Jeff Abbott - Do Unto Others

Goertz, and have a lovely evening. Bob Don hustled me to the entrance like I was a steer straying from the herd, but Gretchen cut us off.

She pressed wet, liquor-reeking hands against my chest while Bob Don tried to push from behind. I jerked away from them both. Gretchen slammed the front door shut. “Don’t leave, Jordy. Don’t leave,” she whispered. Stepping toward me, she looked horrible. I could see now that makeup was smeared across her face, as though she’d tried fixing herself up long after the daily bottle was opened. “Jordy has to go now, Gretchen,” Bob Don insisted, trying to pull me away from her.

“Just go out the back, Jordy, and I’ll call you tomorrow about that truck you wanted-” “You are not… selling him… any damn car!”

Gretchen Goertz screamed. I will never forget that scream as long as I live. It sounded the way you might scream if you were dead and buried for a year, and then God let you have feeling and voice back. Her voice scraped down my spine. Bob Don wasn’t pulling me anymore. I was moving on my own accord. “Quit pretending!” she said, more hoarsely.

“Don’t you leave this house, you little bastard. Not after all the trouble you’ve caused me. Don’t you walk out, Jordan Poteet,” she spat out my name like it was phlegm. “Not after you’ve ruined my life, you little shit.” I stopped back in the living room. She followed me in.

“You’re drunk, Mrs. Goertz, so I’m not going to pay heed to anything you say. I suggest you go to bed and get some rest.” I steadied my voice. “You’re upset and you’ve upset Bob Don. I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you, but I won’t trouble you further. I’m leaving.” With what dignity I could muster, I turned my back on her and headed for the kitchen. I figured there’d be a back door and I could get out.

“You stay, you stay, you stay,” she sobbed at my retreating back.

“I’ll leave, and you stay.” I paused and heard Bob Don behind me say, “Gretchen, listen-” “Shut up!” she howled at him. Sobs racked her.

“Shut up! He can stay, and I’ll leave! That way you’ll have some quality time with your precious bastard son!” I stopped in my tracks in the darkened kitchen, as though her words were glue sticking me to the floor. I heard a body hit the floor and over my shoulder, I saw Gretchen crumpled on the carpet, weeping uncontrollably. Air felt thick in my throat, as though it was something alien and vaguely threatening. She’s drunk, I told myself, and she’s deluded. Bob Don collapsed to his knees, cradling Gretchen in his arms. My legs didn’t want to respond to the instructions my brain sent, but finally they moved and they didn’t head to the back door. I stared down at Bob Don.

“What did she mean by that? Gretchen, you better explain-” I started, but Gretchen wrestled free from Bob Don. She staggered to the other end of the living room into a hallway that presumably led to bedrooms.

She turned back to us, her eyes trying to focus. “Leave here, Bob Don, and take him with you. I changed my mind. I ain’t leaving my house.

Take your things and your bastard boy with you. I don’t ever want to see you again.” She fled down the hallway, running along the side. I could hear her body scraping the wall. A door slammed down the hall.

Bob Don stared at the floor. Anger burst out of me, unexpected and reckless. “Goddamn it, look at me! What the holy hell is going on here? What’s wrong with her? Why is she saying this shit?” He looked at me, looking older and more tired than I’d ever seen anyone look.

“Forgive me, Jordy. God, God, please forgive me.” “Forgive you? It’s your wife that’s damned crazy.” My voice cracked in fear. “What the hell do I have to forgive you for?” He didn’t answer and the silence fell hard. I stepped away from him, but not to leave. “You better tell me what’s going on here, Bob Don. I want an explanation.” My voice was hoarse and shaking. “I-” he started, and his voice broke in pain.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and faced me. “I am your father.” “You’re lying,” I said when I found my voice. It didn’t sound like my voice, but a boy’s. My throat felt like ice. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

