“I-” Uncle Mutt fell silent. I thought-oddly-he was unprepared for the question. Tom sipped at his drink and I saw mud ingrained deeply around his fingernails.
“How generous Jordan is,” Aubrey said. “I see he toasted Lolly. After she sent him those despicable letters.”
“Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” Can-dace snapped. “God, Aubrey, you're like an endless self-help tape.” I glanced at her. She was not usually irritable-at least with anyone but me. Her skin looked flushed, and she sipped at her cranberry juice while scowling at Aubrey.
“It's called forgiveness, Aubrey,” I added, before he could lay into Candace. “I forgive Lolly for what she did to me. I'm in an awfully forgiving mood these days.” I didn't glance at Pop, but I figured a hint of a smile might be on his face.
“How fortunate for the rest of us,” Sass observed from her perch.
“Stop this bickering,” Uncle Jake said. He rubbed at his chest, a faint wheeze issuing from his mouth. “Y'all make me tired. Too tired. Tell Lolly to get my pills.”
Deborah stood and hurried to him. “Aunt Lolly's not here, Uncle Jake.” She glanced at Mutt, who also went to his uncle's side.
“Good God, don't all hover,” Jake said. “I'm okay. Just… I'd like to get to bed. Take my pills.” Deborah eased the old man up to his feet, and Tom pushed past Mutt to take Jake's other arm. Sass tried to help, but Jake waved her away. “I don't need a damned parade, Cecilia. Deb and Tom'll manage. Good night, all.” He made an absent gesture of farewell, and the rest of the family bade him a quiet chorus of good nights as he left, propped up by Tom and Deborah.
“Maybe we should call a doctor for him,” Sass suggested.
“Deborah'll take good care of him,” Mutt said. He went to the bar and refilled his glass with a sloppy pour of bourbon. Wendy stood behind the bar, watching him-and us-with arms folded, wrapped in her own silence.
“What'll you do with Uncle Jake now that Lolly's gone?” I asked. “He's been worried you'll ship him off to a nursing home.”
“Hell. I ain't gonna shove poor Jake out on an iceberg, if that's what you mean. Goertzes take care of family. Always family.” He turned back from the bar and I saw he was a little drunk. Mutt favored himself with another big swig of bourbon and raised his glass once more, as though one awkward moment wasn't enough. “Here's to Lolly. Our Lolly.”
The second salute was met with less enthusiasm. I felt fidgety, as though I was sitting through a too-rehearsed play. As the others reluctantly quaffed their drinks I stood for my own toast.
'To other absent kin,” I said, tipping my beer bottle toward Mutt. “To Brian. May he rest in peace.”
The storm intensified outside, or else the sudden, shocking silence in the room made it seem louder.
“Sit down, son,” Pop said from his chair. Gretchen's face paled.
'To Brian,” Aubrey murmured, downing more of his juice. He shifted from foot to foot, as if uncomfortable.
“Toasting dead children is horribly shameful.” That was Sass's contribution.
“You're right,” I shot back at her. I didn't know if it was the beer warming my veins, but I felt sick and tired of the hypocrisy seeping through the rooms.
“I guess you know about the tragedy of Brian,” Mutt answered. “And I don't appreciate you making light of it.”
“I certainly am doing no such thing, Uncle Mutt.” He wasn't the only one who could frost his voice. “I feel sick and sad I never got to know my cousin Brian. I feel cheated. He sounds like he was a great kid.”
“He was.” Sass made a coughing noise. “He was a wonderful, kind boy.”
Philip stared at the floor. Aubrey turned away and downed the rest of his drink. Pop put an arm around Gretchen's slumping shoulders. I glanced again at Sass. To my amazement, she was crying, fat tears rolling along her rouged cheek.
What did you know-the beast could weep. I wanted to say, I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's gone. But I didn't. I said nothing.
