“What line of work you in, Philip?”
He took several extra seconds chewing his already thoroughly masticated sandwich before answering. “Investments. Of a sort.”
Aubrey pursed his lips. “Of a sort is right. All the wrong sort.”
“Now, Aubrey, be nice. And after I took up for you with Tom.” Philip quickly bit off another chunk of bread and roast beef to keep from elaborating on his trade.
I didn't relent. “Municipals? Money-market funds? You work for one of the big national shops?”
Philip swallowed and took a long sample of his Bloody Mary. He chomped an inch off the celery stalk. If food was his delaying tactic, I could wait longer than he could chew.
“Actually, all of 'em. I serve as an adviser to the wealthy folks along the coast. Help 'em diversify their holdings.”
“Uncle Mutt used to be Philip's biggest customer,” Aubrey offered with a smile. “Used to be.”
“Kindly keep my clientele private, Aubrey,” Philip said. He stuck the mangled celery back in the glass of murky tomato juice.
I nibbled at my sandwich. Now I had a handle on what might have transpired between Philip and Mutt. Mutt invested money, Philip lost or mishandled it. Mutt withdrew his support, Philip needed cash. How much money had Philip lost for Mutt? Surely Mutt was too clever to entrust Philip with much; I wouldn't give him my loose change. I clicked my tongue against the back of my teeth, watching Philip fidget in his chair. Deborah diverted the conversation, broaching that safest of Texas subjects: high-school football. Philip took the lead and proffered endless opinions on the chances of teams along the coast this fall.
Uncle Jake snorted at the new topic. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, then closed it, thoughtfully and slowly. I felt like we'd just been spared the dragon's flaming breath. His eyes met mine for the briefest of moments and I thought his glance said:/ ain 't buying this shit from Philip. Are you?
The discussion of football quickly waned, so I forged into the rough waters. “I have to admit, coming here has been full of surprises. Like finding out that Gretchen was married to Bob Don's brother.”
Deborah fixed a steely gaze on me. “I thought you and I had already covered that story, Jordan.”
“I just wondered why it was never mentioned to me before, by either-”
“It wasn't mentioned because it's a painful subject.” Deborah stood. “I don't really want to talk about anything regarding my father anymore, if you don't mind.”
“I'm sorry, Deborah. I didn't think. It's one of my greatest failings.” I felt blood redden my face. “Candace'll tell you, I always manage to taste my own shoe leather at least once a day.”
“That's not such a bad crime,” Deborah said, her voice softening. The light from the window played along the glints in her hair and I could see the smudges beneath her eyes. She suddenly looked very tired and older than her years.
Uncle Jake, who'd been so unusually quiet, spoke. “I don't see what the big deal is about not talking about Paul. God knows we've exhausted that subject before, it's probably due for a fresh beating.”
“Uncle Jake. It's painful for me to talk about Dad.” Deborah shoved her plate away from her.
“I'd hate to do anything to impinge on your martyrdom,” Uncle Jake replied.
“That's uncalled for,” Aubrey interrupted. “Uncle Jake, you must be feeling tuckered out. Why don't you go take a nice nap?”
“When you've lived as long as I have, Deb, you can bitch about how sad life is. You ain't hardly shed your first tears. Lots more comin' for you.” Uncle Jake coughed, a deep, rheumy noise.
Deborah smiled thinly, her teeth even white stones against her trembling lip. “Uncle Jake, I truly fail to understand why God is taking Uncle Mutt and leaving you around way past your time.”
“Good God, Deborah!” I exclaimed. Philip, Aubrey, and Wendy were stunned to silence. Jake stared at Deborah with bird-bright eyes. He leaned forward on his cane, as if insatiably curious for what she might say next.
“Don't, Jordan,” Deborah said softly. “Don't take up for Jake. You don't know what a sick old man he is. How Mutt and Lolly endure him”-she broke into a strangled sot)-”I don't know. I can't stand to be in a room more than a minute with him, and I'm sick of pretending that I can.”
“Deb-” Jake raised a hand in supplication toward her.
“You're barely kin. So what if you were my great-grandmother's brother? I never knew her. I'm supposed to care about you, your feelings, when you've never shown the slightest regard for another human being in your life? You sit there and tell me not to feel pain. After my dad vanished, and my mom died, and my brother died?” She wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “No one can suffer but you? Wrong, old man. You sour everything you come near.” She stood. “I think I'll go see how Candace is feeling.” She turned and we heard the patter of her feet on the stairs.
Jake did not look at us. He rose, leaned on his cane, and slowly made his way to the dining-room door. He glanced back, showing only his craggy profile, his gaze firmly fixed on the polished hardwood floor. “I shouldn't have read that book on tough love. I've upset Deb. I'm sorry to have ruined everyone's lunch.”
“Uncle Jake-” Aubrey began, but Jake shook his head.
“Bitter old fool. That little girl has no idea how much I really love her.” He turned on his cane and went across toward the study, his movements brittle with age. He eased the door closed behind him.
Aubrey and Wendy quietly began to clear the plates. Philip followed them into the kitchen and I could hear the soft murmurs of their voices.
I am a well-meaning idiot sometimes. If I couldn't heal the rift that'd divided Sass and me, perhaps I could help Deborah and Jake. I crossed to the study door, raising my knuckles to knock.
And held them still when I heard Jake's low, cadaverous laughter, as though he were giggling at some profoundly funny joke.
14
My head ached, and I felt slightly ill My -self. I didn't relish further talks with a nut like Uncle Jake, and I wasn't about to go chasing around the island to find out what Bob Don and Aunt Sass were doing. So I retreated to my room and lay on the coolness of the cotton quilt covering my bed. I wondered, idly, if Goertz hands from long ago had shaped the quilt. With the crisscrosses of intrigue, lies, and deception that seemed to stitch this house together, the idea that anything fashioned by Goertzes could provide a momentary refuge made me laugh. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes began to feel heavy with sleep. The only noise in the room was the soft rise of my breath, and the counterpoint of the waves of Matagorda Bay crashing into the sand.
I was nearly asleep when my skin prickled and I felt- and I will swear to this until the day I die-a gentle stroke of a finger across my closed eyelids.
I didn't move. I didn't open my eyes. My whole body felt as though it would sink through the quilt if I remained motionless. I waited for the telltale footstep, the hiss of human breath, the creak of a floorboard to reassure me that I'd simply dozed, and while unawares, Candace or Bob Don or someone else had ventured into my room to awaken me.
Silence. I remembered to breathe.
Slowly I opened my eyes. Light, filtering in from the old and faded curtains, held dust motes in its grasp and I watched them spin. My face felt warm and crinkly, sure signs of a summer nap. I'd probably just dozed off and dreamed. I fingered the corners of my eyelids, but there was no sleep grit in them to clean away.
I sat up on the bed, my mind still fuzzy. I hadn't slept well since our arrival, and the unrelenting feeling in this house-of tensions smoldering, ready to burst into crisp flame-made me edgy. Occupied with my own fears about meeting my new family, I hadn't thought objectively about what might be transpiring within these walls. Forces I didn't yet understand warped this family tree.