A Comedy of Heirs Read Free

mother and then remembered that I forgot to shut your door,” he said.
    â€œOh,” I answered. I finally walked over and gave him a hug, but I held my breath the whole time. Sometimes he forgot what soap was for. I remember one time when I was a kid I asked him why he never took a bath and he told me that water was for drinking, not sitting in. I didn’t argue with him at the time, because it seemed rather logical to a seven-year-old.
    â€œYa miss me?” he asked.
    â€œOf course,” I said. I started back up the steps and he followed close behind. His wife had died about ten years ago, so he usually came to these things alone. His five children were all grown with families of their own, and would attend at their own leisure.
    We reached the kitchen and I flipped off the basement light and shut the door.
    â€œLook what the cat dragged in,” I said to my mother.
    â€œYes, I know,” she answered.
    â€œWell,” Uncle Jed said, and let out a long sigh. He patted himself on the stomach and smacked his gums together, his pipe bobbing up and down as he did so. “Where’s the whiskey?”
    â€œWe don’t have any,” I said. “We’re not big drinkers, Uncle Jed.”
    â€œI ain’t talkin’ about drinkin’,” he said. “I’m a-meanin’ for medicinal purposes. Lordy, missy, every house gotta have medicine.”
    â€œAnd just what do you need medicine for?” I asked. “I’ve got Nyquil, that’s about as close to whiskey as you’re gonna get. It’s twenty-five percent alcohol.”
    He scratched his head and looked around the kitchen. He was probably trying to figure out just how much Nyquil he’d have to drink to get drunk. “Well. I got this pain a-goin’ in my foot. And bad eyes. Got real bad eyes—”
    â€œWhiskey isn’t going to cure bad eyes,” my mother said.
    â€œOh, you just go on and stay outta this, Jalena,” Uncle Jedidiah said. “Well, you know, Torie. Hmmm, when’s your dad gonna get here?”
    He knew my dad would come armed with some sort of alcohol. I wasn’t ignorant of the ways my uncle thought in. Uncle Jed was the oldest of the group of seven kids. He’d just turned seventy-eight. And let me just say for the record that having an uncle that is seventy-eight is freaking me out completely. If he’s seventy-eight then I must be in my thirties. It’s like, you say you’re thirty-whatever, but you don’t really think you are in your thirties. Having an uncle this old has to mean I’m actually, no way out of it, in my thirties. Jeez. I hate family reunions. All the pregnant cousins always freak me out, too. There’s always at least five pregnant women at every reunion. That’s been the number for the last ten years.
    â€œDad should be here tomorrow,” I said.
    â€œSo, what? I’m early?” he asked.
    â€œYup, you are the first one to arrive,” I said.
    â€œWell, that oughta mean that I get a free bottle of whiskey,” he said and smiled.
    â€œGive it up, Uncle Jed,” I said. “You want anything stronger than Nyquil you’re going to have to go down to the Corner Bar,” I said.
    â€œYou mean I gotta pay for it?” he asked totally offended.
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œWhat’s the name of the corner bar?” he asked all slump-shouldered.
    â€œThe Corner Bar,” I said. “That’s the name of it.”
    â€œHmm,” he said.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Mom asked, pointing to the manila envelope that I had thrown on the table when I came in.
    â€œI’m not sure, I haven’t had a chance to look at it, but I think it’s some information on Rudy’s family tree,” I said.
    â€œThere’s no return address,” my mother said.
    â€œI know, but the postmark is St. Louis. The only thing in St. Louis that I’ve sent off for