Distant Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

the back of Gretchen's beringed hand. “I'm sure that we'll all get along like houses afire.”
    “I'm so excited. They don't know about my recovery. At least, Bob Don hasn't said anything to them about it.” Gretchen lowered the vanity mirror and, after rummaging in her purse, primped with powder and lipstick.
    I watched the back of her permed gray hair as she ministered to herself. The hardness of my heart toward her softened a bit. I won't pretend that Gretchen and I have had an easy relationship. And I couldn't easily drop my suspicion of her. She was the one who'd viciously and drunkenly informed me of my parentage during one of her binges. She'd also gotten involved in a pathetic scheme to ruin my reputation, which I could have sued the hell out of her for,but had never mentioned again, out of consideration for Bob Don. Since she'd come to work for me at the library as a volunteer (Bob Don's idea, certainly not mine), we'd made forays into healing the breaches between us. She'd sobered up. I tried not to step on her toes too much in developing a relationship with my new father. But she resented me and I resented her, and the process of learning kindness toward each other was slow and difficult, like wading through beachside rocks without turning an ankle. Nothing said I ever had to like or love Gretchen—those were emotions I found it impossible to associate with her—but civility, for Bob Don's sake, was a reachable goal. As long as she had no role in sending me hate mail, we could get along fine.
    “Gretchen,” Candace said softly, “you look fine. Don't worry so much about powdering your face. You look pretty.” I wasn't the only one making an effort to be kind.
    “Why, thank you, Candace sweetie.” Gretchen smacked her lips together once to even her lipstick. “I know a young lady like you—someone from a more refined background— is going to appreciate the Goertzes.”
    I chose not to take that comment as a slam toward me, but as more of Gretchen's interminable butt-kissing. Candace doesn't need to worry about money, so she's higher on the food chain than I can ever hope to evolve. Unless I win the lottery.
    Gretchen snapped the mirror back into place with an authoritative air. “Candace, I'm so glad you're here. You can show Jordy the ropes of dealing with quality people.”
    I saw Candace tug at her top lip with her pearly front teeth, quelling a rejoinder. I operated under no such restrictions.
    “Thank you, Gretchen, but I know which fork to use. I'll manage just fine around people with nicknames like Sass and Mutt.” Not a worthy kindness, but I was on edge and not feeling charitable.
    “See that you do, Jordan. I know that Bob Don thinks you poop French vanilla ice cream, but I know how sharp-tongued and boorish you can be. It's not classy, and I don't want you to embarrass him in any way.”
    “If he was ashamed of me, Gretchen, he wouldn't have begged me to come.”
    “He didn't want your feelings hurt, Jordy. I'm sorry to tell you that, but how would you have felt if you knew he'd gone off to a family reunion and not included you?”
    “Just fine,” I retorted, but I didn't elaborate. How would I have reacted? I had been the one keeping Bob Don at an arm's length, not publicly acknowledging him as my father in our hometown, politely accepting his help and his money with my mother's nursing and his business advice with our new horse farm. He'd been longing for decades to be a father to me, loving me from afar, keeping his pride for me locked firmly away in his heart. He'd given me the key and I'd yet to use it.
    “Just mind your manners,” Gretchen said.
    “I will. And practice what you preach.” My irritation with Gretchen felt nearly physical.
What
did Bob Don see in this woman? How could he have loved my mother—a kind, funny, intelligent woman—and also love Gretchen, whose bitterness was as palpable as heavily worn perfume?
    “Both of you, please behave,” Candace