9
I watched as Philip shut the library doors behind him, that annoying grin still decorating his callow face. I wanted to punch it off. But my temper had already sparked enough fireworks today, and I had fences to mend. And perhaps, terrible questions to ask. I turned back to Bob Don. He stood at the library's door that faced onto the spacious porch, his arms crossed. I came up beside him and watched a small vessel unfurl its sails. The wind caught the boat hard and spray exploded from the prow. I saw a child, puffy in an orange life preserver, lean into the wind on the deck, and I imagined rapture on his face as the wet salt air kissed his cheeks. The boat, off on some voyage of joy, looked like a far more pleasant place to be than this house.
“I'm sorry I spoke to your sister that way. But let's be honest,” I said softly. “It's obvious neither Gretchen nor Sass can stand me.”
His blue eyes crinkled in pain. The past day I'd heard again and again how much his face resembled mine; now I wasn't so sure. I'd grown up being told that I was the spitting image of my mama, with her strawberry-blonde hair and her soft green eyes. But the Goertzes saw lots of Bob Don in me. I wanted to see it, too. I couldn't tell if he was angry with me or not. I watched him watch the sailboats ply Matagorda Bay. The boat with the merry child raced toward the open expanse of the Gulf. For a trice the only sounds were gulls cavorting and the ceaseless wind over the water.
“Sass has always had a sharp tongue,” he finally said, still gazing across the vista. “You couldn't know that. But I expect better from you. I don't expect you to go off half-cocked at the first prod someone gives you.”
“Prod?” I was stunned. “More like a shove toward the edge of the cliff, if you ask me.”
“You don't know Sass. You don't know anything about the hell's she's been through.” His voice tightened like wire on the verge of snapping. “Sass has had a few weeks to get used to the idea that you're my son. You've had over a year to adjust. Do you think it's easy for her?”
“Obviously not,” I retorted. “She feels threatened by me, afraid that I'm going to cut into her share of Uncle Mutt pie.”
“It's not just money, Jordan. You're a part of my life I've kept secret from her for over thirty years, and she's my sister. Do you know who she calls when she's in trouble? Me. Do you know who's seen her through all three divorces and two widowhoods? Me. Do you know she went through a terrible depression once, lost her dress shop, and nearly ended up homeless? I was the one who got her back on her feet. Hell, I helped pay for Aubrey's college till she could pay me back.”
“I didn't know,” I confessed.
“No, you didn't. You can't learn how complicated a family's history is right when you saunter through the door, Jordan. You've got to give it time. None of them are going to accept you overnight.”
I counted slowly, controlling my anger-both at him, for the lecturing tone he'd taken, and at myself, for the blunders I'd made with Sass. When I spoke again, my voice was calm.
“I understand I'm a difficult adjustment for them. Goodness, she has an illegitimate nephew. How horrifically shocking. I'm sure that's comparable to discovering you have a new father.” Anger tinged my words harder than I'd intended, but I was having too much trouble picturing Sass as the victim in today's play.
“You're being awfully unfair, son,” Bob Don said quietly.
“I don't see you getting your morals impugned, or your face slapped,” I shot back. I forced myself to take a breath. “Never mind how she's treating me if she hates my guts. You're her brother, why isn't she being nicer to me out of affection for you? Considering all you've done for her, she's an ingrate.”
“She's not. I love you, son, but I love my sister, too.” He coughed. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to her quite so stridently in the future.”
I swallowed the reply on my tongue. It was one of the few times he'd spoken to me in a standard parental tone. I saw that he'd dug his heels into the family sand. I tapped out a staccato rhythm on the balcony's railing. Arguing was getting us nowhere, and I felt a sudden sharp realization that I didn't like fighting with this man. To continue to bicker was to let Sass win. “Fine. I'll mind my manners.” I locked away the burning question in my heart: Uncle Jake has practically warned me off this island. Care to explain?
“Thank you.” He turned back toward the bay. “Wouldn't it be nice to be out on one of them boats, the wind and the salt spray in your face?”
“Do you want Candace and me to leave?” I asked softly.
He glanced at me in surprise. “Leave? Good Lord, no.”
“I'm not sure how comfortable I'd feel at Aunt Lolly's memorial service. After all, I hardly knew her-”
“Well. I thought maybe you might like to be there for me. Maybe I need you there, son.”
My face colored. “Of course. I just wanted to do whatever you wanted me to. Are you doing okay?” I hadn't even asked how he was feeling this morning, in the aftermath of Aunt Lolly's shocking death, or Uncle Mutt's sad announcement. My lips tightened in shame.
“I'm okay,” he answered me. “And I'd like you to stay.”
“All right,” I answered. I squeezed his shoulder once. “If you'll excuse me, I need to go find Candace. And I promise that if I encounter Aunt Sass, I'll be good. No missile strikes.”
“Thanks, son.” He breathed in the sea air. “I think I'll go find your stepmother, after I enjoy this view a little longer. She didn't have call to slap you, but I know you'll forgive her. Lolly's death has devastated her.” He gestured out at the island. “Shame we've had all this trouble. I could use a little peace and quiet.”
I left him there, the breeze ruffling his hair and his eyes closed against the summer warmth.
I collapsed facedown on Candace's bed. “I think I've forgotten how to be a good son.”
“Good Lord. If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.” Candace stuck her head out of her bathroom, wiping soap from her face.
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “I've hardly given Bob Don a thought since we got here-I've only worried about how I fit in with this crazy family. So I end up having a knock-down with his sister in the middle of a family bereavement and getting my face slapped by my hysterical stepmother. Oh, I'm a class act all the way.”
“You're not famous for your sensitivity,” Candace murmured over water splashing in the sink, “but I still love you.” She came in, wiping her hands with a towel. She sat on the corner of the bed and regarded me critically.
“After Daddy died, and Mama got sick,” I said, keeping my eyes on the swirled pattern of plaster above my head, “I didn't have to worry about being anyone's son anymore. Daddy was gone and Mama was so ill she couldn't care- half the time she didn't know who I was. It felt a little like being an orphan.” Candace's fingers touched my knee. “Then I discovered the truth. It was an entirely new ball game; a man trying to be a father to me and a woman who resented the devil out of me. I couldn't just say, yeah, go ahead and be my dad, Bob Don. It doesn't work that way- being a dad is so much more. I've demanded an awful lot from him, and he's hardly asked any effort from me. He probably knows more about being my father than I know about being his son. Does that make sense?”
“I'm sure it would to the folks who book panels for Oprah,” Candace said, “but you might be overanalyzing just a tad.”
“How so?” I leaned on my elbows to look at her.
“You didn't insist Bob Don fit into some mold to be your father-just that he be patient with you, that you take your own time in accepting him. Isn't that true?”
“Yeah,” I said cautiously. I smelled one of those women-know-best traps that are scattered about any emotional discussion.
Candace began to rub my leg, her fingertips tracing savory patterns on my flesh. I recognized her attempt to settle me down. “I believe Bob Don owes you the same courtesy. You didn't expect him to act like a father immediately, he shouldn't expect you to act like a son immediately.”