Page 34 of Kill Your Darlings

The funeral, like everything else in Texas, was blazingly hot. One of Bryce’s multiple uncles, Hollis, had appointed himself

Wendy’s escort for the afternoon, sitting behind her during the service and repeatedly pressing a hand onto her shoulder,

and then bringing her constant drinks and snacks during the interminable reception afterward. She wondered if Uncle Hollis,

who’d already had three wives, was hoping that she might be his fourth.

The only thing that made the day bearable had been her brother, Alan, who’d arrived two days after Wendy’s husband Bryce had

been discovered dead in the pool of their house. Wendy’s mother had actually booked a flight to come out for the funeral but

at the last moment she’d had an emergency with one of her dogs. Wendy had been relieved but was ultimately glad that her brother

had made it. Bryce’s family had alternated between over-the-top concern and bouts of chilliness, especially Bryce’s older

sister, Sloane, who was either pulling Wendy in for long, awkward hugs or staring at her from across rooms like she was a

cat stalking a mouse.

After the small service at the burial site, the immediate family plus a few close friends (the family’s, not Wendy’s) gathered at her in-laws’ house.

Wendy had known that this moment was going to arrive, Bryce’s funeral, and she had wondered how she would feel when it did.

That morning, before she got out of bed, she had gone over her feelings about the day.

She allowed herself one moment of sadness, thinking back to the first night she got to know Bryce, how he’d seemed almost childlike, desperate for someone to take care of him.

And she allowed herself a moment of worry that everyone at the funeral would take one look at her and know what she had done, that the house of cards would come collapsing down and she would spend the rest of her life either incarcerated or penniless.

And then she put those feelings away again.

She got out of bed and dressed for her husband’s funeral.

And now that she was at the funeral reception, all she felt was palpable relief.

Bryce was gone from the world, and that meant she would soon be gone from his world as well.

Gone from Texas. Gone from his soulless, money-grubbing family.

Gone from this tacky ranch with its giant rooms and gaudy furniture.

She felt no remorse. And, truthfully, didn’t feel any real sadness for the family.

She knew they hadn’t really liked him. No one really had.

“How are you holding up?” This was from Bryce’s aunt, his mother’s younger sister, one of the more poisonous members of the

Barrington clan.

“It’s surreal,” Wendy said. “I keep looking around and just expect Bryce to walk into the room. I can’t quite comprehend that

he’s really gone.”

Aunt Shelby was nodding her head up and down on her freakishly long neck. “Well, look, the only good news is that you’re a

Barrington now. Just because Bryce is gone doesn’t mean that you’re not still part of this family. I was talking to Sunny

and she said the same thing. The only thing that makes this at all bearable is that Bryce brought you into this family before

he died, another daughter, another niece, another sister for Sloane. Goodness, she needs a steady hand in her life.”

“I feel the same way,” Wendy said, then managed to catch Alan’s eye from across the room. He made his way toward them to break up the conversation.

By dusk most of the guests had either departed or, if they were staying at the house, retreated to their rooms. Wendy and

Alan sat next to each other on the sofa that had been upholstered to look like the Texas flag. Alan said, “I think Mom really

did want to come. But you know...”

“It’s fine that she didn’t. I can’t quite imagine her here, can you?”

“These days I can’t imagine her anywhere but in her home. She’s happy, you know. She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Wendy was quiet for a moment, taking that in, realizing that with the money coming to her, her mother would never have to

change her life again.

“I’ll come out as soon as I can, just as soon as everything’s settled here.”

“How long will that take?” Alan said.

“Hopefully less than a day.”

Alan did one of his silent laughs, his shoulders hitching up. “This is quite a family you married into.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Several of them told me how they hoped you’d keep living here now that you’re a Barrington.”

“Yes, they’ve told me that too. I think it has more to do with keeping the money here. They’re worried I’m going to take Bryce’s

money away with me.”

Bryce’s father’s dog, some kind of terrier, wandered by, sniffing along the white carpet for dropped food. “Is it a lot of

money?” Alan said.

“Here in Texas it’s pocket money. Across state lines I’m a rich woman. It’s your money, too, Alan. Yours and Mom’s.”

“I’m fine. Mom’s fine too.”

“I know you’re both fine, but I also want you both to know that if you need any money, I have it now. I mean, I had it before but now it’s all mine.”

