Chapter 9
In Carmel, a small town a little over a hundred miles south of San Francisco, crowds often gather on the beach at dusk to watch the sun slip into the ocean.
But in San Francisco, dawn is the real showstopper.
In the early morning hours, the Golden Gate Bridge disappears into the fog, which envelops the bay and covers the city up to the marina.
Arthur had explained all of this to Thomas.
The sun rises slowly out of its cottony veil, he had said, casting a honey-colored hue on the Pacific beaches. Then, after it passes over the Castro neighborhood, the fog evaporates once more, as quickly as a receding tide.
Arthur had told Thomas that if he woke up early enough, he should go up Twin Peaks to enjoy the breathtaking view. He even had offered to lend Thomas his car. When he woke up at first light, Thomas decided to take this advice.
He left through the back door, where he caught the smell of freshly tilled soil wafting from the yard. The Saab was parked in an alley that ran along the side of the Victorian home. Thomas took Arthur’s keys out of his pocket.
His father was sitting in the back seat. Raymond explained that he’d always wanted to have a chauffeur. “I couldn’t have afforded it with my salary,” he said. “So, it’s particularly gratifying now to be driven around by my son.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can sit on the hood. I don’t mind.”
“Be careful when you downshift. The transmission on this car is tricky.”
“Since when are you a car expert?” Thomas asked, amused.
“I had a Saab just like this one before you were born, can you believe it? I drove your mother all the way to Tuscany in it! She was a beauty, olive green—the car, not your mother, of course. Jeanne hated the color, but she liked how comfortable the seats were.”
“If you hadn’t met Camille, do you think you and Mom would have stayed in love?”
“If we’d been capable of loving each other for that long, I don’t think Camille would have come into my life. I’ll admit, I did like to flirt a little. But who could blame me for that? I wasn’t a womanizer, though. I had too much respect for women to do that.”
“You said things soured between you and Mom after I was born. Am I the reason you ended up getting divorced?”
“We were the reason. Over time, people start to take everything for granted, including their spouses. When I was your age, I promised I would never be like the men who forget the passion of a relationship’s beginning, that one that dominates the first months or even years.
But your mother and I did forget. We slowly grew apart, without realizing that the distance between us was growing.
The affection we had for each other disappeared, and the tender, little daily gestures—which are much more important than any of us are willing to admit—vanished with it.
Sometimes, I would watch as you kissed your mother good night and think, How could an adult ever love another person that much?
What happened between us wasn’t your fault at all.
And, though it might surprise you to hear it, you proved me wrong.
The love we have for our children has no bounds—it’s proof that people can love unconditionally.
You helped me understand that. If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have any hope of a second chance.
Which brings us back to Camille,” Raymond concluded as he slipped into the front seat. “Say, is there a problem with the car?”
“No, the engine’s purring like a kitten. Why?”
“No reason. I was just wondering why we’re going so slow.”
Thomas shot his father a dirty look.
“Eyes on the road, please. At the speed we’re going, who knows what could happen.”
“So, what happened when you and Mom went to Italy?”
“Don’t think about your mother now. We need to focus on the task at hand.
First, we’ll case the joint during the funeral.
We’ll take a few pictures while no one is looking.
We’ll need a disposable camera. Come to think of it, maybe not—the lab that develops them could connect the dots when they hear the story on the news.
Unless you pay cash. Don’t forget to stop by an ATM.
After you take the photos, we’ll draw up a detailed map that includes all possible points of entry: doors, windows, ceiling lights, and ventilation shafts.
Then, later that night, we’ll break in. Easy peasy. ”
“Easy peasy, huh?”
“More or less.”
“Who do you think you are? A thief like Arsène Lupin?”
“What’s wrong with Lupin? He was a gentleman, and always impeccably dressed.”
“Look, they don’t sell disposable cameras anymore.
And we’re not going to break in. Let me remind you that the ‘us’ you’re referring to is actually just me.
I’ll go ‘case’ the place, as you put it, and then simply figure out the best way to go back after the funeral to get some time alone with both urns, to mix your ashes together. ”
“That’s another way to do it,” Raymond admitted. “Less exciting, but . . .”
“More practical. I think ‘practical’ is the word you’re looking for.”
“But what about scattering them?”
