Secrets & Lies by Raymond Benson

as we shook hands. “You look dandy.”
    â€œI don’t feel dandy. My back is acting up again.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry.”
    He waved a hand to dismiss any pity. “Come on in. Can I get you anything?”
    I declined and followed him into the little office where nearly a year ago he had handed me the biggest surprise of my life. When I closed the door myself, Thomas raised his eyebrow at me. It was going to be one of
those
kinds of talks.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Martin?” he asked as I sat in front of his desk. He moved to his own chair and lowered himself slowly into it, wincing as he went.
    â€œHave you seen a doctor?” I asked.
    â€œYeah. I get these every once in a while, I’m just getting old.”
    â€œMaybe you’re working too hard. Aren’t you ever going to retire?”
    â€œI’ll retire on the day I die, Martin. I can’t stand to do nothing.” He indicated the piles of folders and paperwork. “Look at this, Martin. It’s more work than I can handle. I’m a very lucky lawyer at my age. Now what can I do for you? You look concerned. How’s your mother?”
    I told him the results of Mom’s medical evaluation, and Thomas nodded grimly. “I was wondering when it would come to this point,” he said. He seemed truly broken up about the news and went into a spell of private grief.
    â€œUncle Thomas,” I began, as gently as I could, “I came to ask you about any arrangements that might have been made. You know, for her funeral.”
    He snapped out of it and nodded. “Yes, Martin, she took care of all that. Once she realized she had Alzheimer’s, she made all the arrangements with me. She paid for a funeral for herself. It was part of the process of eliminating her assets. You don’t have to worry about it.”
    I nodded and then just gazed at him.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œI think you know a lot more about my mom than you’ve admitted to me.”
    My statement surprised him. His eyes blinked rapidly for a second. When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “I’ve never really asked you about it, Uncle Thomas. Last time you said you didn’t know what was in that envelope and strongbox. But I have a feeling you really did know. You’ve been the only person I’m
aware of
that Mom trusted and was close to, and I’ve never ever talked to you about it. So tell me, Uncle Thomas, did you know what was in that stuff last year?”
    He averted his eyes and stared at the desk for a long time. His silence was my answer. Then he said, “Martin, your mother made me promise not to let on that I knew her story until after she was gone.”
    â€œSo you know—everything?”
    He nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
    â€œYou’ve read the diaries?”
    â€œNo. She wouldn’t let me. Those were for your eyes only.”
    â€œWhy would she not want me to know you know? It doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œAll she said was that it would build character for you to deal with it on your own. I wasn’t to interfere. It was up to you whether to tell the world her secret as soon as you could, or keep it under wraps as you’re doing, or sell the life story after she’s gone. My role has been to carry out her wishes, Martin, and that’s all. And you should know that everything she did—everything she’s done since the day you were born was for you. She went into hiding, as you probably know by now, to protect you. She loved you more than anything.”
    â€œProtect me from whom?”
    He wrinkled his brow. “Don’t you know?”
    I shook my head. “I haven’t read all the diaries. It’s too painful. Well, it was for a while. I couldn’t do it. I’m just now reading the fourth one.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œSo who is it?”
    â€œThey were people who wanted to