last night. I’d kept them in my back pocket, as close to my heart as a picture of Uncle Bid would ever get. “Not really a good likeness of you, Bidwell. You had a lot of hair then.” I dangled the photo in front of his face, watching his shock, then admired the snapshot myself. It was an old photo, black and white, in a sleeve with a State Fair of Texas border around it, 1960. A younger Beta and a younger Bid, smiling, arms around each other. Beta had a wisp of the famous State Fair cotton candy in the corner of her mouth and she looked like a fun-loving kid. “You’d said you never dated her, that she was too wild for you. But you lied. You got her pregnant and you paid for her to go to Mexico for a quiet little abortion. Then you dumped her. She turned to religion for solace like a drunk turns to the bottle.” “That’s an ugly lie, Jordy,”
Bid observed mildly, puffing on his foul little cigar. “You thought she didn’t have any friends she could dare confide in here, so you were safe. You were wrong. She had a special friend.” I held up the letter that had been with the photo. “She’d confided in letters to her pen pal, Kirsten Koss of Stavenger, Norway. Old Man Renfro told me he remembered Beta having a Scandinavian pen pal. Kirsten wrote this very supportive letter to Beta, calling you by name and telling Beta that she could make it past having an abortion, that it wouldn’t ruin her life.” I eyed the letter. “Kirsten says for Beta to get away from you.
Sounds like good advice.” “Give me that letter!” he snapped, trying to grab for it. I used my Goertz height to keep it from his Poteet hands.
“Naughty, naughty, Bid. So she finally came to you for money, after all these years.” “She came to me,” he spat harshly, “because she knew you were nothing but a common bastard. And she knew I’d want to protect my brother’s good name.” “Spare me,” I interjected. “You never gave a crap about your brother. So you knew, didn’t you? All these years, you knew.” “I told Lloyd he’d be better off without that-” He saw my eyes gleam and he didn’t use a pejorative. “-without Anne, but he didn’t listen to me. The fool, raising you like you were his own.”
“It’s called love, but don’t worry, Bid. You’ll never be inconvenienced by it.” “I don’t know why I wasted money on that woman to protect a bastard like you,” he hissed. “You didn’t protect a soul, you heartless shit. You treated Beta Harcher like crap and she molded herself into the bitterest person alive. You knew the truth about me and you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want shame on your precious Poteet name. You knew Beta was a blackmailer and you stayed silent.
And worst of all, you’ve hated me for years for something that’s beyond my control-my parentage.” I turned my back on him. “Get out of here.” I half expected a burning cigarillo extinguished on the back of my neck, but Bid beat an honorable retreat. I sagged back into the chair and waited some more. Finally a nurse came into the waiting room. “You Mr. Goertz’s son? He’s been asking for you. You can see him now.” I mumbled a vague assent and followed her into intensive care.
The rooms were more like patios, with an open wall that faced out onto the nurses’ station so they could see the patients at all times. Wires made him look like a Christmas tree without lights. There were wires to his heart, his guts, his arms. Calm agreed with Bob Don. His eyes were shut and I stood next to the bed for a long time, studying his face. “Hey,” I finally said. He opened those big blue eyes and blinked at me. “Hey there, Jordy. How you?” “Better than you, Bob Don.” He grinned and I saw it hurt him. They’d taken the bullet out from near his heart last night and mirth didn’t make him feel happy. “But don’t get me wrong,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.” “Anne? Mark?” he whispered. “Fine, both fine.” He eased back into the pillows. “Thank God, thank God.” He glanced to the other side of the bed. “Where’s Gretchen?” I coughed. “Gretchen didn’t feel up to coming, Bob Don. I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow.” My face tightened. “That was a damned brave thing you did, Bob Don.” He snorted, like a car salesman would at a ridiculous offer. “Damned stupid. I’d been drinking a bit after you stormed out, and I had mostly liquid courage.” “Whatever it was, it worked. You saved us.” “I don’t have the right to say this to you, Jordy, but I’m gonna. I’m old and maybe I won’t make it out of here. I would have died for you.” He choked with emotion and he shut his eyes, leaking tears. “Listen, Bob Don, I’ve been thinking.” I gulped. “You know, I just can’t forget my dad-you know, Lloyd. He was the man who raised me, the one I called Daddy all those years, the man who made me the man I am today. I won’t ever, ever forget him and no one can replace him.” “I don’t want you to forget Lloyd,” Bob Don murmured. “I don’t want to forget him either. I just want… I just want a chance to be a father to you, too.” He opened his eyes, searching for the copies of them in my face. “You’re a lucky fella, y’know. Not many folks get a chance to have two daddies that love ’em. I do love you, Jordy, very much. I always have and no matter how you feel about me, I always will.” I couldn’t answer. My own tears flooded my eyes and I stared down at the sheets covering his wounded body. “Excuse me, Mr. Poteet?” a nasal voice screeched. I looked up, blinking. A bone-thin nurse frowned at me, glancing between me and Bob Don. I recognized her as a regular customer from the library-she liked historical novels. “Are you supposed to be in here, Mr. Poteet?” she demanded, sounding irritated. “Are you immediate family to Mr. Goertz?” I blinked away tears and my hand found Bob Don’s. I cleared my voice before I answered. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
