Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

“I'm a tough old fart. Don't forget it.”

“I certainly won't. Is there a reason why you're assuring me of your indestructibility?”

“God. Now you sound like that clown Aubrey.”

“Sorry. I'm just trying to follow the path of your conversation.”

He snorted. “Just setting the record straight. Now that Lolly's gone, and Mutt'll be gone soon, I ain't gonna go into no dadburn nursing home. I got years ahead of me still. And I done made enough sacrifices for this family.” He glanced off toward the horizon, as though to reassure himself that Death wasn't charging forward to claim him early, having already scooped up Lolly. I shivered and he saw it, his eyes appraising me with cold calculation.

“You lived here with Lolly, is that correct?” I asked.

“Yep. For the past four years. Before that, we lived over in Corpus Christi.”

“I'm sure Mutt will want you to stay here,” I said reassuringly.

I could understand his fear. I have my own horror of nursing homes, from the time when my grandfather was forced into one. Our visits to him were painfully brief; a stench of guilt pervaded our family every time we stood and tried to make small talk in his dormitory-like room. We felt suffocated there; but what we felt could have only been a fraction of his suffering. He had loved and given and provided to us for his entire life, and the last years of it were spent rooming with a toothless crazy man from La Grange. My grandfather ate food cooked by other people; watched TV with folks he'd never seen before; spent his nights staring at the ceilings, lonesome for his own kin. Hi, you're sick and old and we don't need you anymore, so in you go to the human junkyard, Papaw. I hate those goddamn places.

“Hell. Him gone, Lolly gone, Sass and Bob Don'I stick me in a nursing home faster than you can spit.”

“There's plenty of money, Uncle Jake. Maybe they could provide you with a live-in nurse.” And why haven't they before? Why did that burden fall on Lolly when Mutt could easily hire a nurse for you? I kept my musings to myself.

“They ain't gonna do me no favors.” Uncle Jake stared out at the whitecaps dancing across Matagorda Bay. “Always thought I'd be the first to go. 'Less Lolly went and killed herself.”

“You think Lolly committed suicide?”

He shrugged. “Can't say that to Mutt-who wants to figure that their baby sister killed herself? But she was slowly going crazy, getting as nutty as a fruitcake.”

“I don't understand.”

He squinted at me in the morning brightness. “Hell, boy, were you deaf last night? Didn't you hear her lay into most of the family?”

“I thought-”

“What? That she was just meaner than eight acres of snakes?” He shook his head in silence. “Lolly never cottoned much to Deb or Gretchen, that's true. But as of late, she'd started turning on the whole family. Talking crazy, talking wild. Never made no sense. She used to kid about that dog being Charles come back to her, but I think she'd truly begun believing it.” He stared off at a bird swooping low over the bay. “That's a brown pelican-watch him dive!” The pelican suddenly swooped into the water, swallowed its catch, and flapped back into flight. Jake watched the bird with pleasure. “They nearly died off in the Sixties round 'bout here. But they're survivors, just like old me.”

I steered the conversation back toward Lolly's eccentricities. “You said she was getting less stable. Were you afraid she might take her own life?”

He watched the brown pelican soar toward the beach. “Well, Lord no, not really, else I would've said something to Mutt.” But he didn't look at me while he made this statement.

“I suppose you wouldn't have any reason to keep quiet if you were afraid for her,” I said softly.

He harrumphed. “Listen, sonny. Lolly was a right pain, but she took care of me pretty good, and she was family. I didn't want to see nothin' bad happen to her.” He coughed. “But now that she's gone, I just gotta make sure that I ain't stuck in no home. People die in those places, and wouldn't surprise me none if I got another good ten or eleven years to live. Long as Mutt takes the time and sets aside the money to make sure I'm cared for, and that none of them dadburn relations of mine can touch that money or dump me someplace I don't want to be, I'll be as fine as frog hair.” He smiled at me and there was little joy in his grin. “You're a nice boy, ain't you? Put in a good word for me with Bob Don and maybe Sass.”

“Of course.” I found myself suddenly wanting to be free from Uncle Jake's company. His tone of voice lingered between cajoling and threatening. I'm not cowed easily, but a malevolent air hung about the old man-in the devious sparkle of his eyes, the creaky grin, the discolored teeth. God, what kind of care did Lolly give him-his dentures really needed a good scrubbing. I stared back into his murky eyes and wondered if I'd caught a glimmer of thought: Get the mail I sent you, boy? I blinked. My imagination was running rampant.

“I'd surely appreciate it.” Downing the rest of his juice, he handed me the empty glass. “You think you could fetch me some more of that?”

“Sure,” I answered. “You want anything else?” He shook his head, and I turned to leave.

I paused at the door. “Can I ask you a question, Uncle Jake?”

“I reckon.” He peered up at me, shading his eyes with his palm.

“Your heart medication bottle was empty when Tom found it. Were you running low? We need to be sure we get you some more Digoxin.”

“I appreciate the concern, Jordan, but you don't got to worry. Mutt's getting the prescription refilled while he's in town today.”

“Oh, well, good. I guess you have to keep a careful eye on how much Digoxin you've got left.”

“Nah,” he huffed. “I just left that up to Lolly. She brought me the med'cine, my only job was to swallow. Now, how about that juice? A fellow gets parched sittin' out here watchin' the water.”

“I'll get you your juice,” I said, “but if you don't want anything else, I think I'll take a turn around the island.”

“Don't go,” Jake said. His voice came close to imploring. “This island ain't made for wandering about. I always think it has a smell of death in the air.”

I froze by the door. “Isn't that a little melodramatic?”

He gestured toward the spit of sand by the dock. “You see that beach? That's where them Mexicans slaughtered them boys.”

“Slaughtered boys?” I heard my voice ask.

Jake smiled with the glee of a natural-born gossip. “Yeah. Right down there. When it became obvious the Reliant was sinking, the Texan captain stuck all the youngest crew members-most of 'em just teenagers-into a dinghy and sent 'em onto the beach. The Mexicans corralled them after the Reliant had gone down and cut those boys' throats, every last one.” His eyes glimmered at the thought. “That's why they call this island Sangre. For blood. They said the blood ran so thick on the beach you could hardly see the sand.”

I suspected the account was an exaggeration, but I felt a cold tremor at the image. “That's horrible.”

“Whoever told you,” Uncle Jake wheezed, “that this island was a nice place?”

“Speaking of death,” I began, “what about what Aunt Lolly alluded to last night? That Deborah's father killed his wife, then himself? Bob Don never mentioned that his brother was a murderer.”

“Would you?” Jake snapped. “God, you're dense.”

“I'd tell my son,” I snapped back. My time with this unpleasant old man wore my nerves thin.

“Well, we ain't like you.” Uncle Jake turned back in his chair to stare out at the beach. “You gonna fetch that juice or not?”

“Uncle Jake. Please tell me-”