“Mine, all mine,” Alan said, rubbing his hands together. Then his face suddenly dropped, and he said, “God, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It was funny.”

Bryce’s father’s girlfriend, Melanie, came flying by, having spotted the dog eating food off a low coffee table. She snatched

him up and as she walked past Wendy and Alan, she said, very drunkenly, “Wendy, you and I are going to go out on one epic

girls’ night soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Wendy said. Then turned to her brother and said, “I’m going to go back to the pool house. You want to come, or do

you want to go back to your hotel?”

“No, you go be alone, unless you want me there. I’ll stay here a little longer and tell anyone who asks that you’re taking

a sleeping pill and getting into bed early.”

She kissed her brother on the cheek. He had long hair now, longer than hers, and it suited him. Once outside in the diminishing

light Wendy put her head down to make her way to the pool house. She could smell cigarette smoke in the breeze and knew that

someone was around. When she got to her door a voice said, “Wendy, hold up.”

She turned to see Sloane, cigarette burning between her fingers, unsteadily making her way to her across the tarmac. Wendy

thought, not for the first time, just how much Sloane looked like Bryce. They had the same small eyes, the same jawline, only

Sloane tried to make up for it with neon makeup and teased hair that added six inches to her height. “Wendy, let’s talk,”

she said.

“Sloane, I’m exhausted. I just want to get into bed early and try and fall asleep.”

“Sure, sure. I get it, honey. Let’s just... Do you want the rest of my cigarette? It’s making me dizzy.”

“No, thanks. Sloane, you should go to sleep as well. You’re staying here, right?”

“In my old room. Did I tell you what Daddy did? He turned it into a guest room with, like, little”—she was mimicking something

with her hands, pinching at the air—“little soaps in the bathroom, and little things on the pillows.”

“I’m sorry, Sloane,” Wendy said, taking a step toward her house.

“Look, Wendy,” Sloane said, lowering her head and flicking her cigarette away. “You don’t care about my room, do you? I mean,

why should you? You’re a rich widow now. You’ve got the Cooper Bryce, Bryce Cooper trust-fund money. Do you know how much

money I got when I turned twenty-one? I didn’t get ten thousand million dollars. No way. Because I was born first, right,

but I was a girl, so I got a lousy one thousand million dollars. Can you believe that? Because I’m a girl. Do you want to

know what my friend Billy said about you? Do you know Billy?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, Billy’s my gay friend. And he told me that he thinks you killed my brother for all his money. Can you believe it?”

“Sloan, I...”

“I told him, no way, but he was like, bitch, of course she did, and I was like, Wendy wouldn’t do that. She loves my brother.

But now...” Sloane was waggling a finger, and Wendy had a brief thought that if this scene were in a soap opera it would

be way over the top. “But now I don’t know. Did you love my brother, or did you just kill him for all his money?”

“Good night, Sloane,” Wendy said, and turned and went through the door of the pool house.

She could hear Sloan shout out “Bitch!” and for a moment she wondered if she should go back outside, try to talk Sloan down a little, but she just didn’t care.

Until that moment she’d told herself that she would need to stick around Lubbock for at least a month or so, just to make it look good, but now she wondered if it even made a difference.

Everyone was probably thinking what Sloane was thinking, but would that matter?

She’d been interviewed by a very friendly police officer after returning to Happy Lake, and he’d asked her some questions in an almost apologetic tone—“Was Bryce seeing anyone else that you know of?”; “Did he have any enemies?”; “Do you think he might have had a problem with alcohol?”—even though it had been abundantly clear to her that there was no evidence of any kind of foul play.

Still, it didn’t surprise her now to find out that at least one member of the family suspected she’d orchestrated this death. It was a lot of money, after all.

She turned off all the lights in the pool house so that no one would come and check on her, see if she was still awake, and

then she got into bed with a flashlight and the Milan Kundera novel she’d been slowly trying to work her way through. She

eventually fell into a thin version of sleep, but before that she went over and over both what she’d done to arrive in this

moment and what she would be doing next. She thought more about telling the family she was planning on leaving sooner rather

than later, that she needed to visit her mother, and then she would be looking for somewhere new to live. If they were going

to think of her as a villain, then who was she to stop them?