Chapter 16
Manon had parked along the sidewalk on Sea Cliff Avenue, which wound its way through one of the city’s most beautiful neighborhoods. The massive homes and their luxurious yards rivaled one another in size, each one offering a view of Baker Beach and the ocean.
The housekeeper greeted her at the door and took her to the dining room, where her father was waiting in his robe.
“I see you dressed up for me,” she quipped.
“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t feel up to it tonight. But I’m still happy to see you,” he replied softly.
He invited Manon to sit down at the table. Dinner had been ready for half an hour, he said, and the cook had already come out twice to ask when she could serve.
Manon got up immediately to go see her. Teresa had been working for the Bartels for as long as she could remember. Having grown up with her always around, Manon thought of Teresa as a fully-fledged member of the family.
“I hope he’s not giving you a hard time,” Manon whispered as she hugged the cook.
“He’s the one having a hard time at the moment, dear. He’s as strong-willed as ever, but he’s not fooling me. And you’re late, as usual.”
“It was a long day.”
“I know,” Teresa sighed, “but it’s over now. You won’t have to spend your afternoons in that terrible place anymore. Your mother is better off where she is now.”
“If she’s anywhere,” Manon replied.
“Oh, she’s definitely somewhere!”
“Do you have a private line to the great beyond?” Manon asked teasingly.
“Not to the great beyond, but I see everything that goes on in this house.”
“Maybe I’m just too tired to get it, but I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m not saying anything, since I’m not allowed,” the cook answered as she carefully poured the contents of a pot into a porcelain tureen. “But I don’t approve.”
“Of what?”
“Nothing! My lips are sealed. Strict orders from management.” This was what she called Mr. Bartel whenever he was getting on her nerves.
“What orders?” Manon pressed.
“Go to the table. I didn’t spend all that time in the kitchen for you to eat your dinner cold.
Think of the poor flounder I keep taking out of the oven only to have to put it back again—he’ll get dizzy.
After dinner, you can do whatever you like.
For example, maybe you’d like to go to the library. It’s up to you.”
“All right, then. I’ll go now.”
“You will not!” Teresa cried as she grabbed Manon’s arm. “You would have made a terrible spy. Get out of here! Leave my kitchen and go sit with your father.”
Teresa gave her a stern look, like she used to when Manon was a child. Even as an adult, Manon didn’t dare disobey her orders. Her father himself only risked it on occasion.
Manon sat down across from her father and waited for Teresa to serve the pea soup.
“You should redecorate this room. The wallpaper and wainscoting are depressing.” She looked up at the portrait of General Sherman hanging above the mantel.
It had frightened her since childhood. “He’s been giving me dirty looks for nearly thirty years!
Couldn’t you find a more cheerful painting?
And you never open the curtains. What’s the point of living in such a fancy neighborhood if you never see what’s going on outside? ”
“You can do what you like with your apartment. Just leave me and my house be. Who was the organist you hired for the ceremony?” her father asked.
“An organist,” Manon answered dryly.
“Does he have a name?”
“He must, but I don’t know it. Why?”
“He seemed to be having a good time. Such enthusiasm and passion. Your mother’s friends really enjoyed it.”
“That’s how she would have wanted it, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but it seemed a bit much to me. You really don’t know who he is?”
“Should I?”
“You must have found him somewhere. I asked the head of Dignity Memorial, and he told me you took care of the music.”
“That’s not true. I went through them.”
“At first, but their musician was unable to perform because of an accident this morning. But you already knew that, since you’re the one who fixed the problem.”
“Why are you so interested in this man?”
“It’s not every day that a man buries his wife. And you know very well my passion for details. I just want to know who he is. Especially since you spent the whole reception chatting with him and avoiding all our friends. It was very rude.”
“A daughter doesn’t bury her mother every day, either. I was tired of being polite and fielding condolences. If you must know, I asked him not to leave my side so people would steer clear. He did exactly as I asked, and I don’t care what our friends thought.”
“It’s strange he didn’t tell you his name, though.”
“I didn’t ask!”
“That’s even stranger.”