His eyes met mine and he blinked them clear of his tears. There was a thin line of blood down his cheek where his wife had raked him. “No, I am not lying to you. I’m your father. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“You’re as drunk as your wife, obviously,” The ice in my throat moved to my voice. “My father is Lloyd Poteet. And I don’t appreciate the slur, against my dead daddy or my mother. I was starting to regard you as a decent person, but you’re not. I suggest you and your wife both get professional help. If you like, I’ll help you by pouring out all the liquor in your house. And I suggest you bandage up your face ’cause you’re bleeding all over yourself. Good night.” I turned to leave. “You can’t walk away from me. You just asked for an explanation and goddamn it, you’re going to listen to one.” He grabbed my arm and shoved me down onto the couch. It stunk of whiskey. “I’m not staying-”

I began, but he pushed me back down and leaned hard on my arms. I twisted my face away from his. “Do me the courtesy of listening to me, Jordan Michael Poteet,” he hissed, and I sat there, thinking: I am not going to sit here and listen to a bunch of goddamn lies. I tried to move away, but my muscles felt like jelly. I stared into his face.

“Listen to me, please.” Bob Don didn’t ease the pressure of his hands on my arms but his tone softened. “This isn’t pleasant, but it’s true.

And goddamn it, you’re going to hear it from me.” “Well, get your lies over with,” I retorted. “I have places to go and people to see.” “I was friends with your mama and your daddy. They were my closest friends. They were damned good to me. But then they had a baby-your sister-and sometimes couples go through a rough time when a child comes along and they’re not quite ready for it. I tried to be there for both of them, but I ended mostly on your mama’s side in the disagreements. I cared about your mama and she cared about me, and we weren’t strong when we were together.” “You’re sick! My mother never even looked at you! She loved my father!” “God, yes, she did. She told me she’d have to go back to him, that she’d have to make it work with him. So she did go back to him, but not without you. I gave her you.”

He looked hard into my eyes, unwavering. “Shut up! Don’t you talk about my mama like that, you piece of trash!” He didn’t even blink.

“Lloyd took her back, and she took him back. He loved you like you were his own, and I don’t know that he knew. He must’ve, though, but he loved you anyway. Anne made me promise I’d stay away from them and away from you. So I met Gretchen right off and married her, to try and heal the pain.” He eased up his weight from me and the couch, letting me move, his story told. “And it didn’t heal. God, it never healed. I had to sit back and watch you grow up, and never tell you all the things I wanted to say.” I stood, stumbling against the coffee table, rubbing my wrists where he’d squeezed hard. I made my lips stop trembling. “Why are you making this up? What did my folks ever do to you, that you would say such horrible things about them?” “Your folks,” he rasped, “were decent, caring people with just as many flaws and shortcomings as you got. You’d do well to remember that and not keep them on such a high pedestal.” “I suppose you think this is some joke you can play,” I said slowly. “Do you just prey on women, Bob Don? You’ve turned your wife into a drunk and now you’re attacking a woman who’s got Alzheimer’s and can’t even answer your slander. Some damned gentleman you are.” “First of all,” Bob Don glared, his anger showing, “it breaks my heart that your mama’s sick. And second, it is not a damned joke. I didn’t view it that way and neither did Beta Harcher.” I didn’t want to register that last part. I had to. “What did you say? Beta Harcher?” “Yes, Beta Harcher. She knew. She knew I was your father.” “Quit saying that!” “No, Jordy, I don’t believe I will. Just because you don’t want it to be so doesn’t change a blessed thing. God, I’ve been saving up stuff to say to you for thirty years, so don’t you tell me to be quiet!” Beta Harcher. I shut my eyes and covered my face. The list. Mother of God. Bob Don’s quote talked about dividing prey-a damsel or two to every man. Gretchen and my mother, oh my God, I thought. And the quote beside my mother’s name, from Genesis: In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children. Oh, God, I was a child of sorrow. Of sin. “If this is true,” I whispered, waving a finger at him, “then how would Beta Harcher know about this? How would she have any proof? Where’s your proof?” “When your mother went back to your father, I left Mirabeau for a while. I went to Houston, ’cause it hurt too much to be so near her. So your mother didn’t ask me to stay away from you in person. She wrote me letters. I kept them, not to hurt her with later or to try to claim you, but because they mattered to me. To me!” Bob Don pounded his thick chest with his fist.