Chapter 9 #3
“He must have had a few good qualities, though. After all, Camille married him.”
“A youthful mistake. Maybe you’ve heard of such a thing?”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m committing one right now.”
One look at his father’s gloomy expression told Thomas that this was not the time for humor.
Raymond walked toward the Columbarium, and Thomas joined him. At the door, Thomas stopped to let his father in first, but Raymond didn’t move.
“Go ahead, go in,” he said. “I’ll wait here.”
Thomas entered the mausoleum. The combination of silence and light created an unusual atmosphere: serene, surprisingly joyous, and a little strange.
The light that streamed in through the stained-glass windows created a mosaic on the floor.
Six rows of varnished wooden chairs sat under the cupola, across from a modern marble altar.
The rounded walls of the rotunda featured glass cabinets full of urns.
Eight porticos led from the edges of the round room to more alcoves containing additional urns.
Above the entrances were inscribed the names of Greek and Roman gods of the winds: Solanus, Eurus, Auster, Notus, Zephyrus, Olympus, Arktos, and Aquilo.
“Are you here to put in the lights?” said a voice behind Thomas. “The disco ball has to be installed in the center of the dome. It’s really important to my father.”
He turned around and saw a young woman about his age wearing black jeans, a fitted white blouse, and a cream-colored bolero jacket that added a touch of elegance to her delicate appearance.
“No, I’m not the lighting person,” he replied in hesitant English.
“Sound?”
“No.”
She looked at him curiously. Thomas felt an impulse to explain that he’d come to check the place out.
“Are you French?” she asked in perfect French.
“I’d have a hard time convincing you otherwise. Your French is incredible,” Thomas replied.
“My parents are French . . . Well, my mother was French, I should say. I grew up in San Francisco, though. That’s why I still have a slight accent when I speak French.”
“I didn’t notice one at all, and I’m a musician.”
“Have you lost someone too?”
“My father.”
“Which service are you doing? Dignity Memorial has so many options, it’s hard to choose.”
“What kind of service are you talking about?” asked Thomas, confused.
“For your father’s funeral.”
“Oh, his happened a long time ago,” he replied, unable to lie. “It’s a long story. What about you, when’s your mother’s funeral?”
“Tomorrow, late morning. I’m really dreading it, to be honest.”
“I won’t keep you, then. I’m sure you have a lot to do. It was great to meet you . . . Sorry, that didn’t come out right, given the circumstances. I apologize.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re the first person since Mom’s death who hasn’t smothered me in their grief. I’ve just lost my mother, and all that her friends can talk about is how sad they are.”
“I remember that,” Thomas replied with a smile. “I remember consoling my father’s secretary for hours while she cried on my shoulder.”
“I do have to go,” the young woman said, her tone apologetic. “But it was good to meet you too. It’s funny, but something about your face seems familiar,” she added as she held out her hand.
Thomas shook it. Before leaving, he turned back one last time. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. You won’t fully realize what’s happening yet. That part comes later, after the phone stops ringing. That’s when their absence really takes up space.”
“That’s comforting. Thanks for your honesty.”
Thomas walked back across the park. His father was waiting for him at the gates.
“Did you get a good look around?”
“I can’t do this,” Thomas blurted out.
“What can’t you do?”
“I agreed simply to make you happy, without thinking about the consequences—other than what would happen if I got caught. I never thought about her family. That is, I thought about her husband because I wanted to hate him as much as you do. But her daughter . . . I can’t steal her mother’s remains. ”
Raymond clasped his hands behind his back and walked down the street toward the bay. Thomas ran after him.
“Are you listening to me?”
“It’s not like we’re stealing a body. It’s only ashes, which will get scattered anyway.”
“Not if her daughter wants to keep them here, where family and friends can come pay their respects.”
“You can’t give up on us, Thomas. Not here, not now. Camille and I have waited so long to be together! Manon has her whole life ahead of her; our lives are behind us.”
“‘Manon’? You know her name?”
“Wait. I have the solution.”
“I can tell I’m going to love this.”
“You can just pour Camille’s ashes into my urn and fill hers with sand or the dust from the apartment you’re renting.
A quick spin with the vacuum cleaner should give you enough to fill it up.
Her daughter will be none the wiser, and she can pay her respects anytime she likes here in this tomb straight out of The Arabian Nights. ”
“Pay her respects to the contents of a vacuum cleaner bag? That’s your grand idea?”
“Dust to dust. The Bible’s words, not mine!”
“You’ll stop at nothing, will you?”
“May I remind you that my stubbornness saved a lot of lives? Anyway, do you think parents deserve a fate like this? Did we really spend our lives raising our children only for them to put us in a tiny cabinet behind a glass door in the end? Talk about ungrateful,” Raymond cried.
“First the nursing home and then the urn!”