“I don’t know. Dying wasn’t easy for me, either; leaving you was harder.”
“What’s it like in the afterlife?”
“Thomas,” said his father in a grave tone, “I’m not allowed to tell you anything, and even if I was, I doubt I’d be able to explain it. Let’s just say it’s different.”
“Are you happy there?”
“I don’t have arthritis anymore, so there’s that. But with your help? I could be genuinely happy.”
“With my help?”
“Yes, the favor I mentioned.”
“About that woman?”
“Camille. I’d be grateful if you could refer to her by her name.” His father sat down on the upright piano. “When I think of all the things she and I missed out on, all the time we have to make up for ...”
“Yes, of course, thanks to me. You mentioned that.”
“It wasn’t just because of you. Such choices weren’t considered acceptable back then.”
“So, in fact, you really are here to haunt me. I think Sylvain underestimated the extent of the damage you’ve done.”
“Stop worrying about what that charlatan thinks. You told him you saw a ghost, and he offered some casual, off-the-cuff diagnosis without even bothering to examine you. Would it have killed him to take your blood pressure? If a patient—no, a friend—had told me something like that, I would have sent him off for a series of tests immediately.”
“Is that your professional medical opinion? You think I should go to the emergency room?” Thomas asked.
“It’s my professional medical opinion, yes, but about your psychiatrist friend. You’re perfectly healthy. Nothing wrong withyourhead. Do youreally think I haven’t been studying you since I came back? You look tired, sure, but no one your age who doesn’t wear themselves out is really living. When I was thirty-five I worked eighty-hour weeks, and it didn’t kill me.”
“Well, it did eventually.”
“A little respect, please. I happen to think I held up pretty well. I’m telling you, you’re fine. If you go to the emergency room and tell them you’re having little chats with your father’s ghost, you’ll end up getting checked into Sainte-Anne Psychiatric Hospital.”
That was probably true, Thomas thought. His father seemed to take his silence as encouragement to continue.
“Camille has just died.” Raymond lowered his head as if suddenly plunged into a flood of grief. “What do you have to say about that?”
“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for her, but it’s not like I knew her.”
“A kind word would have been nice. In any case, now that she and I are both on the other side, we’ve decided to tie the proverbial knot, so we’ll always be a couple.”
“Good for you, but what does any of that have to do with me? Other than the fact that when Mom dies, I won’t be able to console myself by picturing the two of you together.”
“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite. You were the first to say our divorce came as a relief.”
“Fine, but how do I fit in to your eternal plans?”
“Well, it’s just—if Camille and I are to spend eternity together, our ashes need to be united.”
“Excuse me?”
“Or, mixed together, if you prefer. All you have to do is pour the contents of one urn into the other and give it a good shake. Once you scatter them all, we’ll be free and together forever. Now, don’t look at me like that; I’m not the one who came up with the rules of the universe. Being buried side by side could also have worked, but it’s too late for me on that front. And anyway, why should we settle for a tiny studio when we could have a huge terrace with an ocean view?”
“What’s this studio you’re talking about?”
“A grave or coffin, naturally! And who knows who we’d have as neighbors. No, Camille and I want to spend our eternity outdoors. It’s not like I’m asking you for the moon here.”
“What exactlyareyou asking me for?” Thomas held his breath.
