The Legacy by Howard Fast

chattering like this.” She sat facing Carson. “But I do feel I know you. Barbara has talked about you a great deal.”
    Carson nodded. “I thought she might. I know that a time like this —”
    â€œA time like this,” Jean said, “is very naked. I don’t know why people must be so damned apologetic about death. It’s the only certainty we face, and perhaps the only time we are decently honest with ourselves. Barbara tells me you want to marry her.”
    â€œYes, I do.”
    â€œYou’re eight years younger than she is. Do you think you can live with that?”
    â€œI didn’t ask her lightly, Mrs. Lavette. I’m thirty-six, but I grew up a while ago. I had four years of the army. I was married once, ten years ago. It lasted six months.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Jean said. “I plunged right in, didn’t I? But Barbara will be back any moment, and I wanted a few direct words before she arrived.”
    â€œAnd you don’t mince them, do you? All right, Mrs. Lavette. What I started to say is that I’m not a casual repeat offender. I waited a long time before I decided to marry again, and I don’t want to lose the best woman I’ve found because we happen to have been born not according to social schedule. I came here to offer my condolences, and instead …” His words trailed off.
    â€œThank goodness. Condolences are meaningless. You didn’t know my husband and you do know my daughter. I prefer we talk about her and about yourself. My daughter is an interesting and remarkable woman. The Girl Scout image is deceptive. She has lived through many kinds of hell, and she has come out of it with her head up, which doesn’t mean that she’s ready to accept the world as it is. She has too many rules. I, for one, could not live up to them. Do you think you could?”
    Carson laughed. “That’s a wonderful description of Barbara. I could try.”
    They heard the outside door slam, and then Barbara’s voice: “Mother — where are you?”
    â€œIn the library.”
    Barbara came into the room. She was wearing an old, heavy sweater, her hair blown and her cheeks flushed with the night wind. She saw Carson, paused, and then said, “Hello, old friend. So you did come after all.” She bent to kiss Jean. Carson had stood up, and now he waited. She went over to him and kissed him.
    â€œYou’ve both had a bad time of it, haven’t you?” he said.
    â€œAs such things go.”
    â€œWhatever I can do —”
    â€œBeing here is nice,” Barbara assured him. “Have you and mother had time to talk?”
    â€œSome. Yes, we talked.”
    Jean watched the two of them with interest and said nothing.
    â€œI was thinking of you, Kit Carson,” Barbara told him. “I walked all the way down to Market Street and then rode the cable back. It was good, first time out of the house since the funeral. I was thinking that I never want to go back. It’s not that I hate Beverly Hills. It’s simply a place that fills me with sadness and despair, and if I were only one of those clever and cynical writers, I could write a book about it and turn it to good use. This way —” She shrugged.
    â€œI have to live in Los Angeles,” Carson said.
    â€œI know. That’s what I was thinking about.”
    â€œDo you want to give it a try?”
    â€œPerhaps. I was thinking about that, too. I’m going to make some tea, and then we can talk about it or not, just as you wish.” With that, Barbara left the room.
    â€œWell, Carson,” Jean said, “this is what my husband used to call a moment of truth. Do you think you can hack it?”
    â€œI think so.”
    Jean nodded and leaned back on the couch, staring into the fire. If Barbara left to live in Los Angeles, she would be alone, more alone than she had ever been.

Two

B arbara and Carson Devron