Bloodline(52)

It’s surprisingly all right. I begin to relax.

There is a lull in Mildred’s questioning. That’s when, without forethought, I let the words tumble out of my mouth. “I thought I saw someone in the alley last night,” I say to her, “between our house and the Lilys’.”

The head table, where I’m seated, goes church quiet. It takes the smaller tables a few seconds to catch up, but soon the entire room sits in the spotlight of silence.

“Impossible,” Amory says. “There’s no safer town.”

“It must have been a trick of the light, then,” I say, wishing I could swallow my words. I know better than to speak out in this crowd.

“When was this?” Deck asks.

I knead the napkin in my lap. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I went out for fresh air.”

“You said you saw somebody in the alley?” Regina asks from across the room.

“Like I said, impossible,” Amory barks.

“It isn’t impossible for someone to walk in an alley at night,” Regina argues.

“Really?” Amory asks. “Would you like to tell me more?”

The ugly in his voice is unmistakable.

“I don’t know about Lilydale,” Kris says from the other end of the main table. “But where I come from, people walk by houses that aren’t theirs all the time.”

“Tell us where you hail from,” Ronald says.

“Besides Lilydale,” Mildred says, tittering nervously.

“The last place I called home was Siesta Key, Florida,” he says, staring at me.

I look away. He shouldn’t flirt in front of these people. Not with me.

“That’s where I discovered that I was Paulie.”

“How did you find out?” Ronald asks. “I think we’re all curious about that.”

I understand this is why we’re all here, in my house. It’s not for my article. It’s so the Fathers and Mothers can put on a show of force, get their questions answered, find out exactly what Kris has revealed to me so far.

Kris seems fine with it. He repeats the story he told me in the café, about the hypnotherapist stirring up old memories of the town, and his mom, the sailor suit.

“You say the man who raised you was military?”

Kris nods. “He probably took the train through Lilydale on his way back from the war. Saw a kid, knew he could get a bigger pension with a tyke, and brought me back with him to San Diego. It’s the only explanation that lines up.”

“That’s horrible,” Regina says.

“People do terrible things,” Ronald says. He’s looking at me.

Deck covers my hand with his. “Dessert time!” he says. “We’ll get out of the way so the ladies can clean up. Gentlemen, who wants to enjoy cigars in the backyard?”

I excuse myself to use the bathroom upstairs. I rinse off my face and wash my hands, taking deep breaths. I fumble the Valium bottle out of the medicine cabinet and swallow one. I can’t hide here for much longer or I’ll be missed. A soft knock on the door gets my attention. I open it, hoping Regina is on the other side.

It’s Kris.

I jump back so quickly that I bash my elbow on the sink. “What are you doing here?”

Kris is smiling, but it’s a lopsided grin. He’s ingested more than wine tonight. He reaches behind him and pulls a postcard out of his back jeans pocket. It features a palm tree against the most glorious sunset I’ve ever seen, tangerines and lemons fading to lavender, a larger version of the matchbook he used at Tuck’s Cafe. “Siesta Key, Florida,” is written across the top.

“Leave with me,” he’s saying. “Tonight. Before it’s too late.”

I throw up my hands. Stop. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with you, son?”

The growl of a voice nearly loosens my bowels. I hadn’t noticed Amory in the hallway. He has Kris in a headlock before I can register what’s happening, yanking so hard that he drags Kris off his feet, the rug bunching beneath him as he hauls Kris out the door.

I fall against the wall. A commotion erupts downstairs, and then the front door slams. Regina appears in the bathroom doorway, her face flushed.

“You okay?”

She helps me toward the closed toilet, but I push her off. “I have to get downstairs. We must pretend like everything is normal, or it’ll get worse.”

“All right,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “But what just happened?”

Rather than respond, I lead the way downstairs. I understand that how I play this has very real consequences, even if I don’t yet know what they are. I step onto the main floor. Everyone is still, quiet, the whole room of guests watching me. Then, like robots who’ve been plugged in, they start moving again, laughing and drinking and acting like this is normal.

My bones turn to jelly.

I pivot so I’m facing Regina, who’s behind me on the stairs. I smile and nod as if I’m telling her a joke but pitch my voice so only she can hear it. “I shouldn’t ever have asked you to come. I’m so sorry.”

Regina is pale. “What are you talking about?”

“You need to go,” I say, the lightness in my voice and the way I’m holding myself belying my words, I hope. “I’ve invited you into the lion’s den. Please, just act like everything is normal.”