Souvenir of Cold Springs Read Online Free Page B

left, and she had all the money.
    But Margaret hesitated to ask her, not because she thought her aunt would refuse but because she was pretty sure she’d agree. It made her feel guilty. What did the old lady have in her life? A cat. A big old house full of stuff nobody wanted. Bran cereal and prunes. Relatives who coveted her dough.
    When Margaret was little she used to like going to Aunt Nell’s every year for the big family Thanksgiving dinner. She and her parents always stayed overnight. There was always a cat, that Aunt Nell always named Dinah. There was an antique bed with pineapple posts. There was the dusty attic where she could take the cat and hide from her cousins. There was Aunt Nell’s friend Thea, who kept chocolate kisses in the pocket of her apron. There was Aunt Nell herself, who at some point always used to tuck a folded ten-dollar bill into Margaret’s palm and say, “This is for you to spend, don’t tell your parents about it.”
    As Margaret got older she dreaded those reunions. Her cousins always seemed to be going through unpleasant stages. After Thea died, Aunt Nell became crabby, and the food wasn’t as good. And it was boring there—nothing to do but pet the cat or sneak away with a book or be snubbed by Heather or watch Uncle Teddy get drunk. She was still fond of Aunt Nell, and sometimes thought of going up to Syracuse to visit her, but she never did. She couldn’t believe she would be anything but a burden, an awkward young niece who didn’t have a lot to say. After Thea’s funeral, when they were all up at her aunt’s house eating lunch, Margaret had tried to tell her aunt how much she had liked Thea, how sorry she was, and Nell had been mean to her for the first time in her life—brushed her aside, said it didn’t matter, what good did anyone’s sympathy do.
    She sat on her bed and finished the tea and cookies. She tried to empty her mind by staring at the alarm clock. The tick was so loud she couldn’t actually use the clock, and when she was eight years old she had permanently stopped it at 8:13, which someone told her was the time Lincoln was shot. She used to stare at the Roman-numeraled face until she got double vision and began to feel dizzy, and then she would close her eyes, open them, and something significant would come into her mind. She tried it, but the only thing that came into her mind was the doctor who had scraped her clean, Dr. O’Something, she could never remember, trying to hide his disapproval behind an unconvincingly brisk manner, calling her “Ms. Neal,” scribbling on her chart and refusing to look her in the eye.
    Q: Should I or shouldn’t I?
    A: Go ahead. See if you can take advantage of an old lady on top of everything else you’ve done.
    She went to the desk for more stationery and wrote:
    Dear Aunt Nell, I wonder if you could lend me the price of a plane ticket to San Francisco. My parents are still mad at me for leaving Harvard, and I’m afraid to ask them for anything. In fact, I try to stay as unobtrusive as possible around here. I’ve been in touch with Heather, and she has promised to look after me, help me find a job, etc. But I can’t make any definite plans until I have plane fare, which I figure is about $250, say $300 (one way), although I’ll fly the cheapest airline possible and send you back any extra. I hate to ask you, but you’ve always been so good to me, not that that’s a good reason, I don’t like to impose on your goodwill, but I’m really desperate. I’ve had so much bad luck in Boston and vicinity that I just feel the need to make a fresh start somewhere. So for any assistance you can give, the undersigned will be eternally grateful. Love, Margaret .
    PS. Good luck with selling the house and your new condo. I guess we’ll see you at Thanksgiving unless I’m in California by then—???
    Margaret took the letter