Chapter 18
“My dad told you that my mom fell in love with this doctor?”
“Quite the opposite. He insisted that their brief connection didn’t mean a thing. But the fact that he and your mother left everything behind to live on the opposite side of the world leads me to believe that he took her away from someone who was more than just a crush.”
“I’m inclined to believe him. Mom never said a thing to me about it, and I was her best friend.”
“You were her daughter. I don’t know very many parents who would share such a big secret with their children, especially one that involved loving a man who wasn’t their father.”
At first, Manon was speechless. The detective sat quietly, giving her time to process what she’d just learned.
She soon pulled herself together and decided she had no reason to judge.
If her mother had had feelings for another man, that was her story to tell or not to tell, and it appeared she’d turned the page and left that chapter behind her.
Manon thought back to the vague reasons her parents had given whenever she’d asked why they’d left France to live in San Francisco.
“Because of your father’s work,” Camille had always explained.
And every time Manon had tried to ask if her mother had found it hard to leave her family and friends, she had replied with a smile and a shrug.
But, Manon realized now, her mother had always said “because of,” never “thanks to.” The detective was right—a person didn’t move to the other side of the globe over a simple fling.
Manon felt angry with herself for not figuring this out sooner.
Then she felt angry with her mother for never telling her.
She would have loved to have been confided in, to hear her mother tell the story of a passionate love affair—especially one she’d personally experienced.
Who was this man who’d stolen her heart?
What must he have looked like? What had he promised her to sweep her off her feet?
Had they only exchanged words and stolen moments, or had they loved each other with every part of themselves?
“And you think Thomas knew about all this?” she asked.
“Only you can answer that question—you know him better than I do. I’ve never even met the man. You still don’t think he’s guilty, do you?” Pilguez asked on his way to the door.
“I don’t know,” Manon replied. “Maybe he was clumsy by the altar, but the rest . . . no, no. It’s impossible.”
“I have a hard time believing it too. That said, I doubt his presence at the Columbarium was a simple coincidence.”
Manon remained silent for a moment. “Maybe he was hoping to bring his father’s remains there someday?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Did he tell you where he was staying?”
“No, but you’d be too late, anyway,” Manon told him. “He’s already gone. His plane left this afternoon.”
“Here’s hoping that urn magically reappears so I can close this case and save myself a ton of paperwork. If you see him again, ask him about it. You never know.”
Pilguez said goodbye and walked out of the bookstore, pointing menacingly at her car as he left, to remind her about their agreement.
Thomas hadn’t said a word in quite some time. Every now and again he stood up and paced the room, glancing at his suitcase and then at his father, before returning to the couch, a gloomy look on his face. Finally, Raymond couldn’t stand it anymore.
“What on earth is bothering you?”
“The idea of leaving you alone on our last night together. The idea that it’s our last night together at all.”
“I saw there’s a match at Levi’s Stadium this afternoon.
American football, but still—it would bring back some good memories.
I don’t know if you remember—you must have been about eight, I think—but you used to love the Paris Saint-Germain soccer team.
One day, after they’d lost their third game in a row, I threw my newspaper to the ground and told you that I was done with them for good, just to tease you.
I swore to cheer for their archrivals, the Olympique de Marseille, from that day on.
You wouldn’t talk to me for over a week.
I thought it was hysterical, right up until your mother asked me to put a stop to it, explaining that you were truly upset.
I went to see you in your room that night to apologize and explain, but you were hard to convince. ”
“I don’t really feel like going to a game,” Thomas said quietly.
“Do you know what you said to me that night? That I shouldn’t give up when things get tough. You told me that I could cheer for whomever I wanted once PSG had won the title, but until then, they needed our support.”
“So? I was eight.”
“So, don’t give up.”
“On you?”
“No, on your passion for life. I need to know it’s there, now more than I ever have before, or I’ll feel guilty for eternity.”
“Do you really want to go to the game?”
“What I would have really loved to do is take you out for ice cream. But that’s beyond my means.”
“How long?” Thomas said, looking directly at his father.
“You say that like I have a terminal illness.”
