Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

It wasn’t raining now, though, and I blinked up at the fine blue sky.

It offered a conversational refuge. “Yes, it’s real pretty.” I stared down into my coffee cup. I wasn’t going to ask her how she’d slept.

“I’m going to have to go into the library. Can you entertain yourself for a while?” “I’m quite good at that.” Lorna tucked her feet under her bottom. She glanced over at Mama. “Maybe I’ll just stay here and keep your mother company.” She blinked at me. “I’m sorry I never got to meet her before she got sick.” “Me, too. I think y’all would have liked each other.” I didn’t know what else to say; I didn’t believe that myself. Mama would have thought Lorna far too brassy, I feared. I finished my coffee. “I got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” “Here you are.” Sister strode out onto the deck, nodding a good morning at Lorna. “Are you ready to go over to the cemetery? C’mon, Mama, let’s go. Mark’s in the car.” I felt like I’d walked onto a stage and I didn’t know my next line. “Cemetery? Freddy’s funeral surely isn’t today, is it?” Sister’s green eyes steeled. “Jordan Michael Poteet, you have forgotten that today is the anniversary of Daddy’s death. Six years ago. I thought we’d go over this morning before work and put flowers on his grave.” She glanced at Lorna. “I guess you’ve had too much on your mind.” “Oh, God, Sister, I’m sorry. I totally forgot.

Yes, let’s go and do that now.” My face felt hot with shame and embarrassment. Daddy’s death had just about killed me; he’d been my best friend, my pal, my mentor, until the cancer took him in a slow, agonizing embrace. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten, especially in light of learning that Bob Don was my biological father. “I’ve got an order waiting for us at Neuberg’s Florist,” Sister said, ushering Mama inside and pausing on the doorway. “Lorna, I’m sure you understand that the family needs some privacy right now. Franklin said he could stay on guard until eleven, then they’ll have someone replace him.”

“Of course, Arlene. You guys go on to the cemetery. I’ll be fine.” She forced a smile and followed us inside. The Mirabeau cemetery, lying far from the river on the east side of town, is beautifully maintained-an expanse of clipped grass, marked by marble monuments to lives once lived. A gravel road cuts a circle through the middle; beyond it lie the oldest graves, those with solely German names, denoting the earliest Bavarian colonists who settled the river land.

The dead here start in the 1830s, and in a back corner lie markers with only first names, those of the few slaves that lived in this section of Bonaparte County and only found equality in their cold coffins. I parked my Chevy Blazer near the Poteet section; there were at least twenty tombstones with that surname. My mother’s people, the Schneiders, outnumber the Poteets considerably and there are even some of them in the old German section. I have not ever looked to see how well represented Bob Don’s people are. “My, it’s going to be hot today.” Sister fanned herself with a brochure from the florist as I struggled to pull the wreath out of the back. She’d abandoned her earlier frostiness to me, but I sensed I wasn’t entirely out of the doghouse. Mark stood, holding Mama’s hand. Mama seemed to know she was around old friends and happily gossiped with the breeze. We walked over to Daddy’s grave, looking lonely in its plot of Poteet land. His own parents were a bit farther away, and the plots next to him-the ones reserved for Mama, me, Sister, and Mark-were, of course, empty. I wondered if he missed us as much as I missed him. Sister and I set up the wreath, steadying it against the granite marker. Sister inspected the grave, making sure no fire ants had desecrated our father’s rest.

I stepped back to admire our handiwork. Sister frowned at me, as though I’d missed a cue. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” she demanded. “What? You want me to make a speech?” I pointed at the wreath. “Doesn’t that say enough?” She stared at the flowers, and her tears came quickly. She cried silently for several minutes, Mark leaning against her in comfort, Mama watching a pair of bees dance above her husband’s stone. I crossed my arms, stared down at my shoes, and kept my own thoughts. Finally Sister wiped her face, sniffled, and said: “Mark. Take your grandmother to the car. I need to talk to Uncle Jordy a minute.” “Aw, Mom, it’s hot in the car-” “Here. Turn on the air conditioner.” I tossed the keys at Mark and he went, knowing she would brook no argument. Mama laughed as they stumbled among the graves, winding their way back to the road. “Look, Sister, I’m sorry I forgot-” “You just tell me, Jordy. I need to know. Are you forgetting about him? Does he not matter to you anymore, now that you’ve got a new father?” I blinked. “Of course he matters to me. How could you ask that? I could never forget Daddy!” “You did today. I realize that all this mess with Lorna has you distracted, but you don’t ever talk about Daddy anymore. We used to laugh about his old Aggie jokes, the way he could impersonate Cousin Pearl, how he taught us to play baseball when we were kids. You don’t ever mention that now.” I shook my head. “This is crazy.” “Is it? You’ve got a new father, one that’s just chomping at the bit to be the World’s Greatest Dad to you. I don’t have that luxury. I’ve buried my daddy. I don’t have a replacement waiting in the wings.” “No one-not even Bob Don-could replace Daddy, Sister. Bob Don may want to be a father to me, but hell, I’m still not used to the idea of him being my father. If you think this has been hard on you, you don’t have a clue what it’s been like for me.” I knelt by Daddy’s wreath and fingered the ribbon of blue-his favorite color-that hung from the circle of flowers. “And my having a relationship with Bob Don- if I choose to have one-doesn’t mean I’ve betrayed Daddy.” “I’m not so sure I believe that, Jordy.” I stood. “Have you forgotten that Mama, Mark, and I would probably be dead if it wasn’t for Bob Don?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. Have you forgotten that your precious Bob Don slept with our mother when she was married to Daddy?” “Hardly.” I patted my chest. “You wouldn’t have me to torture if he hadn’t.” “And that’s the man you have as a father now.” She wiped her tears and pointed down at the grave we stood arguing over. “I’m angry. I’m angry the man who could have broken up our parents’ marriage wants to be in our lives. And don’t say it’s just your life. It’s mine, too. You’re my brother and I love you. But I’m furious and I’ve got every right to be.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know what I even want from Bob Don. I’m certainly not prepared to dismiss him from my life. You can’t ask me to do that.” “No. I don’t expect that.” I heard the distant whine of a car and saw a steel-gray Cadillac Seville churning dust along the cemetery road. “God, does he have radar?”

Sister asked. We watched Bob Don’s Caddy park behind my Blazer. He got out of the car, smoothing his crown of hair into place, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. “My God, he remembered and you didn’t.”

Sister walked in Bob Don’s direction as he tentatively approached Daddy’s grave. “Hi, Bob Don. I’m sure you and your son would like some time together.” He heard the hardness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Arlene. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “Give Jordy a ride to the library, would you? I have to take Mama home.” She didn’t wait for a reply. I remained silent as he laid the flowers on Daddy’s grave, the only noise the retreating engine of my car as my sister gunned it down the cemetery path. “Thanks for coming,” I said, at a loss for original conversation. “I’m a little surprised you’re here.” “I’d planned to stop by today, but I called and Lorna said y’all were out here. I hoped you wouldn’t mind me coming out while you were here.” “I don’t mind. I can’t speak for my sister.” He tucked his hand into the back of his well-worn khakis. “She still ain’t used to me. That’s okay.