by Jeff Abbott
After her father murdered her mother? No wonder Bob Don hadn't offered much family history. I swallowed the lump of meat in my mouth and glanced around the table. Deborah quivered with suppressed anger, staring at the remains of her dinner. She did not speak. Bob Don stared at Lolly with smoldering fury.
“Leave my brother's name out of this, Aunt Lolly,” he said. His own brother was a killer? I felt dizzy. Candace bit her lip and I saw her touch Gretchen's shoulder in support. Gretchen flinched, as if burned by her touch.
“Lolly, what's gotten into you? That's enough.” Uncle Mutt tapped his finger against the linen, scowling at his sister. Lolly didn't even favor him with a glance—she seemed determined to make dinner a wicked affair.
Deborah stared into her wineglass for a long, thoughtful moment, then glanced back at me. I felt the tension rise a pitch in the room, as though an untalented violinist had taken bow to string.
“Leave Deborah alone.” Sass decided to run her own brand of interference. She pushed her plate away from her and downed a heavy gulp of Scotch—not her first of the evening. “Watch what you say, Lolly, or Aubrey will make you the most interesting chapter in his new book.”
“New book?” Lolly asked, her voice momentarily dulled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw both Uncle Mutt and my cousin Tom stiffen. Philip studied his plate as though the secrets of the ancients lay exposed there.
Aubrey looked stricken and he wadded his napkin into a ball, his fingers making quick, explosive jerks of anger. He attempted a vague smile. “It's just a follow-up to my earlier book, slightly broader in scope.”
He sounded like a blurb from the book catalogues I received at the library. Practiced patter, perhaps not too dissimilar to the snippets of advice he continually offered.
“Slightly broader, oh yes,” Sass continued, her voice rising, the s in her assertion a long hiss. “Broad as a barn. It's all about families, won't that make it ever so much fun? And guess which family he's going to scribble about?”
“I cannot imagine our family,” Lolly bristled, “offers much grist for Aubrey's mill. We are eminently normal, aren't we, Mutt? Always have been, always will be.” She seemed amused; I didn' t get the joke.
Uncle Mutt made a huffing sound. “Goddamn it, Aubrey, why don't you turn your spotlight on someone else?”
“Mom's mistaken. I'm not writing about this family in particular,” Aubrey retorted. “I'm not writing a gothic, for God's sake.” No one laughed. Outside, I could hear the cawing of the gulls as they ferreted the surf for their evening meal.
“Hah.” Sass laughed. “Grist for the mill, that's right, Aunt Lolly. We'll see.” She poked at Aubrey with a brightly taloned finger. “Can I suggest some chapter headings, baby?”
“I think you've had quite enough Scotch for tonight, Mom.” Aubrey's voice cooled. “Maybe you should call it a night.”
“Yes, Sass,” Gretchen chimed in. I couldn't miss the pain coloring her voice. Her buddy and idol was drunk and behaving badly. I wondered if Sass was an uncomfortable mirror for Gretchen.
Sass carefully set her glass down on the spotless white tablecloth and refilled it with a defiant splash. “Oh, not yet. You'll get a special chapter now, Gretchen. The recovered drunk. We're all so proud of you.”
“You're the one acting like you should be in a twelve-step program,” Tom shot bitterly from the end of the table. “What the hell's gotten into you?”
“Oh, I just am so proud of my boy. I want you all to know what a big success his next book is going to be, isn't it, sweetheart? Write a really big one and you'll hardly need your mom anymore, isn't that right?”
Aubrey's face tensed in anger, his brow furrowing hard. “Mom, don't—”
“Yes, Gretchen shall have her own chapter, unless she falls off the wagon, in which case she'll get two. And of course Philip and Tom each merit a chapter for a thorough discussion of just how different twins can be. Or are they?” The twins reacted differently: Philip with an indulgent smile and Tom with a frosty stare.
“Let's not forget Uncle Jake. How about a chapter on old farts who don't do a single kind thing in their lives?”
“Write about yourself, then, Miss Sass,” Uncle Jake retorted, unshaken by Sass's swipe.
I felt an acrid taste creep into my mouth. Something was terribly wrong here. This wasn't teasing, either from Lolly or Sass. This was verbal flogging, pure and simple. And the rest of them appeared to endure the whip. I couldn't see for the life of me why.