The joke didn’t even coax a smile from Thomas, who headed back toward the bedroom.
“I’m sorry.” Raymond flickered and then reappeared in front of his son.
“I asked you how much time we have left.”
“A few hours, maybe a day at most. I can tell they’re calling me back. It’s getting harder and harder for me to move around, and my vision is starting to get blurry up close. My hearing is going too. I must be getting old!”
“It looks to me like you’re getting younger. And could you please stop with the dark humor? You’re the only one who finds it funny.”
“There’s nothing funny to me about leaving you. But I’ve always found humor to be the most elegant strategy for dealing with adversity.”
“What about compassion?”
“Compassion is a noble choice, son. Feel as much of it as you’d like. Just make sure you feel some for other people too.”
Raymond sat down in front of the dark television screen. Thomas walked over to the coffee table, but before he could do anything, Raymond said, “Leave the remote alone. If I wanted to turn the TV on, I’d have done it myself.”
“What do you want to do, then?”
“I want you to take me to see the Golden Gate Bridge, and to bring my urn.”
“I’m happy to go there with you, but your ashes can stay here. You’re not allowed to give up. I still need you.”
Raymond nodded as his lips formed a crooked smile.
“Then call your friend Uber, and we’ll have ourselves a day to remember!”
Manon was pacing, phone in hand. She had just chased out a customer, claiming she had to close early to do inventory.
Ever since the detective had left, she’d been tormented by conflicting thoughts.
She nearly canceled the dinner plans ten different times, but she kept changing her mind for reasons that eluded her.
The heat was stifling, so she turned on the air conditioning before returning to her desk.
As she worked, she couldn’t seem to add properly, and she even had to void one purchase order and start over.
She also spent a long time searching for her accounting ledger, which she finally located on the international literature table.
As she picked it up, the breeze from the air conditioner’s fan suddenly reminded her of a merry-go-round long buried under the sands of time.
The wooden horses started spinning, taking her back to forgotten summers.
A little girl clutching a golden mane. Her mother sitting on a bench, looking on. And next to her, a man who waved his hat and smiled, a little boy driving a fire truck by his feet.
The car wound down El Camino del Mar on its way to the ocean. Raymond wanted the driver to stop for a minute in front of a property located at the top of Sea Cliff Avenue. He pressed his head against the car’s window and studied its facade.
“What did you do after my death?” he asked distractedly.
“I played concert after concert.”
“Just as I hoped.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hoped you wouldn’t fall into despair. That you wouldn’t blame the world for your misery. Really, I just didn’t want you to be sad. Well, a little sad, but only the minimal amount of sadness, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“And after that? You couldn’t have spent all your time in concert halls.”
“Well, there was Sophie.”
“Ah, Sophie. And then?”
“I haven’t been with as many women as you might imagine.”
“I’m asking what you did with your life.”
“I’m a pianist. I play the piano! What else should I be doing?”
“I’m going to share a little secret with you—and not just any secret. I was a surgeon, and I spent my life operating.”
“That’s hardly a secret.”
“You’re so impatient! The secret is that spending my life working was incredibly stupid. All those days and nights I stayed at the hospital instead of going for a walk with you or laughing with your mother.”
“Are you telling me to give up my career so I can go for more walks?”
“You can be so annoying, Thomas. I’m just saying that someday, when you’re happy, I hope you do everything you can to stay that way. Just think of all the things I missed. Think of the time we should have spent together.”
“It’s a little late for this now, don’t you think?”
“If you have something to say, say it. Now’s the time. I’m sure you’ll feel lighter afterward.”
Thomas kicked a can on the side of the road and sent it flying.
“You left without saying goodbye. I wasn’t ready.”
“That’s why I came back.”
“You came back for Camille.”
“I didn’t have time to say goodbye. You were traveling the world, and I was always waiting for you to come home. I didn’t know my heart was going to stop beating one morning. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, I promise.”
“Why are we stopped in front of this house?” Thomas glanced toward the window.
“I came to say goodbye.” His father sighed.
“This is where she lived?”