sugar. You're either gonna be a big part of his life or not at all. There's not any middle ground for you to stand on and dither.”
“I don't see how this is any of your concern.” Now I looked at her and saw the strained smile on her face.
“Oh, honey, it is. Because next to Aubrey, no one matters more to me than my brother. And I'm not about to sit knitting while you stomp all over him.”
“I'd never want to hurt Bob Don!”
“Every day you keep him at arm's length hurts him. Every day you call him by his right name instead of Dad hurts him. Every day you try and overanalyze what his being your daddy means-and you are just the bookish sort that'd fret till you're blue-hurts him. Now that I know about you, you aren't gonna hurt him no more.”
I took a steadying breath. “I see where Aubrey gets his penchant for dispensing unsolicited advice. You don't know beans about me and yet you've decided to sit in judgment.”
“All I need to know,” she hissed, “is that you have one of the kindest men in the world chomping at the bit to be your father, and you ain't letting him. And it's hurting him bad. I can see it in his face.”
“He seems fine to me.”
“I've known him a lot longer than you have, Jordan. I care about him, which you apparently don't.” A slight sneer played its way onto her face. “What is it he calls you- Jordyl What a childish nickname. It suits you.”
“If you're done?” I challenged.
“He told me this morning. He took a bullet for you. He nearly died for you.” Her words felt like slivers of ice against my skin, even in the summer heat. “He laid his life on the line for you, and you still can't decide if he's worthy enough to be your father? Fuck you, the decision's easy. You're not worthy to be his son.” She pushed past me, her shoulder setting the roses quivering as she grazed the bush, and stormed out of the compartment. I heard her slam the main greenhouse door a few moments later.
I stood watching one of the rose petals drift to the floor, lost from its fellows.
I went back to the house, easing the door shut behind me. My throat ached and I wondered if I'd screamed at Sass without realizing it. A cold languor filled my limbs despite the heat of the day.
Part of me wanted to run up the stairs, find Bob Don, ask him if anything his sister spat was true. It couldn't be. I wasn't that unthinkingly cruel, and my mother certainly wasn't the conniving slut. Sass was only looking at one side of a very difficult and painful situation. Overanalyze? Not me. No way.
Of course Bob Don knew I cared. When he'd gotten shot saving me, my mother, and my nephew from a deranged killer, I'd stood by him at the hospital, admitted he was family, worried and fretted over him. I wasn't a callous man.
And as soon as he got home from that hospital, you carefully slotted him into a place in your life where you demanded nothing of him and he could demand nothing of you. Isn't that called sweeping the dirt under the rug? Damned inconvenient new father. Let's just pretend we have eternity to decide if he ever gets a chance to be more to you than an embarrassment, or a debt unpaid.
The voice spoke in my ear, like a miniature devil tittering on my shoulder, urging me to mischief. No. No. I wasn't hateful, I had just been confused. Shocked. Afraid.
I looked up from the floor and saw Uncle Jake watching me from the library, his eyes sharply focused. A book lay open on his lap, and eventually he simply nodded at me and went back to his reading, his finger tracing a path through the prose.
I wavered between retreating to my room, burying my head in a good book in the study with Uncle Jake, or seeking out some private enclave on the island, away from prying eyes, sharpened tongues, and nagging consciences. The last option beckoned alluringly. I went into the kitchen, found it empty, and grabbed a can of Dr Pepper from the refrigerator. I popped the top and took a long swallow, keeping my eyes closed as the sugary coldness gushed down my throat.
You're a mistake. What a sick woman Sass was, hiding behind alleged concern for Bob Don. And after I'd kept her son from getting pummeled and offered her the olive branch of peace. I heard the kitchen door swing open and shut and I turned.
No one stood there. Odd. I moved to the door, opened it, and peered out into the dining room to see who I'd frightened off by my simple presence in the kitchen. Nobody.
I eased the door back, feeling a disquiet tug in my gut. Probably just Aunt Sass scrounging for lunch and withdrawing when she'd seen me. No problem, as far as I was concerned. For one moment I felt like I wasn't alone in the kitchen; but the only noise was the hiss of my own breathing. I'm letting that woman rattle me, I assured myself, and opened the back door into bright sunshine.
I jumped down the stairs and wended my way past the greenhouse. Rufus puttered inside, whistling tunelessly and sipping at a root beer. A radio warbled an old Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn duet about a Louisiana woman and a Mississippi man. I didn't want to hear one stanza about star-crossed lovers.
“I put up that shovel for you.” I paused for a moment in front of the greenhouse.
“What? Uh, sure, thanks,” Rufus mumbled.
“You ought to be more careful with your tools, Rufus. I nearly tripped over it out here.”
