Dead Reckoning (Sookie Stackhouse #11)(65)
Author: Charlaine Harris

Gradually as the Stackhouse family rolled along in time, the pictures became less posed, more spontaneous. The clothing morphed along with attitudes. Color began to tint faces and scenery. Dermot seemed genuinely interested, so I explained the background on some of the more recent snapshots. One was of a very old man holding a baby swathed in pink. "That’s me and one of my great-grandfathers; he died when I was little bitty," I said. "That’s him and his wife when they were in their fifties. And this is my grandmother Adele and her husband."

"No," Dermot said. "That’s my brother Fintan."

"No, this is my grandfather, Mitchell. Look at him."

"He is your grandfather. Your true grandfather. Fintan."

"How can you tell?"

"He’s made himself to look like Adele’s husband, but I can tell it’s my brother. He was my twin, after all, though we were not identical. Look here at his feet. His feet are smaller than those of the man who married Adele. Fintan was always careless that way."

I spread out all the pictures of Grandmother and Grandfather Stackhouse. Fintan was in about a third of them. I’d suspected from her letter that Fintan had been around more than she’d realized, but this was just creepy. In every picture of Fintan-as-Mitchell, he was smiling broadly.

"She didn’t know about this, for sure," I said. Dermot looked dubious. And I had to admit to myself that she had suspected. It was there, in her letter.

"He was playing one of his jokes," Dermot said fondly. "Fintan was a great one for jokes."

"But . . ." I hesitated, not sure how to phrase what I wanted to say. "You get that this was really wrong?" I said. "You understand that he was deceiving her on a couple of different levels?"

"She agreed to be lovers with him," Dermot said. "He was very fond of her. What difference does it make?"

"It makes a lot of difference," I said. "If she thought she was with one man when she was with another, that’s a huge deception."

"But a harmless one, surely? After all, even you agree she loved both men, had sex with both of them willingly. So," he asked again, "what difference does it make?"

I stared at him doubtfully. No matter how she felt about her husband or her lover, I still thought there was a moral issue here. In fact, I knew there was. Dermot didn’t seem to be able to discern that. I wondered if my great-grandfather would agree with me or with Dermot. I had a sinking feeling I knew.

"I better get back to work," I said, with a tight smile. "Got to mop the kitchen. You going to get back to work in the attic?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "I love the machinery," he said.

"Please close the attic door, then, because I’ve dusted down here and I don’t want to have to do that again before tomorrow afternoon."

"Sure, Sookie."

Dermot went up the stairs whistling. It was a tune I’d never heard before, which figured.

I gathered up the pictures, keeping separate the ones that Dermot had earmarked as featuring his brother. I was considering building a little fire with them. Up in the attic, the sander started up. I looked at the ceiling as if I could see Dermot through the boards. Then I shook myself and went back to work, but in an abstracted and uneasy mood.

When I was standing on a stepladder hanging the WELCOME BABY sign from the light fixture, I remembered I had to iron my great- grandmother’s tablecloth. I hate ironing, but it had to be done, and better today than tomorrow. When the stepladder was put away, I opened the ironing board–there’d been a built-in one in the previous kitchen–and set to work. The tablecloth was not exactly white anymore. It had aged to ivory. I soon had it smooth and beautiful, and touching it reminded me of high occasions in the past. I’d seen pictures including this very piece of cloth today; it had been on the kitchen table or the old sideboard for Thanksgivings and Christmases and wedding showers and anniversaries. I loved my family, and I loved those memories. I only regretted that there were so few of us to recall them.

And I was aware of another truth, another real thing. I realized I really didn’t appreciate the fairy sense of fun that had made a lie out of some of those memories.

By three that afternoon, the house was as close to ready as I could get it. The sideboard was draped with the tablecloth, the paper plates and napkins were out, the plastic forks and spoons. I’d polished the silver nut dish and a little tray for the cheese straws, which I’d made and frozen a couple of weeks before. I ran down my checklist. I was as ready as I could possibly be.

If I didn’t survive tonight, I was afraid that the baby shower would be a bust. I had to assume that my friends would be too jangled to go ahead with the shower if I got killed. Just in case, I left detailed notes about the location of everything that wasn’t already out. I even brought out my present for the babies, matching wicker baskets that could be used as traveling cribs. They were decorated with big gingham bows and packed full of useful stuff. I’d accumulated the items for the gift baskets on sale, bit by bit. Bottles for supplemental feeding, a baby thermometer, a few toys, a few receiving blankets, some picture books, bibs, a package of cloth diapers for use as spit-up rags. It felt strange to think that I might not be around to see the babies grow up.

It also felt strange that paying for the shower hadn’t been such a financial hardship, thanks to the money in my savings account.

Suddenly, I had an amazing idea. That made two in two days. As soon as I’d worked it out in my head, I was in my car and on my way to town. It felt weird walking into Merlotte’s on my day off. Sam looked surprised but pleased to see me. He was in his office with a stack of bills in front of him. I put another piece of paper on his desk. He looked at it. "What is this?" he said in a low voice.

"You know what it is. Don’t you give me that, Sam Merlotte. You need money. I’ve got money. You put this in your account today. You use it to pull the bar through until times are better."

"I can’t take this, Sookie." He didn’t meet my eyes.

"The hell you can’t, Sam. Look at me."

Finally, he did.

"I’m not kidding. You put it in the bank today," I said. "And if anything might happen to me, you can repay my estate within, say, five years." "Why would anything happen to you?" Sam’s face darkened.

"Nothing will. I’m just saying. It’s irresponsible to loan money without making arrangements to pay it back. I’m calling my lawyer and telling him all this, and he’ll draw up a paper. But right now, right this minute, you go to the bank."