“Look, the terms of our absurd agreement were quite clear: I’m to mix you two together and give the whole thing a good shake. That’s it.”
Raymond was quiet for a moment.
“And what if her husband decides to keep us? On his nightstand, for example. Surely you can see how awkward that would be?”
“Do you know a lot of men who sleep with their dead wives on their nightstand?”
“No. But don’t forget, he was an engineer.”
“So?”
“Who knows how a person like that thinks! He takes things very seriously. He put over five thousand miles between Camille and me to keep us apart. If that’s not over-the-top behavior, I don’t know what is!”
“Stealing an urn full of still-warm ashes is one example that comes to mind.”
“Thomas, don’t forget you still owe me some respect. I am your father, after all.”
“It’s funny, you always used to say that to me when you were wrong.”
“Well, then I can’t have said it very often!”
When they reached the top of the hill, Thomas left the car on the road next to the park and walked the few steps to the viewpoint. A thick fog floated over the ocean like a shroud. Like a white desert drifting through the air.
“I have to admit, a man could dream of having a view like that.” Raymond sighed. “But I get it if you’d rather leave me in some brass pot.”
Thomas rested his gaze on a flower bed of red and white tulips planted in perfect rows. The work of a meticulous gardener. Nature was cooperative in this place. There wasn’t even a single weed to throw off the symmetry.
“What we did in the plane—that is, what you helped me to do—was incredible,” he said.
“Really?”
“Going onstage gives me an incredible rush; I feel a fire in my belly. But that feeling’s nothing compared with what I felt the moment that man regained consciousness.”
“It’s funny you say that. Most of my colleagues visited their patients after they’d been taken back to their rooms. But I always preferred to see them right when they woke up from the anesthesia.
I liked watching them come out of it. Whatever their age, whenever my patients opened their eyes or mumbled something as they regained consciousness, I felt like I was witnessing a birth.
That moment of awakening was magical. Still, don’t underestimate what you accomplish when you play.
I was there at your concert, and I saw the audience light up.
Their eyes were full of wonder. Believe you me, as your good old Albert would say. ”
“His name’s Marcel. Tell me, why did that man pass out on the plane?”
“He must have overheard your conversation with your seatmate. No doubt it sapped him of his will to live.”
“Could you be serious every once in a while?”
“How strange: When I was alive, you were always telling me to lighten up. That man was diabetic. You saved his life by giving him that injection. Whatever else happens, this trip will have resulted in some good.”
“That’s true.” Thomas sighed. “You win, I’ll scatter your ashes.”
“Our ashes, to be clear,” his father specified. “Don’t forget to shave before going to the funeral home, okay? I’d like you to look your best for Camille.”
“Why? Will she be able to see me?” Thomas asked worriedly.
“I don’t think so. It’s just the principle of the thing. Honestly, you don’t see much of anything at first . . . I’d better stop there. I’ll get in trouble if I say any more.”
When he got back to the small Green Street apartment, Thomas did as he had been told. He took a shower, shaved, and put on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. He was just contemplating where to get breakfast when his dad interrupted.
“I hope you aren’t planning to go to the funeral home dressed like that. Change into your gray suit, please.”
Thomas rifled through his bag, but it wasn’t there. “I forgot it at home,” he said. “I brought two button-down shirts and a pair of khakis, plus what I have on. Since I wasn’t traveling for a concert for once, I just threw in the bare minimum.”
“You don’t have a tie?”
“No tie, no jacket. Except for the suede jacket I had on the plane.”
“A suede jacket? We’re not going to an air show, for heaven’s sake! We’ll have to buy you something decent to wear, right away. And please don’t try to tell me that those things you have on your feet are supposed to pass as dress shoes.”
“Do you honestly believe I can afford to buy new clothes every time I travel to a new city?”
“A dark-colored suit and a pair of loafers, there’s no other way. And a tie! You’ll inherit money when your mother dies,” Raymond replied furiously.
“Charming. I’m sure Mom would be delighted to hear you hurrying along her death so her son can dress nicely for his father’s mistress’s funeral.”
“Don’t exaggerate. Anyway, what’s the point of a credit limit if you don’t use it?”
“I do use it. I’m at my limit.”
“Don’t they pay pianists these days?”
“They do, but not well.”