edge of persuasion he always used to close his deals. He sounded exhausted; he sounded angry. I suspected his ire was directed not only at me, but at the terrible situation we were locked in.
We creaked along for a while, not talking. He did not-or would not-look at me. I stayed quiet, hoping the hush would force him, a dedicated extrovert, to speak. But he stayed intractably mute. I'd committed the wrong; the first words in the treaty would be mine to write.
“I'm sorry if I upset you by asking about Paul. I had no idea it was a tender subject with you.”
He moved his khaki-clad legs back and forth, the squeak of the swing his only answer.
I forged ahead. “I meant no harm, and I hope you're not mad at me.”
“I expect it. You always poke your nose in where it don't belong.”
Bitterness wasn't his standard reply. I knew he must be terribly upset and I resisted my natural urge toward sarcasm. “That's not entirely fair, Bob Don. You can't expect me to be around your relatives and not hear about some dirty family linen you'd just as soon I not know.”
“Jordan, you could find dirty linen if it was burned and buried beneath the clothes hamper. But I don't want you playing detective here. Not with my family.”
“What are you worried I'm going to find out about?”
“Nothing. I just don't want you getting hurt.” His voice quavered on the last word.
I grabbed his arm. “What do you mean, get hurt?”
He covered my hand with his own. “Son. I brought you here because I love you and I want my family to know I have a son I love. I want them to see you and know you and maybe in time love you like you were always one of us.” His mouth tightened. “Every holiday with them, every reunion, I felt like something was missing because you weren't here. I'd watch Aubrey and Deb and Brian tear the paper off their Christmas presents and I couldn't even tell them you existed. Never got to watch you unwrap a gift. Never got to give you a toy.” His voice choked. “It left a mighty hard hole to fill.” He cleared his throat. “But I didn't bring you here so you could go snuffling around the family garbage like an old hound dog. This isn't one of your little hobby cases-”
“Excuse me?” I managed to sputter, anger coloring my face. His gaze held mine like a vise.
“I don't want you poking around here. As soon as Uncle Mutt gets back, and that justice lady says we're free to go, you and Candace are leaving. You're right. There's no need for you to stay for Lolly's services. Y'all can take my car back to Mirabeau. This ain't got a thing to do with either of y'all.”
“Yes, it does,” I parried. “Lolly threatened me.” His face drained of blood. I explained about the scarred greeting cards.
“Christ a'mighty,” he finally gasped. “How do you know it was her?”
“I snooped in her room,” I answered. “Were you snooping in there, too? Wendy says you were.”
The color that had evacuated from his face surged in an angry return. “I don't know what she's talking about. But like I said, nothing here's got anything to do with you.”
“Being here,” I said slowly, “has everything to do with me. And with you. You were the one who begged me to come here, begged me to give your family a chance. You want me to be a Goertz, but you don't want me around when the going gets tough.” I could not keep the edge of anger out of my tone. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Oh, so now you're a Goertz.” Sarcasm was a stranger to his voice. “Just because there's trouble brewing and you can't keep your hands out of it. It never seemed to matter much to you to be a Goertz just because you were my son and it might matter to meT
“I can't be your son if you don't trust me. Now I've been threatened, and the woman who tried to scare me away from this reunion is dead. I find out you married your brother's wife, and that said brother killed his second wife and himself. I think something's off here. And I think you know a hell of a lot more than you're telling, Bob Don. How am I supposed to be a son to you if you don't trust me?”
“Maybe you ought to trust me when I say it's none of your goddamned business.” He stood. “If you ain't gonna act like my son, then I guess you don't have to listen much to me. But I think it'd be best for all concerned if you and Candace left.”
I kept my voice steady. “Contradiction doesn't suit you, Bob Don. First you wanted us to stay for Lolly's funeral, now you're bound and determined to get us off the island. Why the change? What are you afraid I'll find out?”
His lips, dried by the sea breeze, twitched into a lean, hard smile. “I'm not afraid of anything. I just want you to go. This trip wasn't a good idea.”
I should have kept the heat I felt close to me, away from him. But I didn't. “Bullshit. You can't screw around with my head this way, Bob Don. You want me to come here, put my neck on the chopping block with your family, and now that you're concerned I'm going to find out some dirty secret of yours, you want to pack me off. Either I'm your son, or I'm not. Finding out something unpleasant about you isn't going to change the way I feel-”
“You feel? How do you feel about me?” He thrust the words in like a sword.
I fumbled for the swing's chain, steadying myself against it. “I care about you. I respect you. I want you to be happy. I just-”
His words cut through my litany of meaningless syrup. “You don't love me, Jordy. You don't love me like a son should love a father. And you never will.”
“You haven't given me time,” I started meekly, but I stopped as he stared into my face. Pain, direct from the heart, made his features tremble.
“Time? How much time do you need? You've had over a year, with us seeing each other nearly every day. I've saved your life once, nearly at the cost of my own.” I felt the heat of Sass's accusation against me in his voice. “I've provided a nurse for your mother so you and your sister don't have to slave away day and night. I've been there for you in thick and thin. And I'm sick, sick of being kept an arm's length from you like I was a goddamned leper.” His voice broke with emotion, and he clumsily wiped an arm across his eyes. When he looked at me again, he was flush with hurt and he jabbed a finger toward my face.
“Either I am your father, or I'm not. For all those long years I wanted to be your daddy. I couldn't. And maybe those empty years mean I never can be. If that's true, I'd just as soon cut my losses and go on. Pretend once again I don't have a son.”
“All those years you wanted to be a father?” My voice sounded like a stranger's, riddled with its own hurts. “Why didn't you ever step forward, then? Why'd you let me live for years thinking I was a Poteet?”
He shook his head, his expression hard. “Oh, no, you don't. You ain't gonna lay this on me, Jordan. I did as your mama asked-”
“Bullshit!” I hollered. Pain I didn't recognize had me in its grip. I felt like I'd been endlessly prodded by a bully who finally faltered and I was flailing back. “You could have done what you wanted, never mind my mother! You could have claimed me as yours! You let my whole life be a lie-”
“I let your life be normal!” he roared. “With a mama, and a daddy who loved you, and a sister! I let you have it all while I had nothing but a drunken wife and all the pain God could give a man.” He glared at me with eyes too much like my own. “You think you know what hurt is? Poor, poor Jordan. So you found out you got the wrong daddy, and you've had a tough year. Hell, I've had thirty tough years, watching you and never being able to reach out to you-”
“Your choice!” I snapped back. “That was your choice.”
He lowered his arm, tired of pointing. “Yes, fine. If you want to play it that way-my choice.”
“You chose not to be my father. And now you want me to choose to be your son-” Anger wobbled my voice. I saw Aubrey watching us from the safety of the gardens. When he saw me see him, he turned and fled.
“I am choosing to be your father, if you'll let me.” Bob Don lowered his voice. “But now you have to go, Jordan. You get out of here. Or you and I never speak again.” His hands closed into fists and he could barely speak. His lips tightened into a vicious frown.
I managed to form words with my bone-dry mouth. “I don't respond very well to emotional blackmail, Bob Don. I don't like ultimatums.”
For a moment the only sound was the rush of the waves on the beach below us. “I don't like doing my damnedest to be a father to you and being made to feel like a redheaded stepchild. You've made it quite clear you think you don't need a dad. I won't trouble you anymore. Get your bags packed and go, then. Take my car. Gretchen and I'll make arrangements to get back to Mirabeau.” Fear played along his face. He glanced away from me, toward the front door.
