“Actually,” Bryce said. “I’d love it if you would stay. I need some…psychological advice.”
She smiled again. “I’ll be right out. Just let me rinse off. Why don’t the two of you have a drink in the family room?”
I got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around myself, and nodded to Bryce. “Let me get some sweats on. Fix us a couple of drinks. I’ll only be a minute.” I headed into the house and to my bedroom, dried off, and put on some sweats and a T-shirt. I went to the family room. Bryce had pulled a beer out of the bar fridge for himself and was mixing up a CapRock martini for me. Good man.
Bryce was a mess. His silver-blond hair was in disarray, and his flannel western shirt was half untucked. Not that he was into extreme grooming, but he was usually not this unkempt.
“I had to take my mom into the city to see her sister. You know, Luke’s mom. She wanted to tell my Aunt Vickie what had gone on, my father’s role in Luke’s murder.” He shook his head. “When we got there, she couldn’t even talk, man. I had to take her to the hospital. Aunt Vickie still doesn’t know anything, and she’s worried sick now about Mom. I brought Henry home so he could sleep in his own crib.”
“Who’s with him now?”
“Your sister.”
“Really?” Marj had never been the babysitting type.
“Yeah. I ran into her at the grocery store when I got back from the city. Henry was out of formula. I told her I needed to talk to you, and she offered to watch Henry for me.”
“She knows everything.”
“Yeah. I figured she did.” He attempted a smile. “Henry took to her right away. I’m sure they’re doing fine. He’s probably in bed by now.”
“Why don’t you text her and check on him? That way we can talk free of worries.”
“Good idea.” Bryce got his phone.
I took a sip of my martini while he was texting. Poor Bryce. Although I was unsure about my own father’s involvement in this whole mess, at least I was pretty sure he wasn’t as messed up as the other three. The worst he had done so far was befriend a group of degenerates in high school, possibly impregnate a mistress, and sweep his son’s abduction and torture under the rug. Not good stuff by any means, but Bryce’s father was a child molester, rapist, and murderer.
Damn.
Bryce put his phone away and took a drink of his beer. “Henry’s good. Marjorie says he went right to sleep after she fed him.”
I guess I didn’t know everything about my baby sister. She’d never struck me as the motherly type.
“Good,” I said. “So tell me about Evelyn.”
“I hated doing this to her, Joe. It about killed me. Every time I have to think about it, say the words, I die a little bit more all over again. And telling my mother, the woman who raised me, that her husband is… What is he, anyway? What kind of words are there for the man who is my father?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head, swirling my martini glass on the wooden bar. “I wish I had some words of wisdom for you, but I just don’t.”
“I worry, man. I worry what the fuck is in my own DNA. The bastard fathered me.”
“Oh. Now I know why you want Melanie to be in on this conversation.”
Bryce nodded. “I’m afraid. What the hell is running through my veins, and what the hell have I passed on to my son?”
I nodded. “I’ve had the same thoughts, like I told you. Look at what I got on my mother’s side. She was unstable, and her half brother is as fucked up as your father. And I still don’t know about my own father’s involvement in all this.”
Bryce looked up. “Here she comes.”
Melanie was walking down the stairs and into the family room, wearing a pair of old jeans and a tank top, no bra. Her feet were bare, and her red painted toes sank into the plush carpeting.
“Hey, baby,” I said. “Bryce is bartending. What’ll you have?”
“Just tonic water with a twist. I don’t feel like drinking.”
Bryce got her drink and slid it across the bar to her.
“I wish I knew what to say to you,” she said to Bryce. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t care that you saw me naked.”