Perhaps Sass saw the revulsion on my face. “Bob Don and Jordan certainly rate a discussion, don't you think, dear? The long-suffering father and the unsuspecting son. It's so charming. Perhaps they can join you on Oprah when you tour for the book. Brothers and bastards, that makes for a good episode.” She laughed at her own joke. “Brothers. Rich, isn't it, Bob Don?”
“Stop it.” Lolly sipped at her red wine again. “You're terrible. You're making me feel ill with all these histrionics.”
“Are you quite done, Cecilia?” Bob Don asked, his voice low and implacable. “Just hush now, you're drunk and you're embarrassing yourself terribly. You and Aunt Lolly both should be ashamed of how you've acted this evening.”
I glanced down at Uncle Mutt; after all, he did seem to be the family patriarch and I expected a thundering fist on the table to demand dignity and decency at dinner. He sat back, rubbing one cheek with his disfigured hand. He didn't seem inclined to stop Sass's rave; I wasn't even sure he was listening to her; he seemed lost in his own world of thought. I'd abandoned all plans to produce the hate mail; the time was inopportune, and the tension in the air already smothering.
At least one of us tired of the tirades. Deborah dabbed at her lips with her napkin, murmured “Excuse me,” and stood. Sass watched her and I saw her face darken in regret. “Deb, hon, I'm sorry—” Sass began, then her voice faltered.
Deborah had not taken three steps toward the door when Lolly's words struck like a child's stone, cruelly thrown.
“And of course, we can't forget our darling Deborah. While you're compiling chapters, Sass, you should add a whole book of them for Deb. There's simply so much ground to cover with her. Let's see, Aubrey could talk about the family ingrate, or the family basket case, or the family embarrassment—or the family slut.” And for one brief second Lolly's eyes lit on Gretchen. I saw her smile crookedly for a moment, then she returned her gaze to Deborah. My cousin stood by the door, her fingers trembling in anger on the knob. Her dark eyes glowed with pure hate.
“Stop it!” Aubrey bellowed. He stood and poked a finger into Lolly's face. “How about your chapter? The family tyrant? We're not little kids you can bully anymore. Or the family nut? Sweetie isn't anything but a dog. He's not Uncle Charles come back to life, you pathetic witch.
Because why on earth would Charles come back to vow? The tortures of hell have to be preferable to your company.”
Lolly simply smiled back at him, her grin brittle with rancor. She drew a quivering hand along her brow.
Uncle Mutt finally spoke. “Stop it, Lolly. You, too, Aubrey, and Sass, if you make another sound I'll cut you out of the will.” Uncle Mutt didn't need to yell; the tone of his voice carried its own thunder, and the squabblers fell quiet. Sass pressed fingertips to her eyelids and I wondered if she was already regretting her drunken outburst.
“Aubrey, write all you want about dys-whatever families. I don't give a green shit. But I forbid you to write a word about anyone sitting at this table. You understand me, boy?”
Aubrey stared back at our great-uncle. “Who's playing the family bully now. Uncle Mutt? You can't tell me what to do in my career—”
Uncle Mutt exploded. “Y'all are like a bunch of kids bickering amongst yourselves—unruly, contentious little brats.” I took umbrage at being called names—I for one had not raised my voice or done one thing untoward. But I kept my silence. “And now I got to tell all y'all how to act before I leave the room.” He stood and stared down the table at the uptur
ned faces, and for a moment I didn't doubt we resembled children—we all hung on his words. “And I'm leaving the room forever.”
Silence fell like the guillotine's blade. I heard the hollow, whispering shudder of Aunt Lolly breathing hard next to me. Her rasp grated on my nerves and I glanced back at her; her skin was pale as bone.
Mutt let the quiet play itself out. His gaze carefully came to rest on each of our faces. He gave me a long, considered look of sadness and I felt a thickness coat my throat.
“I'm a dead man, you see,” Uncle Mutt announced. A moment of absolute hush was followed by a guffaw from Aunt Lolly. I can't say she had a hearty titter; but rather it was a giggle of sick disbelief. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, her fingers trembling.
No one else laughed. Deborah sagged against the door.
“What the hell are you talking about, Emmett?” Uncle Jake wheezed. He sat, looking crumpled, in his chair next to Uncle Mutt. The older man put one withered hand over Mutt's, as though to say, Don't joke with me, son.
