The Last Refuge

at me.

Amanda was a little shy of forty and well organized. Her hair always looked freshly combed, though obviously unpermed and secretly on the brink of rebellion. Her olivy skin tone saved her from a genuine need for makeup, though she used some anyway. She had a set of green eyes with the hypnotic quality that came from an excess of color and contrast. I rarely saw her up from her desk, but when she moved it was quick and young. It made me think of tennis shorts. Though I rarely saw them speak to each other, her marriage to Roy seemed to enclose her like a crystalline display case.

“Mr. Acquillo, your free-checking status is in dire jeopardy,” she said to me without looking up from her computer screen.

“I didn’t know I had any status to jeopardize.”

“Yes sir.” She tapped at her keyboard, having pulled up my accounts when she saw me walking across the parking lot. “Maintaining a minimum balance in the CheckPlus account affords you unlimited free checking.”

“So the bank covers all my checks.”

“Just the checks themselves, at a dime a pop. Not bad if you think about it.” She looked at me out of the tops of her eyes, waiting for me to make her decision official, which I always did.

“I can get it back up to the minimum. I got a check here.”

“I’m sure you’re getting great service on your investment account, but don’t forget we can handle that for you here as well.”

She began to type in the deposit information while I wrote out a check against the tattered remains of a money market account left over from my marriage.

My ex-wife used to try to manage my money. She was insulted when I wouldn’t let her. She saw it as an affront to her intelligence. It wasn’t, I just had a poor kid’s fear of losing everything if it drifted too far from my immediate grasp. I stopped feeling that way long after this particular incision had been opened up in our relationship. Nowadays, I’d be more than happy to let her manage anything she wanted—she was naturally better at most of those things than me, even though she never got a chance to exercise her talents—but that’s just another of the lamentable ironies that entangle my life.

Roy came out of his office and pretended not to see me so he didn’t have to re-live my rejection. Amanda looked up at him neutrally as he passed by. She muttered something about picking up extra food for dinner, as if seeing him jarred a guilty conscience. I took Roy to be a guy who would care about the incidentals.

“Everything is as you’ve requested,” said Amanda as she swiveled the computer screen around so I could see. “The deposit will take a day to clear, then you’ll be okay as long as you don’t let things slip past the minimum.”

“I’ll be alert.”

She swiveled the monitor back around to wrap up the transaction. I vaguely remembered that, like her husband, she was a local, born and bred.

“Did you know Regina Broadhurst?” I asked out of the blue, enough to surprise myself as much as her.

She looked at me blankly, but nodded. “Yes I did, as a matter of fact. She just died.”

“Yeah, I know. I found her myself.”

Her shoulders dropped in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay. It’s just that I got myself into a situation where I have to talk to her nephew, who’s supposed to be her only next of kin. You know if there’s anybody else?”

“I know very little about her. I heard of her death from the people at the Senior Center. She was a friend of my mother’s. That is, they knew each other. I don’t know if I’d say they were really friends. I think they worked together years ago.”

“Regina was sort of a hard drink.”

“She wasn’t very pleasant. Are you handling her affairs?”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m just the next-door neighbor. I don’t know, I got myself stuck with this, like I said. Just thought you might know about the nephew, Jimmy Maddox, since you’ve been out here all along.”

“Not really all along. I was away for quite a while. Like you,” she said, and then suddenly looked embarrassed, as if caught with stolen knowledge of my personal life.

“My mother, on the other hand,” she said quickly to cover the moment, “would have known, I’m sure. Only she’s gone, too. They spent time together at the Senior Center.”

“Sorry. What was her name?”

“It was only about a year ago. Julia. Julia Anselma.”

“Italiana. Va bene.”

“Battiston isn’t really as pretty, is it?” she said, this time embarrassed that she’d shared a private little bit of her own.

“No,” I admitted, “it isn’t.”

She scanned the room as if awakened to the intimate drift of the conversation. She sat up straight and tapped a few times on the computer keyboard, covering her tracks.

I got up to leave.

“If you want to know more about Regina,” she said without looking up, “you probably should stop over at the Senior Center. It’s quite a tradition with local people. They’ll probably know a lot more.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the information. Regards to Roy.”

She smiled a twisted little smile and nodded, looking a little unbalanced. I didn’t want to disturb her, but I seemed to be doing it anyway. So I smiled back, gently I hoped, not wanting her to be afraid of me or regretful that we’d talked. It only made her look more intently at her monitor.

The sharper angle of the autumn sun was rinsing away the remainder of summer’s color. Still, it was clear and the air did little to interfere with the light that shot down Main Street, careening off the worn Mercedes and Rolls Royces of the year-round rich, and the service vans and dented pickups that reclaimed the village off-season. I bought some flavored coffee and a croissant at the coffee place on the corner before driving back up to North Sea —avoiding eye contact with the tradesmen more embarrassed than me to be seen in a Summer People hangout.

In the mailbox was a bundle of death certificates and a letter naming me administrator of Regina Broadhurst’s estate, pursuant to a hearing by the Surrogate’s Court, which the Town attorney, Mel Goodfellow, circled in pen and noted was pro forma, so I didn’t have to show up. I was surprised and mildly impressed with Sullivan’s prompt action. He must have really wanted this thing off his back.

When I opened the door to let Eddie out the phone was ringing. I pushed the receiver into my ear with my shoulder so I could use both hands to dump a tray of ice into the ice bucket. It was Amanda Battiston.

“I’m sorry if I was short with you.”

“You weren’t short.”

“Roy gets really annoyed with me when I talk about my mother.”

“We were talking about Regina Broadhurst.”

“I said they were friends, but mother really didn’t like her. She called her That Woman.”

“Regina had that affect on people.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble with Roy.”

“He doesn’t know you’re not an Aff-1.”

“Aff-1?”

“Top affluent account. Minimum seven-figure net worth.”

“Definitely not Afff-1.”

“He doesn’t like it when locals do well. But he likes their business.”

“I could ease his mind.”

“No. That’s all right. I just didn’t want you to think I was rude.”

“Some time maybe we could get a cup of coffee and talk about your mother and Regina. When you’re not worried about Roy looking over your shoulder.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“I understand. Anything else you can tell me, just give me a call. You obviously got my number.”

“It’s on your account information. I hope you don’t mind.”