Chapter 9 #2
Raymond slumped onto the couch. “No one attends a funeral in jeans and sneakers,” he complained. “What were you thinking when you were packing?”
“I had a few teeny, tiny things on my mind. Like how I was going to get through airport security with my dad’s remains, why his ghost had suddenly appeared, and how I felt about the fact that he was in love with a woman I never even knew existed.
Not to mention the question of why I had agreed to steal her ashes, and—very fleetingly—what might happen if I got caught.
Oh, and I almost forgot, there was also my concert in Warsaw on Saturday night.
You’re right, I can’t believe I was so distracted I forgot to pack my best clothes. ”
“This sarcastic streak of yours is new,” Raymond muttered. “You weren’t always like that.”
“You’re right, this is the new me. So, what’s it going to be? Am I going to break into that funeral home dressed in jeans or not at all?”
“We could just steal a suit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me right. While you’re trying it on, I’ll create a diversion, and you can run out of the store.”
“Better yet, why don’t we steal the hearse? It’d be easier, and it would take care of both our problems at once.”
“Fantastic idea!” his father exclaimed. “All you’d have to do then is drive straight to the ocean.”
“That was a joke, Dad.”
“You’re right; it would be too risky. Plus, her idiot husband will probably be in it, and we can’t just throw him out the door while we’re driving. Though I’ll admit, the idea does have a certain appeal.”
They heard the Triumph’s wheels screech to a halt outside the house.
“Stay here,” Thomas ordered. “I have a slightly less crazy idea than the ones we’ve been discussing. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”
He walked out the garage door to meet Lauren, who was just coming home from the hospital.
“Hard shift?” he asked.
“A little,” she replied. “Someone got a concussion at three o’clock in the morning. People drive like maniacs, and then, when things go wrong, it’s my job to fix them.”
“I see,” Thomas said with a glance at her car’s faintly smoking tires.
It was obvious that Lauren wanted to go inside, see her husband, and enjoy a little well-deserved rest, but Thomas didn’t budge from the doorway.
“Is there a problem?” she asked worriedly.
“This request will seem a little strange, but is there any chance you could rent me a suit?”
She looked at him in surprise.
“I know, it’s ridiculous. I forgot mine in Paris, and what I’m wearing isn’t really suitable for a funeral,” he explained, gesturing toward his jeans. “I would go buy one, but my budget’s pretty tight at the moment.”
“I see,” Lauren said. “I could ask Arthur to let you borrow one—no need to pay. You’re about the same size. He has several he never wears. Come with me.”
Lauren led the way to a room in which Arthur sat working at his architect’s desk. He stood up to welcome his wife and then noticed Thomas standing behind her.
Thomas smiled awkwardly as Lauren rifled through the room’s closet on the hunt for a suit.
“I prefer the blue one, but black seems best given the circumstances,” she said as she handed it over. “Do you need anything else?”
“A tie?” Thomas ventured, lowering his eyes to the floor in embarrassment.
Arthur watched the whole thing in amusement.
“What size shoe do you wear?” he asked Thomas as Lauren walked out of the room. “I can lend you some loafers, too, if you need them.”
“Size twelve, thank you. My father hates sneakers.”
“Is your father in town?”
“No, sorry, force of habit. My father’s been dead for a long time.”
Arthur walked to the door of the room and passed Lauren on her way back in, a tie in hand.
“I’m going to get a pair of shoes,” he said with a chuckle.
He returned a moment later and passed the shoes to Thomas, who thanked him and gave him back his keys.
“Was the view as beautiful as I said?”
“Even more so.”
Thomas thanked them again profusely and backed out of the room, still ducking his head.
“He’s certainly unique,” Lauren said when he was gone.
“Seems like a nice guy,” Arthur added. “You’re right, though. There is something strange about him.”
“You mean, like the fact that he took an eleven-hour flight to go to a funeral and forgot a suit?”
“Is he alone in the apartment?”
“He was when he got here. Why?”
“I heard him talking a few times.”
“He must have been talking to himself. I do it all the time in the ER. I’ve been known to yell at packages of gauze that won’t open. I even shout at uncooperative gurneys.”
“Yes, but you’re a little nuts. Not everyone is crazy in your special way, you know.” Arthur kissed his wife. “It was just a feeling I got.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“As if there was some sort of aura around him.”
Lauren turned and headed toward their bedroom but then stopped halfway.
“What do you mean by ‘some sort of aura’?”
