Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

We sauntered downstairs quickly to find that the promised cocktail hour had just begun. I had thought that the rest of the family might have come knocking on our doors to meet me, the latest curiosity, but they'd minded their distance. I felt miffed that even Bob Don had not been about, to play kind introducer, but he and Gretchen had both absented themselves. Perhaps my arrival was not such a big deal after all, but at my family reunions, the family actually tended to gather.

“Feel like the Christian heading toward the lions?” Deborah joked as we went downstairs. Candace laid a hand on my shoulder, behind me on the stairs.

“A little,” I confessed.

“Don't be fretful,” Deborah counseled. “I mean, as families go, we're not so”-she paused, casting about for the correct adjective-”bad. I guess. I suppose I'm just used to them. Ignore them if they get tiresome.”

Or threatening, I silently added. I put my smile firmly on, wiped my damp palm on my khakis, took Candace's hand, and followed my cousin Deborah into my great-uncle's large den. I realized I wasn't exactly sure how she and I were cousined. She'd referred to the infamous Sass as “Aunt Sass”; there must be another sibling of Bob Don's that Deborah was daughter to.

It was a handsome room that spoke of an interesting mind. Books lined the walls, many worn with use. A collection of globes lay scattered around the room, so that the world always seemed in easy reach. A stag's head crowned a stone fireplace and its glassy eyes surveyed the assemblage. Drawings of old ships, with careful calligraphied notations, hung next to the stone fireplace. A reproduction of a Republic of Texas battle flag hung in framed honor near the window, complete with singed bullet holes. Bob Don and Gretchen were talking with Tom in the corner.

We entered the room as Tom nonchalantly announced “Deb's gone to fetch them”-presumably in answer to a question of Bob Don's. I wondered if this was what a foster child dumped into a new family felt on his terrifying first day. I could practically sense their communal gaze hone in on me.

Go ahead. Look me over. Candace's other hand closed around my arm. I knew she meant well, but for a moment I wanted her to stand away. These people would be my kin and I needed to face them alone. Which one of you charming folks sent me letters?

A man who had to be pushing one hundred sat bent in a wheelchair, eyeing me with undisguised curiosity. Another man, in his mid-forties, lounged in a chair, a glass of iced tea by his side. He looked remarkably like-but not identical to-Cousin Tom, and I deduced he must have been the other twin-Philip-that Bob Don had alluded to back in Mirabeau.

The silence held for an awkward interval, then Bob Don began earnest introductions. “Well, everyone, this is my son, Jordan, and his girlfriend, Candace.” He came and squeezed my shoulder with a reassuring hand. “Let's get the introductions started. Where on earth is Uncle Mutt-”

“Right here, Bob Don.” A tall, fit-looking fellow, in his early seventies, but radiating the vigor of a man half his age, strutted into the den. His hair was solid gray and still thick. His eyes were a piercing green, and he riveted them on me as soon as he entered. Bob Don made a beeline for him, real happiness lighting his face.

“Goddamn, Uncle Mutt, you look good.”

Uncle Mutt extended his right hand and I could see it was mutilated-the middle two fingers were cleanly gone, giving his hand the look of a claw. Bob Don enclosed the three-fingered hand in a warm handshake that quickly transformed to a back-pounding hug.

“Bob Don, you goat. Still got that car lot you're wasting your time with?”

Bob Don laughed and I figured this was an old, standing joke between them. “Still selling most of the cars I can, Uncle Mutt.”

Uncle Mutt coughed dryly. “Best damn investment I ever made.” He shot a pointed look toward the lounging man I assumed to be Philip Bedrich. “As opposed to some other ventures I could name.” Tom's twin fidgeted, averting his eyes from the rest of us. I felt a spike of tension jolt the room, and Aunt Lolly stifled a nervous titter.

Mutt nodded at Gretchen. “How do, Gretchen?”

“Fine, Uncle Mutt, I'm fine.” She smiled around at the gathering. “I've been sober for nearly a year now. We wanted to surprise y'all.”

“I'm sure surprised,” the old man in the wheelchair cawed.

“Aunt Gretchen! How wonderful!” Deborah abandoned pouring margaritas at the bar and embraced Gretchen in a hug. “Oh, I'm so pleased for you!”

Gretchen hugged back, and tears of happiness filled her eyes. I glanced away, back toward Uncle Mutt.

He studied me with a frank stare. “So this is him? So this is your surprise boy, Bob Don?”

My face flamed red, I'm sure. Bob Don stiffened. “Yes, sir, this is my son, Jordan. Jordan, this is your great-uncle Emmett.”

Uncle Mutt moved to me, eyed me, and then embraced me in a fierce bear hug. He clapped me hard on the back. I didn't really hug back. “Lord, son. Welcome to our family. Tickled to death to have you here.”

“Hello, Mr. Goertz,” I said when he released me, my usually laid-back rasp sounding stiff and formal. “Bob Don has told me all about you.”

“Only believe the stories that make me sound studly.” He took my chin in his three-fingered hand and examined my face closely. I didn't flinch away. “Goddamn it, you're a Goertz all right. Got my daddy's eyes, you do, and that thick blond hair.” I twitched and he released my chin, patting me on the cheek. “I know Bob Don's real proud of you and it's a pleasure to have you in the fold. Welcome to our family, son.”

“Thanks, Mr. Goertz.”

He grinned. “Don't call me that. I'm Uncle Mutt. And I'm mean as a junkyard dog when I get riled, so mind your manners.” He seemed accustomed to barking out orders and comments without being crossed. After giving my face another long appraisal, he offered his good hand to Can-dace.

“My goodness, boy, you can pick them. What's your name, sweetheart?”

I quickly introduced Candace and saw the same glint of appreciation in Uncle Mutt's eyes as I'd seen in Cousin Tom's. Apparently the Goertz men were roosters. As if I hadn't already known that.

“Honey, if you're as smart as you are pretty, this boy's made the choice of a lifetime.”

Candace blushed. Really. The woman who'd been a continual rock, who seemed unflappable by all the ups and downs of our lives, went red as a beet. She ran a fidgety hand through a lank of brown hair. I wasn't sure if she was flustered by the magnitude of the compliment or by the whole lifetime suggestion that lay underneath Uncle Mutt's accolade. Or maybe it was simply Uncle Mutt himself-his presence in a room was overwhelming. No wonder he'd been such a legendary ladies' man. So much for Candace being on guard.

“If Jordan's destined to look like you when he's older, then I'll have made the smart choice.” Candace offered her best belle smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Philip Bedrich make a mock-gagging motion.

Uncle Mutt guffawed, squeezed her hand, and punched me lightly in the shoulder. “You got you a live wire there, boy! All right, I stand apologetic and corrected, Miss Can-dace.” He took me by one arm, Candace with the other, and introduced me to the rest of my new family.

“And this is my nephew Philip Bedrich,” Uncle Mutt indicated the loosely lounging fellow on the couch. “Don't give him money.”

Philip Bedrich colored at the gibe, but gave me a weak smile. “Uncle Mutt's a bully, but he's our bully. You'll soon grow used to his little tirades.” He didn't have the physi-cality evident in his twin, Tom-he wasn't heavy, but his body was rounder, softer, and his indolent pose on the couch appeared practiced. His clothes looked expensive, but not in the best taste-a showy gold necklace adorned his throat, and his shirt was designed for a younger man. A slow, languorous drawl oozed from his mouth when he spoke. I shook Philip's hand; his palm felt flaccid against my skin.