“Y'all know I ain't one to mince words. I been to the doctors in Houston. I got brain cancer, and it's spreading. I got maybe a few months, that's all. And I ain't gonna have all of y'all bickering and sniping the last time we're together while I'm alive.”
I felt shock and distress at this announcement, but I hadn't known Uncle Mutt my whole life—these people had. I glanced across the table at Bob Don—his face was ashen. I wanted to reach out to him in reassurance, but he was too far down the table. I kept my hands folded in my lap.
“Oh, God, Uncle Mutt—” Bob Don tried, but couldn't speak.
“Oh, Uncle Mutt, no—” Aunt Sass finally seemed speechless; the back of her hand was pressed against her lips and she shot a wild look toward Aubrey, who remained mortally silent. Next to me, Aunt Lolly began to cry. I took her hand, not knowing what else to do. She leaned against my shoulder. She was a spiteful old witch, but she was losing her brother—I couldn't help but sympathize with her.
“Why didn't you tell us before? How long have you known?” Tom Bedrich asked, his voice unchanged.
“For a while.” He smiled at his family. “Now, now, Lolly, don't cry. Y'all needed to know, so I've told you.” Lolly ignored his calm plea for strength; her nails practically dug into my neck as she shuddered with grief.
“What doctors? Where did you go in Houston? We can get a second opinion—” Deborah tried the next level of denial, but it didn't work. Her voice sounded like a weak child's whisper.
“Naw, honey, I been everywhere. I can afford second opinions from every doctor in Houston. I'm plumb MRI-ed out. It ain't gonna change nothing. I just hope God takes me before my mind starts slipping away.” He glanced at Lolly. “As is, I might lose my sight eventually from it. If I last that long.” He then smiled thinly and looked younger than his years. I couldn't help but admire his bravery in light of the circumstances. Mutt was everything Bob Don claimed—a real pistol. If he was afraid of dying, his family would not see it now. The only fear in the room seemed to be our own.
There was a long hush, broken only by Lolly's racked sobbing. She finally pulled away from my shoulder, her face damp with tears. “You'll come back to me, Emmett. I know you will. Just like Charles did. Maybe you'll be a nice kitty for me, or a bird that sings pretty. Promise me you'll come back to me, won't you?”
Uncle Mutt watched his sister with sadness. “I don't know, Lolly. I think I'm nearly ready for a rest. I don't got any complaints about my life—but maybe a little more time would have been nice. Just a little more.” He cleared his throat. “I told Rufus and Wendy already—”
“You told your help before you told us?” Aunt Sass exploded. Her face reddened in anger. “I can't believe you told that drunken coonass and—”
“Quiet!” Uncle Mutt bellowed. He leveled a hard glance at Sass. “You just hush about them, Sass. Rufus and Wendy have been wonderful to me. They live here, they see me every day. And not everybody at this table can make the same claim.”
Sass wasn't daunted, and she ignored Bob Don's plea to calm down. “Oh, so we don't live on your stupid island, we don't get as much consideration as the hired help?” I couldn't tell if anger or grief—or a combination of both— fueled her voice.
“I've known Rufus for fifty years. He's my oldest friend—”
Sass gulped at her Scotch. I saw her hand tremble. “Blood's thicker, Uncle Mutt.” Is it? I wondered. No one had embraced him. They all seemed frozen.
Sass continued:. “And then to put that little tramp—”
Uncle Mutt's fist thundered down on the table. “Hush! I won't have you talking about Wendy that way! Shut up right now!”
“Mother,” Aubrey ventured quietly, “I think we all need to take a rejuvenating, deep-lung breath, don't you?”
“Aubrey,” Sass said slowly, covering her face with her hands, “be quiet or I will slap the tar out of you. I don't want a rejuvenating breath. I don't want to deep-lung anything. Shut up.”
“Oh,” Lolly moaned. “Y'all stop bickering. I feel sick.” Philip got up and murmured to his aunt; no one else seemed overly alarmed by Lolly's illness—I wondered if she was the clan hypochondriac. Or perhaps they were too stunned after Mutt's showstopper announcement or no one felt particularly kindhearted toward her after her vicious monologue. I was bothered, though—Lolly's hand was pressed to her chest and she kept blinking, as though trying to clear her vision.
“I'm sorry, Lolly. I shouldn't have made it a shock to you—” Uncle Mutt stood. “Wendy!” he called.