“I don’t really know how to describe it. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” Lauren said.
And then she walked out and shut the door behind her.
“Crisis averted,” Raymond said with a genuine sigh of relief.
“I’ll put on the suit, and then we can head to the funeral home. What’s the address?” asked Thomas.
“I don’t know exactly,” Raymond replied. “But I know I can guide you there.”
“How?”
“Just a gut feeling,” he answered nonchalantly.
Raymond categorically refused to say any more after that. He said that he was afraid he’d be called back to the afterlife for sharing information the living weren’t supposed to have. He promised to offer Thomas more details as they got closer to their destination.
“You chewed me out for forgetting a tie in Paris, but you don’t even know where the funeral is taking place!” Thomas grumbled.
“The place is green.” Raymond lifted his head calmly.
“Why are you sniffing the air?”
“I’m trying to concentrate. You’re distracting me.”
“Green,” Thomas repeated. “Any other clues, Lassie?”
“That’s enough of that! It’s very green, and ostentatious. It doesn’t surprise me that her husband chose a place like that.”
“A place like what, may I ask? That is, if I’m not distracting you.”
“I can see marble, gilt moldings, a large cupola, and lots of people. It looks like some kind of fancy mausoleum.”
“So a cemetery, then?”
“No, this place is something different. I can’t describe it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Thomas took out his smartphone, did a quick search, and turned the screen around to face his father.
“Something like this?” he asked, pointing to the San Francisco Columbarium.
“Yes, exactly that! I found it!” Raymond exclaimed.
“You found it?”
“I’m telling you, Thomas, it isn’t normal to be so sensitive at your age.”
“One Loraine Court, that’s the address. Please, don’t thank me.”
“My eternal thanks. Happy?”
Thomas scrolled through the photos to make sure it was the right place. The Columbarium stood in the middle of a lush park surrounded by a number of grand buildings. The most impressive of them looked a bit like the Jefferson Memorial.
“This place is huge! How am I going to find Camille in the middle of all those people?” Raymond asked.
“What people?”
“It’s very strange. I can see it’s not a cemetery, but there’s definitely a crowd.”
Thomas swiped his finger across the screen, then stopped on a picture of the Columbarium that left him dumbfounded.
Various wings extended from the central dome area, all of them filled with rooms that had tiny glass cabinets covering the walls.
Each compartment contained one or more urns, as well as knickknacks, pictures, and other personal effects. Each one told the story of a life.
“There actually are a lot of people in your Columbarium,” Thomas confirmed. He showed the photo to his father.
“This is so stupid. I’ll never find her in there,” Raymond said.
“Don’t be such a pessimist. I know what to do.”
“What?” his father asked worriedly.
“We’ll just look her up on the Dignity Memorial website. It’ll tell us which building the funeral will be in. What was her last name?”
“Brrrttlll,” mumbled Raymond.
“What was that?”
“Brrrttlll,” he repeated.
“That’s not a name.”
“Bartel! It’s her husband’s name. Did you get it this time?”
“I’m telling you, Dad, it’s not normal to be so jealous at your age.”
Thomas went to the bedroom and put on the suit and tie. He then came out to show his father.
“Much better,” Raymond said approvingly.
“But there’s still one problem. I haven’t seen any subway stations around here.
No bus stops, either. And the taxi that brought us here already cost you a fortune.
Do you think it would be too much to ask them to borrow their car again? And go brush your hair.”
“I’ve abused their hospitality enough already,” Thomas said as he stepped into the bathroom. “I’ll get an Uber.”
“A what?”
“A chauffeur,” Thomas replied while fixing his hair in front of the mirror.
“And all this time, you’ve been telling me you were broke,” Raymond muttered.
The car sped down Scott Street. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the funeral home gates.
A huge mausoleum built of white stone, with exquisite stained-glass windows and a copper dome, rose up from the center of a majestic park with freshly cut grass, groves of trees and shrubbery, and brightly colored flower beds. Long, equally majestic buildings stood on either side.
“Camille would have hated this place,” Raymond protested as they stepped through the gates.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Thomas told him.
“All this spectacle. It’s nothing like her.
Her husband must have chosen this place to impress other people, as usual.
When the four of us used to have dinner together, he was always bragging, even though he wasn’t even a millionaire at the time.
His favorite topic of discussion was himself, and he could go on and on for days.
He never asked anyone any questions, and he hadn’t the slightest interest in others. ”