Aurora 07 - Last Scene Alive Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    “Yes,” he said.
    The silence dragged uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, again, about the—about the misunderstanding after Martin died.”
    “No,” said Barrett sharply. “Let’s not talk about that.”
    Which was fine with me. In the turmoil after Martin’s death, I had simply forgotten that Martin’s adult son had been in the habit of receiving handouts from Martin when acting jobs proved few and far between. For one thing, the largesse had been irregular; Martin had always thought it would be an insult to give Barrett a steady allowance, as though Barrett were still a child. So he waited until Barrett called and hinted that he needed a “loan,” and then Martin would mail a check. Once I’d become aware of this practice, I’d bitten my tongue to prevent myself commenting.
    Most importantly, it was none of my business. I had my own money, and Martin’s checks to Barrett had not deprived me of anything at all. But in my opinion, if Martin thought it right to support an adult son, he should have made it a regular arrangement, so Barrett wouldn’t have to ask.
    My lips were sealed even more tightly because Barrett loathed me and always had. He’d dodged coming to our wedding, at family functions he never addressed me directly if he could avoid it, he’d only visited Lawrenceton when I was out of town, and he’d made it insultingly clear (out of his dad’s hearing) that he thought I was marrying Martin for his money.
    So in the months immediately after my husband’s funeral, Barrett’s financial state had been the last thing on my mind. But one night Barrett had called me, when he’d held out as long as he could for his legacy. Probate often takes much longer than it has any right to, and in the case of Martin’s estate, which was a little complicated because of his diverse holdings—real estate, stock, insurance payments, and the retirement fund of Pan-Am Agra—well, settling Martin’s affairs was a drawn-out process. That night, Barrett had stiffly demanded I mail him the money he was accustomed to getting.
    I hadn’t reacted well. I could tell how difficult it was for Barrett to call, but in my view, he should have been man enough to manage on his own rather than phone me. At the same time, I admit I was aware that Barrett must truly have his back to the wall financially to be driven to such a measure. But I was just too mired in my personal hell to care about Barrett’s problems.
    He could have helped me in many ways when Martin had died—just being civil would have been a good way to start—and he had chosen not to do so. Now, I chose not to help him. I’d told him so, frankly and at length, being unable to think beyond the moment and see this from any other angle than the one in front of my face.
    The next day I’d woken up sorry, but not because I hadn’t solved Barrett’s financial problems. I’d been sorry because Martin had loved Barrett, and would have wanted me to send the money—no matter what it said about Barrett that he’d even asked me for it. So without calling or writing a note to enclose, I’d FedExed Barrett a check— my own money—for what he’d needed.
    I’d never heard a word from him after that, until this moment. I’d sent him his share of Martin’s estate when it had all been settled. I had not deducted what I’d already given him.
    That would have been businesslike, but he would have taken it as petty. I just didn’t want to struggle with Barrett any more.
    So here we were, not talking about the incident that lay between us, as big and smelly as a dead fish.
    I cleared my throat and asked after his mother and aunt. Cindy’s florist shop was doing well, Barrett said. In fact, Cindy and her partner were expanding the shop to include gifts and home-decorating items. “They took out a loan,” Barrett made a point of telling me, I guess so I’d realize he couldn’t have turned to his mother for money. “She and Dennis plan to get