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By now everyone at the table is staring at us. The kids have stopped moving their food around on their plates and are watching us with interest.
“You shouldn’t use bad words at the table,” Mary says.
“How about away from the table?” I inquire politely. “Or under the table?”
She snickers. “Um…”
“Merc!” Octavia frowns at me. “Don’t give her ideas.”
“What?” I lift my hands. “Was it something I said?”
Matt laughs. “I say worse things all the time. Leave your brother be.”
Octavia gives a long-suffering sigh.
“It’s part of my role as an uncle,” I mutter. “Shaking things up from time to time. You can’t take it away from me. Not fair.”
“You always were a bit of a troublemaker,” Mom says. She serves her man, Paul Nelson by name, another spoonful of her famous beef stew, and he smiles at her, clearly smitten.
Good for him. Mom is great, even if she’s fattening him up. I hope she stops while he can fit through the door.
“A troublemaker, was he?” Jarett asks, smirking.
I shrug and shove a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth.
“Like that time when you opened your sisters’ underwear drawers and poured honey all over them, to make them sweet. Do you remember?” Mom goes on.
“Um. Not really.”
“And then tried to lick them all.”
“Guess I always had a thing for girl undies.” I make a face. “Christ. Not my sisters’, obviously. That was a mistake.”
“You were only four,” Octavia says.
“Oh, you were a handful,” Mom adds.
“Uncle Merc was a handful?” Cole lifts his small fist and shakes it. “Like this?”
“Just like that, buddy,” I mutter. “A big handful of trouble.”
“Or that time when he dressed as a ghost and scared our poor old neighbor half to death,” Octavia joins in. “Mrs. Conrad never got over it.”
“That’s not why she moved away,” I mutter darkly.
“She never greeted us again until she left,” Gigi beams at me. “A good thing. I could never stand that woman.”
“Or like the night he vanished.”
“Say what?” I put my fork down and stare at my mom who’s gazing lovingly at Mr. Nelson. Not even that is disturbing enough to break through my shock. “I vanished?”
“Well, yes. You know, that time Octavia had a sleepover at a friend’s, and I took the opportunity to visit my friend Betsy who lived a town over. Left you with our neighbor—not Mrs. Conrad—and came back to find you covered in mud, mute, and Gigi hysterical.”
“I can’t remember.” I glance at Gigi. She’s fallen silent. “Mute?”
My headache spikes, a hot poker pushing behind my eyes. I have an image of a silver swan flashing, blinding, and blood spreading in water in crimson plumes.
Acid rises in my throat.
