Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

‘aspirated,’ as the doctors say, and got pneumonia, which killed him. About eighteen years too late to save the Dunsons and the McKendricks.”
    He sat in bleakness, his head down, and his hands, wrapped around the glass, between his legs. “His parents seemed decent enough, I think. I don’t really know, I was just a little kid. But I think they finally sued, and the suit didn’t come to anything— our parents didn’t really have any money; they gave them what they did have, which was Jason’s college money. He went two years to a community college; that was all. The rest of us— Tres and I— didn’t go at all, and everything was just … sad. After that. I don’t remember ever being happy again, ever laughing in that house, ever even having a Christmas tree.
    “Tressa started wearing all black as soon as she got to junior high, and Mom and Dad kind of…” He paused, trying, I thought, to figure out exactly what had happened to them. “They just gave up, I guess. Dad was an accountant but not a very successful one. Sometimes Mom would get a job in a bookstore. They’d worked really, really hard just to get through, and they never had extra money again. If they had money for Tres and me— for college— I guess they felt they had to give it to the Dunsons. I don’t know for sure; I just know they were never the same again.”
    “And Jason?”
    “I don’t know. He never would say. He always seemed so upbeat, like he had everything under control, but I don’t think he ever even began to get over it. For one thing, he got more distant, too— not like Tressa, who just checked out— but, I don’t know, it was like none of us had much to say to each other after that. Like the shame of it was some big tent that collapsed on us and got us all tangled up, so we couldn’t move anymore. Like if we looked at each other, we’d see Max crashing into that bike or something; we’d remember it. I think Jason gave the Dunsons money sometimes, but I’m not sure. We never talked about that.” He looked away. “Do you know how much it costs to take care of somebody like that? It’s a black hole that sucks your money into it.”
    The name Dunson was starting to ring a bell. I said, “Did you meet them? The Dunsons?”
    “Oh God, yes. There were endless negotiations. And Mom was always trying to be nice— going to see Sean and everything. I went with her once or twice.”
    “Were there any other kids?”
    “A little girl. I guess she was about five at the time.”
    “Adrienne? Was that her name?”
    “How did you know about her?”
    “She was Jason’s assistant. You didn’t know that?”
    “How would I know that?” He sounded angry. “Maurizio, please?” He held up his glass again.
    Maurizio took it, filled it, and looked at me apologetically. “I’ll take you home,” he said. “I don’t think Michael better drive.”
    I said to Michael, “Was that the whole family? Just the parents and Adrienne?”
    He nodded.
    “Adrienne came with her dad to Jason’s wake. I thought you’d like to know that.”
    “Tres and Jason went to Sean’s funeral a few months ago. The Dunsons and the McKendricks. Just one big happy family.” He drank, and then he said, “I wonder why Mrs. Dunson wasn’t there.”
    “I guess I have more bad news for you. She committed suicide about six months ago. It must have been after Sean died.”
    His eyes seemed to sink deeper, so that he looked more miserable than ever. “Jason never told me. That was the way he was, he never talked about anything that worried him. But, man, he couldn’t keep quiet about Sean’s funeral. He was, like, wrecked by it. He said she was real thin— Mrs. Dunson. Real fragile-looking, shoulders shaking the whole time. He knew her before, knew what she looked like, I mean. He said it was like seeing a ghost.”

Chapter Nineteen
    Back at the other end, Chris met me at the airport. I wasted no time: “I have news. Lots of it and all concerning Adrienne. Has she turned up yet?”
    “Afraid not.”
    “She’s scary as hell, Chris. The thing she had with McKendrick— you’re not going to believe how sick it was. Sick and manipulative.” I told her the story Michael had told.
    “Adrienne had this incredible power over him,” she said. “I guess he felt so guilty he’d do anything she wanted. ‘Hire me.’ ‘Sure.’ ‘Let me move in.’ ‘No problem.’ And who knows what else? Maybe he gave her money, too.”
    “Michael