In Sight of Stars(69)

“When did you find out … What happened?” I manage, but it comes out as little more than a croak.

“A few years ago, but not the full extent. He said it was something on the side … compartmentalized. That’s what he called it. I didn’t realize there was anyone in particular. Someone who meant that much, that he was supporting…” She breaks down here, then regains herself. “I didn’t know specifically about Armond.”

“Armond,” I say aloud. “I met him once. He owns a gallery downtown.” My mother looks alarmed, but I’m stuck on something else. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘he was supporting’?”

“He was supporting him, too,” she says, choking back a sob. “Completely.” She pulls a rumpled napkin from her bag and uses it to dab at the corner of her eyes. I pick up a box of tissues from the table and hold it out to her. “And, that—he, the whole mess—was the way bigger problem we had. Because, apparently, your father, in his infinite wisdom, was trying to keep both Armond and the gallery afloat. In addition to us, our family. He made a good living, Klee, but there wasn’t enough money to go around. Not for two families. That’s why he—”

She takes a moment to collect herself before she’s able to speak again. “Really, this isn’t stuff you needed to know, shouldn’t have had to handle. I tried to spare you the whole nightmare. But you’re not a kid anymore, are you? And I don’t want you thinking your father did what he did just because he loved someone else, because he was gay. That was hard, that was devastating for us, but it wasn’t … it would never be…”

She shakes her head, unable to talk anymore. But I need to know. I need to understand.

“That wasn’t what?” I ask. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

“He was depressed,” she says. “And he had loaned out lots of money. He created all sorts of problems I didn’t know about. And then he borrowed—well, they say stole—escrow money. From his firm. He must have felt desperate … From some big client’s account. When they found out about it, well, there’s a zero-tolerance policy when a lawyer does that…” I raise my eyebrows, and she quickly adds, “He was going to pay it all back.”

“Jesus,” I say. “Are you kidding?”

She shakes her head again. “I wish. He was a good man. He got caught up trying to hold it all together. Trying to help everyone. And they found out. He lost his job. They were bringing him up on charges in front of the grievance committee.”

I look at her in disbelief, not wanting to believe it’s true. “They would have disbarred him,” I say.

She nods. “They were going to. That was clear. I didn’t know all of this, Klee. Not soon enough. Only right before he died. If I had, I would have done something. Made different choices. I would have stopped him. I would have found a way to help. He was so ashamed…”

“Jesus,” I say again, because I don’t know how else to respond. “Wait,” I add, something else occurring to me. “Are we in money trouble, then?”

“Yes and no,” she says, staring down. “Not completely. The apartment sold for twice what the house up here cost, and your father left a sizable insurance policy. Of all the things we have to worry about, at least here, now, money probably isn’t one of them. We’ll be okay.”

So that’s why we came up here.

“I don’t need to go to Fine Arts Boston,” I say. “I can stay here or something.”

“Don’t be silly. There are accounts already set up for that. And, he’d want you to go. Getting you better and there is our only concern now.” She smiles weakly. “I should have told you all of this sooner, but after your father died, I figured there was no reason for you to know. I didn’t know you’d seen the letters. I should never have kept them. I didn’t realize just how much you were suffering.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m okay now. I’m going to be okay.”

I stare out the window. The day is bright and warm, Dr. Alvarez’s office awash in sunshine. I think of all the times Sister Agnes Teresa came in to open my shades. To let the outside in. “It’s a good reminder,” she had said.

“Are we ready?” Dr. Alvarez asks, breezing into the room with a handful of papers.

“Almost,” I say. “Yeah. There are a few things I’d still like to do. Can I have another hour?”

My mother nods, says she has some errands to run, kisses my forehead, and says she’ll be back to get me then.

*

Sister Agnes Teresa sits on the chair by the window. A small white box rests in the center of my bed, next to a pack of Hostess Sno Balls in all their coconut-coated, pink glory. Somehow, I knew she’d be here.

I hold up the Sno Balls. “Nobody eats these,” I say. “Nobody.”

She smiles. “Nonsense, Mr. Alden. Though they may be an acquired taste.”

“Right,” I say. “I haven’t acquired it. But I’ll keep them to remember you by.”

“That’d be nice,” she says.

“And this?” I hold up the small white box.

“Open it. I hear your mother is here. That she’s ready to take you home.”