“And we're not going to let anyone take that away from you.” I reached out-very tentatively, like petting a spider-and touched her shoulder. She flinched at my fingers.
“I promise you, Jordan, I'm not lying. I'm not. I didn't intend to drink. I didn't spike my own soda.”
“I believe you. And we're going to find out who messed with you.” She heard the anger heating my voice.
“I don't need you to be my knight, little boy.”
“Did you know Lolly was screwing with my head?” I don't know why I felt the need to share my own sorrows with her, but I quickly related the story of the vicious hate mail I'd received.
“You didn't say how you knew it was Lolly,” she finally said. Her shoulder trembled under my touch.
“I found another hate letter in her closet.” I had forgotten that explaining how I knew my torturer's identity would mean confessing to searching Lolly's room.
“She was a rotten bitch,” Gretchen said. Her voice sounded like she was uttering a prayer. “She hated me for hurting Paul. He was her pet, her joy. She never had children of her own and she loved Paul like he was hers. Strange, because God knows no one else could abide him. She could never forgive him for what he became.”
She glanced over her shoulder at me, one stray lock of grayish hair dangling in her forehead, and I saw then that she must have been a strikingly pretty girl. Her beauty was only an echo now, though, distorted by time and the havoc she'd wreaked upon herself. I wished she would answer my question as to her drinking trigger from so long ago. I tried again.
“So why'd you start drinking? Paul's positive influence?”
She searched my face; for what, I didn't know. “I-I don't want to discuss this anymore. I can't-”
“Can't? Why?” I stiffened. “Does it have to do with Bob Don?”
“Playing detective again?” She ventured a half smile.
“You needn't bother on my behalf. And as far as whoever spiked my Dr Pepper, I plan to track down that particular skunk myself.”
“You might need a little help.”
“I might. But my brain's not so pickled I can't figure out who's screwing with me.”
Her mouth set in a fierce line, and from my own experience, I nearly felt sorry for whoever had dared to tangle with Gretchen. Revenge was her best dish.
I wanted to talk with Deborah again, but she was napping in her room and I didn't disturb her.
Candace still felt unwell and lay on her bed, paging through an old issue of Southern Living. I offered to bring her up some lunch, but she said she'd had a glass of tea and some crackers and felt better. I left her to her magazine and went in search of Bob Don.
I found him alone on the porch, sitting on the swing. The bright chain that connected the swing to the porch ceiling squeaked quietly as he rocked back and forth. I stood in the doorway, watching him, this man who'd come in and completely capsized my life in the rough waters of truth. The breeze from the bay, blowing with greater force now, ruffled his hair and he looked like a little boy, forlorn without his playmates. I came and sat next to him. We rocked quietly for a moment.
“I just talked with Gretchen. She's awake and feeling somewhat better,” I offered.
“I know. I took her some water to drink earlier.” His voice sounded soft, as usual, but it lacked the sharp 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.”