The old lady dropped his hand and reached behind herself to push forward the younger girl who allowed this, lifting one eyebrow. “You’ve never even seen your cousin Shelby,” the old lady shook her head in wonderment. “First cousins, and you’ve never even laid eyes on each other. Now that is a shame. That’s the world we live in today, though. Shelby, help Victor with that sea bag.”
The girl grinned at Victor and reached for the strap of his duffel bag, but he bent to grab it before she could. “That’s okay,” he said. “It’s not heavy. It’s just clothes and stuff. I’ve got it,” he hoisted the strap over his shoulder and felt as if he’d averted some obscure danger. Shelby shrugged, still smiling inscrutably, and stepped out of his way.
The old woman circled him like a moth around a light bulb. “Well, it looks mighty heavy to me. You sure you don’t want any help? Well, I guess you know what you’re doing. You don’t have any more bags on that bus do you? Shelby, ain’t you going to say hello to your cousin?”
“Hello to your cousin,” said Shelby. Her voice was surprisingly low and smooth, like a woman on the radio, with no trace of the nasal accent of their grandmother. Victor nodded at her. Behind the glasses her eyes were large and strikingly pretty, a dark, greenish hazel that seemed to hold within it some of the gold of a sunrise. The color of her skin was quite dark, the shade of copper, but with a rosy undertone. Her jaw was soft but square under a wide mouth, and there was a slight gap between her two top front teeth. She caught him staring and her smile contracted a bit, and she turned away. She was not exactly fat, but her boxy shape, unmitigated by her loose clothing, seemed more masculine that his own, and she moved like a tugboat as she led them out of the depot to the front parking lot where the car was waiting.
It was an old LTD, dark blue and dingy with road dust. His father, Victor remembered, was an aficionado of sports cars, and would hate to own such a commonplace vehicle.
“You let Victor sit in front, now, Shelby,” the Grandmother said as she let herself into the driver’s seat.
“I was going to, Gum,” snapped Shelby.
Gum? Victor looked at the old woman beside him, who looked as diminutive as a doll with her hands on the steering wheel. Was he supposed to call this person Gum? He was sure he could not. He’d always wondered why the cards he’d received over the years at Christmastime and on his birthday, were signed with that silly, baby name, rather that Grandma or Nana, and now he saw it was because of Shelby. He looked up into the rearview mirror. Every slight move Shelby made was accompanied by the faint clatter and jingle of thin silver bracelets on her arms. Even though she was his cousin, he’d hoped against hope that she’d be pretty. She wasn’t, but there was something about her that made him want to stare, as if he couldn’t take enough of her in to remember her by. She wore no make-up, at least not then, and her features were not so much plain as they were strange; very full lips, a tiny blunt nose, wide eyes, the light, indeterminate color of which were so striking against her rose-copper complexion, the boxy, curveless body.
“How is it that Victor’s so tall, Gum?” Shelby said from the back seat.
The grandmother kept her eyes on the road as if it might drop off into oblivion at any moment. “From ya’lls granddaddy, I reckon.”
“Daddy’s tall,” Shelby says. “But I think Victor’s taller. But Uncle Eddie’s short. Is your mother tall, Victor?”
Victor has never thought about it. “No,” he says after a moment. “She’s shorter than my father. But I think her brothers are all tall. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t remember. They all live in New York.”
There is a long silence. Shelby leaned back against the back seat. “Genetics fascinate me. I read that some of the most crucial traits skip a generation. So there’s a sense in which we all get more from our grandparent’s than from our birth parents. God forbid!” she says and poked the back of the driver’s seat headrest with her index finger.
“Quit that,” the old lady said mildly.
The house was smaller than he expected, one level, a modest structure of brick and cream-colored aluminum siding, with an open carport tacked onto its left side. It looked, with a few minor differences, exactly like all the other houses on the street. Several thick spreading trees rose out of the square flat front lawn, and a walkway branched off of the driveway to lead to three steps and a place to stand before the front door. Victor realized he had all along unquestioningly expected a house standing on stilts that lifted it over the edge of the ocean, and he felt a vague disappointment. The only hint that there was water anywhere nearby was in the sharp tang of the air, and for all he knew the ocean was miles away, and might as well not be there at all for all the good it would do him.
When he stepped inside the house, he shivered, as the air conditioner was turned up high, and all the curtains in the front room were drawn. When his eyes adjusted he could see, by the inconstant light of a mute television set, a tiny living room inhabited by a sofa and easy chair, both upholstered in a blue and green tartan pattern, a low, round wooden coffee table, and walls peppered with framed photographs, decorative shelving, and one large print over the sofa of a woman in eighteenth century dress playing a harpsichord. A hallway led from the right side of this room to the rest of the house, except for the kitchen, which could be entered through a wide space in the wall just before the hallway. Into this space a shadow, then a more substantial figure appeared, it was a man, dressed in what looked like pajama bottoms underneath a plaid bathrobe, holding what looked like a half-sized soda can.
“Hey, Daddy,” said Shelby.
“Hey.” the man said in a faint, somewhat raspy voice. He looked at Victor and lifted his free hand in greeting, and his robe gaped open to reveal the shadow of ribs and one nipple surrounded by sparse, light hair. The man’s face was pale and his high forehead was wrinkled. He had very short light colored hair and a receding hairline, a square jaw and a stringy neck. Even in the dim light Victor could see that his eyes were the same bright light blue as the Grandmother’s, and like hers, lightly shadowed underneath.
“You must be Victor,” the man said. He stepped forward and held out a hand. Victor shook it, and was struck by how limp and damp and warm the man’s hand felt. “I’m your Uncle Buzz. I reckon you figured that out already.”
Victor nodded.
Uncle Buzz looked at the can in his hand as if he’d forgotten all about it. “This here’s my lunch,” he said. “I didn’t know ya’ll would be back so soon. I would’ve got dressed,” he took a sip from the small can, and grimaced. “It ain’t too bad. It’s all I can keep down, lately.”
The grandmother laid her purse on the arm of the sofa. “Did Dr. Patel call, William?”
It took Victor a moment to realize she was speaking to Uncle Buzz, who shook his head.
“I’ll call him after lunch,” the man in the bathrobe said as the old lady harrumphed. “Let’s get Victor settled,” she said, “and then we’ll have something to eat. Victor, honey, I don’t know how much your mama told you, but your uncle’s going for some physical therapy over in Beaufort when a space opens up for him this weekend, so for a couple of nights, I’m afraid you’ll have to bunk out here in the living room, if that’s all right. The couch pulls out, so you ought to be pretty comfortable. I know it ain’t too private, but…” she holds out her hands in a helpless gesture. “I wish we had more room, but we don’t.”
“That’s