Page 80 of That Weekend in Paris
“That’s an understandable question on your part. I got a call from Curtis a little while ago. It seems that he took Klein to see a doctor this morning.”
“Yes, I know he’s not feeling well,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
Pete looks at me for a long, hard moment, and a chill creeps its way down my spine.
“I’m a little curious about something Curtis said.”
“Oh, really? What would that be?”
“He said the doctor wondered if Klein might’ve been exposed to something toxic.” He drops the last words like a quarter in a slot machine, my response his potential prize.
“That would be odd, wouldn’t it?” I say in as clipped a tone as I can manage.
“It would,” Pete agrees. “And not something I would ordinarily think anything about except that there is this thing I found out about you and Aaron, which I know I never actually completely conveyed to you. There really didn’t seem to be any point in going over that when we had agreed on a deal for my silence. But now I’m wondering if maybe that had been a rash decision on my part.”
“What exactly do you think you know, Pete?”
“I know that one day when Aaron and I were hanging out having a beer, and he was talking to me about his depression, he confided that you had actually suggested he might want to commit suicide.”
The words drop across me like bullets at a target, punching holes as they land. “If you knew him, surely you know that Aaron tended to exaggerate.”
“Actually,” Pete says, “I knew him to be an extremely kind soul who never hurt anyone in his life. I also know that he was madly in love with you, or at least he thought he was, but he did struggle with depression, like many creative people I know. He seemed to think that once you figured out he probably wasn’t going to get to the rung on the ladder of life you were aiming for, you were pretty much done with him.”
“That is insane,” I say. “And that might be an accurate word to describe Aaron in the last year of his life.”
“You see,” Pete says, giving me a long cold stare. “I have to disagree with that because I knew him well. I spent a lot of time with Aaron in the last year of his life. That’s not what I saw at all. I saw a man with a broken heart for sure and a man struggling with clinical depression.”
“And he told you that I said he should kill himself? I don’t know. Maybe I did say that in the heat of one of our arguments or something, but who doesn’t say things like that now and then?”
He considers this for several loud seconds. “I can’t say that I know anyone who does. You see, I saw the texts that you sent him, not just one but several. And they all said exactly that, that when a person gets as sad as he was, maybe there really is no other option for ending it.”
I consider my response for some time. I could deny it, but he said he saw the texts, so that would be pointless. I opt for another strategy. “And do you think you’re so much better than me, Pete? You who angled to sleep with me using this very information? How do you figure that makes you any better than me at all?”
“It doesn’t,” Pete says. “I readily admit it. I’ve never claimed to be any kind of saint, far from it, in fact. And if I had it to do over again, I probably would pass on that little piece of blackmail I pulled with you. But there you go. We don’t get to redo many of our mistakes in this life, do we? However, when I was talking to Curtis this morning, and he mentioned the whole poisoning thing, I wondered what lengths you might go to when Klein made it clear he didn’t want a future with you? Am I getting close, Riley?”
I feel the blood leave my face. I’m really a better liar than this, but somehow he’s caught me off guard, and I am all but handing him a winning ticket.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Pete,” I say. But even to my ears, the words are unconvincing.
He shrugs. “Maybe not, but I’ve lost one buddy to you, Riley. And even though I would never call myself a great friend to Klein, I’m not so far down the road that I would let him get thrown under the bus by you, too.”
“Get out, Pete,” I say, my teeth literally clenched together. I want to pick up the closest object and hurl it at him, but that would only bring a barrage of nurses running, and right now, I just need to be by myself to regroup, to think.
“You take care now, Riley,” he says, getting up and stopping at the doorway. He turns around to look at me one more time. But it’s not gloating that I see there. It’s something that looks a lot more like regret.
Klein
“Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
The brave man with a sword”
