Chapter 8
The taxi stopped in front of a typical Pacific Heights Victorian on Green Street. Thomas paid the driver, grabbed his bag, and rang the doorbell.
A woman in her forties, radiant and with a natural look, opened the door.
“Hi, I’m Thomas,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Lauren Kline. I was afraid your flight would be late. I have to be at the hospital in an hour, so I really need to go. Follow me and I’ll give you a quick tour.”
“Are you a doctor, then?” Thomas asked as he stepped inside.
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.”
“Do you have some sort of health problem?” Lauren asked with concern as she made her way down the stairs to the rental.
“No, everything’s fine in the health department.”
“Glad to hear it. Here we are.” She opened the door to the apartment. “The bedroom is to the right, and the bathroom and living room are on the left, plus a kitchenette.”
Thomas studied the room. The wood floor was made of wide boards.
There was a couch covered with a blanket, an old coffee table, four wicker chairs, and a colorful rug.
The decor was a little mismatched, but it created a cheerful atmosphere.
The four windows—two looked out onto the street, two onto the flower-filled yard—filled the space with light.
“We live just upstairs,” his host explained, “but you won’t hear us. My husband is in Carmel today and won’t be home until early evening. And I’ll be back very late. Doctors’ hours aren’t the best.”
“I know,” Thomas replied.
“Is your wife a doctor?”
“No, my father was a surgeon.”
“Has he retired? What was his specialty?”
“Cardiothoracic. He lived for the operating table, but he’s no longer with us.”
“I’m sorry. What brings you to San Francisco? You’re only staying three nights, right?”
Thomas hesitated, then confessed he’d crossed the Atlantic to attend a funeral.
“Someone close to you? Obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have traveled so far.”
“Actually, I barely knew her. She was my father’s mistress.”
Lauren offered a wry smile.
“We went to France three years ago. My husband’s best friend lives in Paris, and we went to visit him.”
“Did you like it there?”
“So much. Parisians say exactly what they think. It’s irresistible.”
“You must not have stayed very long, then. Look, I don’t want to keep you. Your home is lovely. It’ll be perfect, don’t worry about a thing.”
“If you need anything, Arthur will be home this evening. He’ll be delighted to meet you.”
Lauren warned him not to worry if he heard something like the sound of gunshots coming from the garage—starting her old car was a little tricky. Then she was off.
Moments later, he heard the engine backfire. He looked out the window to see a green Triumph zooming down Green Street.
“What a lead foot!” Raymond exclaimed. “I like her, she’s got character.”
“The surgeon or the car?” asked Thomas.
“By the way, thank you for singing my praises to her in that elegant way you have. Would you like to go for a walk, or would you rather stay here and make more little jokes?”
Thomas opened the door to the bedroom. There was an old dresser stacked high with books, a wing chair next to the window, a jute rug, a large bed covered with a quilt, and two birch nightstands. The overall effect was charming.
“Which side do you want?” Raymond joked.
Thomas looked at his watch instead of answering. He was desperate to go to sleep, but he knew he had to stay awake to keep the jet lag at bay.
He took a shower, changed clothes, and then went for a walk on the neighborhood’s main street.
A sign of the times, an old movie theater on Union Street that still featured its historic facade was now home to a gym.
Thomas strolled in and out of several shops, then stepped into an art gallery that had the works of local artists on display.
Raymond stopped in front of a small pastel of a beach in the Presidio.
“This one’s not half bad,” he said. “Great lines in India ink and delicate colors. If you’re in the market for a gift for your mother, this would be perfect without breaking the bank.”
Thomas looked straight at his father. “You have to stop that.”
“What am I doing wrong now?”
“Speaking through me, reading my thoughts. This,” he said, pointing to his forehead, “is a line I forbid you to cross!”
“You’re being totally paranoid. Who do you think I am, anyway? An angel with supernatural gifts? That’s flattering, thanks, but you’ve got it all wrong. I’m just your father.”
“What about that little game you played on the plane? You think that’s normal?”
“I loaned you my voice, true, but I have no idea how it works. The urgency of the situation must have flipped some switch in me. I wouldn’t have any idea how to do it again.
As for the painting, well, it’s a gorgeous day outside, and instead of enjoying it, you’re wandering around a bunch of shops, so I figured you must be looking for something to buy.
And since you’re single, I knew it had to be for your mother.
It doesn’t take a ghost to figure that out.
So, now that my name’s been cleared, are you going to buy it or not? ”
Thomas exited the store with the painting. He walked a few paces down the street and sat at a table on the terrace at Perry’s, where he ordered a beer.
“Your mother will love it,” Raymond said, glancing at the gift bag at Thomas’s feet. “That said, it also would have been a perfect gift for a sweetheart, if you had one . . .”
“That’s a bit of a dated term.”
“No, it’s charming. What on earth do you like so much about being single? It’s boring!”
“I’m not sure you’re the best person to give me this lecture. Has it truly never occurred to you that you and Mom’s divorce may have given me commitment issues?”
“Oh, don’t play the victim. The reason you’re so afraid of commitment is because you put your career first, your music, your trips . . . It’s all rather selfish. Order something to eat; you shouldn’t go to bed hungry.”
“Hmm . . .”
“Your ‘hmms’ are starting to get on my nerves.”
“What about you? Do you sleep at night since you’ve died?” Thomas asked.
“Let me put it this way: Day and night don’t mean much to me anymore, but the idea of eternal rest is a scam.”
“I thought you weren’t allowed to tell me anything about it.”
“I didn’t tell you anything. You drew your own conclusions about whether I sleep or not, didn’t you? They can’t hold a simple conversation with my son against me. And by the way, if I do slip up, please keep it to yourself.”
“Who could I ever tell this to without sounding like a nut job?”
“Don’t say that. Someday, you’ll meet someone, and the two of you will write a beautiful story together, you’ll see. And you’ll be able to tell her everything, even your craziest thoughts.”
“Could you do that with Camille?”
“I did it with your mother.”
Raymond looked at the menu and suggested a hamburger. “When traveling, it’s always best to opt for local cuisine,” he added.
Thomas ordered a salad.
“I’ve figured out what your problem is. You don’t laugh enough, son.”
“I know what you’re going to say next: ‘You only live once.’”
“No, that’s also a load of nonsense. The truth is that you only die once, but you live every day. So, stop making that sad face. You look like you’re at a funeral.”
“I was practicing for my upcoming role. You can hardly complain about that, now can you?” As he spoke, Thomas placed his hand on his father’s shoulder.
Across the room, the waitress couldn’t help but wonder about the customer who was comforting an empty chair.