Aubrey leaned against the back of the chair Uncle Jake had vacated. “Maybe we should go check on Uncle Jake. Tom might've buried him. You know Tom's been roaming around the island with a shovel?” Aubrey looked excited. His skin was flushed, his eyes wide, and he dragged a hand across his lips. I saw with distaste a ropy string of drool stuck to his hand.
“Shovel?” Mutt said. “What the hell for? Ain't no buried treasures on Sangre.”
“So what is buried here, Uncle Mutt?” Aubrey persisted. I turned to stare at Mutt. Of course. If I could gather suspicions in a matter of days-what of Aubrey, or Tom, or Deborah, who'd had years to think and reflect on the events of that long-ago night?
“Nothing. Nothing,” Mutt said.
I glanced back at Aubrey, just as his eyes rolled and he fell away from the chair. His knees buckled and he collapsed bonelessly, his head striking the rug, his empty glass of juice shattering on the hardwood floor. He gasped in hard breaths and began to retch, moaning.
Sass, Gretchen, Pop, Philip-the whole room rushed to his side, crowding around him, and Gretchen began screaming out for Deborah to hurry back down. Her voice was like a banshee's to haunt one's dreams. Aubrey's face, slick with vomit, turned toward mine as Sass tried to ease him into a more comfortable position. His pupils were huge, like black holes of death.
The broken cranberry juice glass lay at my feet.
Oh, no.
I leaped toward the couch as Candace stood and, cradling her stomach, folded to the floor. I seized her arms in mine and pulled her close to me. Her skin felt clammy against my hands. The thump of her heart against mine seemed thud-dingly slow.
“I'm sick,” she said, and vomited across my back. I grabbed her and headed for the bar sink, shoving Mutt and Wendy out of the way. I fumbled for a glass of water, forced it down her. She threw it back up, over my fingers, shuddering. Okay, maybe vomiting was better, to get whatever filth was in her system out of her. I shoved my fingers into her mouth, doubling her over the sink, and felt another warm rinse of bile cascade past my hand.
“Get some mustard,” I hollered at Gretchen. “Mix it in water.”
Across the room, I saw Philip stand up from kneeling next to Aubrey, a look of disbelief on his face.
Pop rushed to the bar, holding on to Candace's side. I pulled her head back, mopping at her face, screaming at my father to get Deborah. Candace stared up at the ceiling, as though looking for the entrance. Her breath shook.
“No, no,” she gasped. “Jordy! No!”
“Baby, we'll get help,” I said. “You'll be okay.” I glanced at Pop. “Call 911, and get the boat. We've got to get them to a doctor!”
Pop stumbled for the phone.
“Jordan.” Wendy stood behind me, and she stepped around to support Candace's other side. Wendy's face, usually emotionless, was now crumpled with shock.
“Oh, no,” Candace moaned, her damp fingers squeezing mine numb. Hard cramps doubled her over, and I couldn't see her agonized face. “No. Please, not the baby. Not the baby.”
20
It was over.
I sat on the floor outside of Candace's room, banished for the moment by Deborah. I could hear quiet noises of movement inside as Deborah tended to her patient. Blood- Candace's and that of our child-slicked my hands and I stared at my reddened, trembling fingers. Outside, the wind continued its angry roar, but it was a mere whisper compared with the rage I felt inside.
I didn't even hear Pop approach and kneel down on the floor next to me. He didn't speak, he just wrapped awkward arms around me, ignoring my bloodied state, and I hugged him back fiercely. I thought tears would come, should come, but I felt empty and barren inside. But Pop's hold was comforting, and he smelled like a dad should, of mint and bourbon and sweat.
After a minute he spoke. “How's she doing?”
I managed to speak, my voice not sounding like my usual raspy drawling baritone. It sounded like the voice of an old man. “The bleeding's stopped. She's resting. She's still showing some effects from the poison, but Deb induced vomiting with warm mustard water and she said she thinks she's going to be okay.” I could hardly make my mouth form the next words. “She was pregnant. And she hadn't told me. Our baby is gone.”