“What are you getting at?”
“You haven’t answered my question. The musician didn’t just fall from the sky, so where did you find him?”
“On a bench in the park, where I found him humming perfectly in tune with a nice voice, so I took a chance and got lucky. Happy now?”
Manon’s father gave her a distressed look.
“Will you spend more time at the bookstore now?” he asked after a moment.
“Will you spend less time at your office now?”
“Don’t talk to me like that. You should open a second location in another neighborhood, think about growing your business.”
“I didn’t get into bookselling to make money. I did it because I enjoy the company of books. Speaking of which, I’d like to borrow one.”
Manon pushed her chair back and left her father alone at the dining room table. Since the beginning of the meal, she hadn’t stopped thinking about what Teresa could have been hinting at. But she understood immediately when she opened the door to the library.
The urn containing her mother’s ashes was sitting on the grand piano.
Manon walked over without speaking. Her father broke the silence when he came in after her.
“She loved music so much, this seemed the best place for her. Don’t you think?”
“What is Mom doing here?” Manon cried. “Won’t you ever let her be?”
“After what happened at the Columbarium, I wanted to protect her.”
Manon abruptly decided to change tactics.
She went to her father and took his hands in hers.
“Dad, you know that’s not why. Mom couldn’t be in this house anymore; it wasn’t your fault.
Stop torturing yourself. I know you like the back of my hand.
You’ve always prided yourself on being able to handle anything, but you couldn’t have prevented her disease from getting worse. No one could’ve.”
“I never visited her. I couldn’t stand it when she didn’t recognize me.
I don’t understand why I was so weak, but I just couldn’t do it.
I would take the car and drive all the way there, only to turn around when I got to her door.
I never even got a chance to say I was sorry.
So, when I came home earlier, I sat down on the bench and—”
“She forgave you long before she died,” Manon reassured her father, whose red eyes were brimming with tears. “She didn’t want you to see her there. She said she preferred it that way. She didn’t want you to have that memory of her. She even said she was selfish to want to keep you away.”
“Did she really say that?” her father asked.
Manon nodded, confirming her little white lie.
“Let me take her back to her final resting place at the Columbarium,” she urged.
Her father placed his hand on the urn. “Not right away. Can’t we leave her here for a little while? For just a few days?”
“Just a few days,” Manon repeated.
Neither of them felt like returning to dinner. Teresa had gathered as much from eavesdropping on the beginning of their conversation and had since cleared the table and brought herbal tea to the library for the two of them.
Manon sat down on the couch, her father in the armchair.
“Which book?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“You wanted to borrow one.”
Manon got up and pretended to look for a title on the shelves.
“It’s funny, sometimes you’re an amazing liar, and other times you’re so bad it’s painful.” Her father’s vulnerability had lasted only minutes. “I’ll have to have a chat with Teresa tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t you dare scold her. She had your best interests at heart.”
“I think I know better than anyone else what’s in my best interest.”
Manon studied the urn, which shone in the lamplight. “Mom has spent enough time locked up inside,” she said decisively. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll go scatter her ashes on the beach. That’s what she would have wanted. To be free at last.”
“How do you know what she would have wanted? Your mother didn’t bother to take the time to write a will. I had to learn from one of her friends that she wanted to be cremated and from you that she wanted that burlesque funeral I reluctantly agreed to.”
“You’re impossible. Stop criticizing her. Mom couldn’t have known what would happen to her. You love to be in control so much; what would you do if you realized you were losing control of yourself? She was dignified until the end, and that’s worth more than a will, don’t you think?”
“I refuse to let her go,” her father said.
“She’s already gone, whether you like it or not. A man can’t own a woman—not even you.”
“That’s enough. I don’t want to fight. It’s been a hard day for both of us. Go home. I’ll walk you to your car. We’ll talk about all this tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep.”
Manon let her father accompany her to her Prius.
“Another one for your collection,” he said as he pulled a parking ticket off the windshield.
Manon took it from him and sat down behind the wheel.
He bent down next to the window. “I’m sure your organist is behind this whole thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I want to know how you met him.”