“Only a distant cousin named Raymond. He has been calling more often since I moved back.”
For one brief moment, Thomas’s expression changed.
His jaw tightened.
Then he relaxed and quickly changed the subject.
I did not understand why at the time.
That same week, Raymond’s calls became even more persistent.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be alone at your age.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“Have you made a will? Someone responsible should be listed in case something happens.”
“I told you, Raymond. I’m fine.”
He asked which bank I used.
He wanted to know whether I owned the apartment.
He mentioned Aunt Margaret again, proudly describing how he had handled everything near the end of her life.
I remembered that Margaret had died almost penniless in a rented room.
For the first time, I wondered why that memory made me so uneasy.