The young woman who had been in the kitchen with Uncle Mutt ventured out into the dining room. I hadn't seen her since we started eating—the superb dinner had been set out on the sideboard buffet-style, and we'd all helped ourselves. But there was no doubt that she would have heard Sass's nasty comments.
She was stunning. Not in the casual way that some women are pretty—but in a knock-you-down-dead level of beauty, the kind of loveliness that a man might see just once and remember for decades. She was Vietnamese—her eyes brown and softly almond-shaped, the brows naturally delicate, her skin perfect, her hair a long, dark lank that framed her impeccable face. Her lips were razor thin, but strangely erotic. She wore a simple T-shirt dress, with a stained apron. She didn't look at Sass, who glared at her with undisguised dislike.
“Lolly's not feeling well. Would you help get her up to bed?”
“Of course, Mutt,” Wendy answered. Her voice wasn't a musical one—but steely-strong, determined, intelligent. She glanced at me as I stood, supporting Lolly.
“I'll help you—” I offered, and Lolly moaned, collapsing against me—and vomiting. I didn't have time to react; the warm, sour effluence splashed over my clothes. Her hand struck the table, hard and spasmodic, and her wineglass tumbled over, spreading a stain as red as blood across the immaculate linen. I quickly lowered her to the floor, turning her on her side so she didn't choke on her bile. When the spasm was done, she tried to gasp an apology but couldn't. Deborah pushed me out of the way and knelt by her great-aunt. She elevated her aunt's head and yanked open Lolly's blouse and pressed her fingers against the older woman's chest. I cradled Lolly's head in my lap.
“Call 911! Hurry!” Deborah ordered. Wendy dashed for the phone. “Help me here, Jordan. Loosen her clothing, keep her head up. It's going to be okay, Aunt Lolly.”
“We're on an island, Deb. Remember?” Sass said softly. She turned to Mutt. “Surely you've got a first-aid kit….” Mutt nodded and hurried into the kitchen.
I watched, stunned while Deborah cleaned the bile from Lolly's mouth. Lolly jerked spasmodically, murmuring, “Oh, my sweet Charles, oh my God, oh, Deb, you get away from me….”
“Now, Aunt Lolly, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay—” Deb reassured her, but her eyes came up to mine and I saw a glint of panic behind the calm, professional facade. Heart attack. Maybe, her lips moved. I felt my own chest shudder. Tom, kneeling behind me, rose and rushed to Jake. The
y spoke softly, quickly, and then Tom bolted from the room.
“I know CPR.” Candace knelt beside us.
“We're not to that point yet,” Deborah whispered. “I'm an RN. Let's get her comfortable, see if we can calm her….”
I glanced at the others. Gretchen pressed against Bob Don, his arms wrapped around her. Philip and Aubrey stood together, stunned into stony silence. Sass stood apart, near the window, as though Lolly's condition might be contagious. Uncle Jake wavered on his cane, staring at Lolly with a mixture of shock and sorrow.
“Oh, God, oh, Charles, oh, where's Sweetie … ?” Lolly Throckmorton moaned. “Oh, my blouse is open. Everyone will see my bra. Oh, dear.” Her hands painted figures in the air above her, pleadings with her fingers. Candace closed her hands around Lolly's and held them tightly.
The thudding of feet heralded Tom. He stumbled into the dining room, shock on his face, a pill bottle in his hand— and waved it back and forth.
“It's empty,” Tom panted. “It's gone. Where's the extra bottle, Uncle Jake?”
“No, that can't be.” Uncle Jake coughed. “It can't be gone—that's the only bottle.”
“What on earth—?” I began.
“Digoxin,” Jake called to Deb and me. “It's my heart medication—Tom thought it would help—”
“No, it won't. Too unpredictable,” Deb said. Lolly stopped breathing; I felt the shudder of her back against my knees. I moved back and Deb began the ritual of CPR.
Uncle Mutt and Wendy ran back into the room at the same time, her announcing that the Coast Guard was on its way from the station in Port O'Connor, him lugging a small satchel with a red cross on the side. He dumped the contents of the case open, fumbling madly through them, as though his sister's salvation lay among the scattered medications and bandages. I saw his hands shake above the spill.
“Do something!” he screamed at Deborah, who still concentrated on Lolly's still form. She did not look at her uncle and she pressed hard against Lolly's chest, counting out her own cadence to keep her aunt alive.
