“You're overreacting, as usual. You've got way, way too many emotional triggers.” The man's voice sounded weary, as though he'd repeated this conversation before with Aunt Sass.
I emboldened myself and thudded my feet along the stairs, turning and heading down to the second-story landing. Aunt Sass stood frozen there, talking with a young fellow around my age. He had brown hair, with the trademark Goertz blue eyes. A band of freckles across his nose invested his face with a boyish air. His countenance looked oddly familiar, in the way that an actor sometimes will on the late show. You know you've seen him before but you can't place him.
I greeted Aunt Sass with a nonchalant smile that suggested that I hadn't heard a word of her demanded murmurings to the young man. “Hi, Aunt Sass. You're sure you don't mind me calling you that?”
“Of course not, honey. You're my brother's boy, after all.” Her lipsticked smile worked itself into broadness. “And I want you to meet your cousin. This is my son, Aubrey Keller. Aubrey, this is Bob Don's long-lost boy, Jordan Goertz.”
Aubrey flailed my hand with an intense grip. His smile lasered me. I was under a mortar barrage of enthusiasm. “Jordan! Absolutely great to meet you! Welcome to the family.”
I returned his handshake with a little less verve-after all, I wasn't fueled by a nuclear reactor, and Aubrey apparently was. “Thanks, Aubrey, it's nice to meet you, too. But, Aunt Sass, my name's not Goertz. It's Poteet.”
“Poteet? You're not using Bob Don's name?” Her eyes narrowed and her voice fell back to a whisper.
“No, I'm not,” I answered, trying not to sound defensive. Not acknowledging Bob Don, I realized belatedly, might seem boorish to my new relations. I pressed onward. “My name's always been Poteet and I just decided to keep the one I grew up with. Seemed easiest.”
“Of course.” She smiled again and I wondered if joy ever evoked her grin. Aubrey's smile seemed warmer if a tad saccharine. I wondered again where I'd seen him before.
“Excuse me, I need to wash before dinner.” I pardoned myself and went up the remainder of the stairs. I didn't tarry to find out who Aubrey and Sass were arguing about-but an unpleasant tickle at the base of my spine suggested it might be me.
I'd secreted the heinous communications in an interior lining of my suitcase. I retrieved them and carefully placed them in the inside pocket of my seersucker jacket. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. Whatever big proclamation Mutt had planned would be eclipsed by my announcement. I wasn't about to be intimidated by bloodied Hallmark cards. I'd teach these folks to try to bully Jordan Poteet.
Or, perhaps, I reflected, I wouldn't have to make the accusations myself. If I told Uncle Mutt what'd been happening, he'd explode and he could play bad cop. He'd even be more likely to spot the culprit than I would. The Goertzes were obviously much more likely to be browbeaten by Mutt than by me. I congratulated myself on the excellence of my idea. Unless they were one of those families that stuck together through sick and sin. Probably not, given the sniping over cocktails.
I headed back downstairs, to find that the gathering in the den had spilled out onto the wraparound porch, where the family watched the setting sun turn the Gulf waves molten with light. The den had emptied, except for Rufus Beaulac lolling in a chair, drinking beer and watching a Rangers baseball game on a huge television.
“Where's Uncle Mutt?” I asked.
He waited until the batter swung and missed before he answered. “Off in the kitchen, helping the cook.” He giggled. “Yeah, he's probably helpin' her slice and dice and julienne-fry. Can't hardly lose no more fingers, can he?” Rufus was either well on his way to inebriation or fancied himself damn funny. His comment produced a gale of laughter, but only from him.
“And which way's the kitchen?”
He gestured with the beer can. “Go back through the entrance hall, the big dining room, then to your left. Kitchen's back there.”
I followed his directions, ambling through rooms full of antique furniture, all arranged with a careful eye to give the entire house the rough ambience of a hunting lodge. The dining room was large, as befitting houses of its era, and I gently pushed on the service door that led to the kitchen.
I saw them before they saw me-Uncle Mutt talking softly, his voice cajoling, his hands on the soft shoulders of a young woman who was stirring food in a pot. She leaned slightly back against him and laughed at his whisper.
“No, Emmett,” I heard her say clearly, her voice a sweet bell. She could not have been over twenty-five. I could not see her face, but her hair was long and ebony, tied back in a ponytail.
He laughed quietly and whispered again, rubbing his palms against her smooth hips. I could imagine the heat of her body. She laughed, leaning her head back against his shoulder as he wrapped both arms around her.
I stepped back out of the kitchen, an intruder in a private moment, letting the door ease back into place. Uncle Mutt murmuring sweet nothings to a woman a third his age? No wonder this family was so god-awful tense. And I thought I knew, with a blush, exactly what his momentous announcement might be.
6
Supper was excruciating. Not that the food was bad; hardly so. The pork tenderloin was tender and delicately spiced, the green beans freshly steamed and brimming with flavor, the marinated carrots chilled and tangy, the salad crisp, the wines Texas-made, dry and flavorful.
But I expected a family dinner to be convivial, a chance to laugh and hear time-honored stories that are customarily retold at these gatherings. The web of love that meshes a clan together should shine at these moments, even when relatives sometimes don't always get along.
The reunions on my mother's side of the family were long, joined moments of happiness in my memory: good food, restless play with my cousins, jolting laughter from the adults. When I'd attended Poteet reunions, my cousins and I would often be convulsed in laughter, remembering some anecdote connected to Uncle Bid or Aunt Pearl or Cousin Maggie. The stories were never new, and therein lay their charm. You learn a lot from a family's laughter.
The Goertzes were not one for familial chortles. The clink of fork against plate remained the dominant noise. I wondered if my own presence caused this recalcitrance; after all, I was like some rare zoo specimen to these people, an actual love child. Bastardis Goertzis , a rare genus and species, I told myself, sure to be labeled and catalogued. This oddity had teeth, however. After seeing Uncle Mutt's tender embrace with his cook, I'd opted to produce the letters myself to the gathering. Sated with food and wine (as no one seemed to be picking at their dinner much-they gobbled like wolves), my admirer might be off guard. After dinner, then, I resolved. I permitted myself a smile, which Aunt Lolly swooped on like an owl on a field mouse.
“Something funny, Jordan?” she purred, her fork idling in her salad. Her eyes fixed on me, bright and disturbing.
“No, not at all.” I smiled back. Bob Don glanced at me, so I broadened my grin. “I'm just happy to be here.” I took refuge in a fortifying sip of wine.
Lolly, sitting next to me, rubbed the back of my hand. “And we're all happy you're here, too, dear.” Her lips narrowed in a malicious grin. “Such a nice, successful boy. You may restore my faith in this particular generation of Goertzes. Deb and Aubrey have been disappointments, haven't you, sugars?”
I had no words to respond to her rotten prod at my cousins. She'd been downing red wine steadily-I wondered if she was a mean drunk. Aubrey and Deborah, sitting together on the other side of the long table, both glared at Lolly. Sass, like a tigress, leaped to her son's defense, claws bared for battle.
“Aunt Lolly, I hardly think it's fair to label Aubrey a failure. He's a published author-”
“That psychobabble claptrap?” Lolly snorted. The sweetness that had characterized her earlier ramblings was gone, replaced by sourness. “The only amazing thing is that people lay down money to be analyzed from a page. Especially by someone who never attended medical school. Aubrey, dear, don't get me wrong, we're all tickled you got your cute little book published, but don't you think it's time you got involved in Uncle Mutt's business?”