“Listen to me, Thomas! If her husband scatters her ashes before you get there, it’ll all be over.”
“What will be over?”
“Us. Camille and me. She couldn’t be my partner in life, but I want her to be my partner in death. I can’t do that without your help.”
“Have you asked Camille what she thinks about all this? Do you have any idea whatshewants?”
“You really think that, after twenty years of exchanging letters with her, I don’t know what she wants?”
“Did you keep them?”
“They’re in a wooden box next to my urn.”
“That’s a charming image. Where is your urn, anyway?”
“Hidden behind some books on the top shelf of the bookcase at your mom’s place.”
“So, you reallywerethere when I saw you in the office, then.”
“Yes. Well, what’s left of me.”
“And you’re telling me that Mom kept the letters from the woman who stole her husband?”
“Camille didn’t steal anything—I stayed with your mother. She and I remained good friends. We could count on each other, whatever the circumstances. The box is locked, and your mother is very smart. She knows better than to try and open it.”
“I understand now,” Thomas whispered.
“What do you understand?”
“Why Mom refused to scatter your ashes. I thought it was because she couldn’t bear to let you go, but she really was just respecting your wishes. You told her that you were leaving her everything, and all you asked in return was that she keep them. You even made a dark joke, saying that if your presence bothered her, she could store you in the basement. That made the lawyer laugh. So, were you planning this all along?”
“Not really. I couldn’t imagine that someday I’d ask you to do me this favor. I certainly didn’t know what lay ahead for me. But Camille and I always dreamed of reuniting in another life, of spending eternitytogether. Will you think about it tonight? About making our dream come true? Go to bed now, and give me your answer tomorrow. Don’t oversleep—we’re running out of time.”
“I doubt I’ll sleep late. I don’t know if I’ll sleep at all after everything you’ve just told me. Thanks for that.”
“Would you rather play poker, then?” Raymond asked cheerfully. “You loved playing poker as a kid. I would always let you win, because you fell into a black rage every time you lost. Now that you’re a man, you won’t find it so easy to beat me.”
“Can you actually hold the cards?” Thomas asked, surprised.
“No. Good point. You could play solitaire, though. I’ll sit across from you. A fantastic idea! Instead of playing against each other, we’ll play as a team.”
Thomas studied his father with amusement.
“Is this little charm offensive supposed to convince me to do what you want?”
“Son, when I was alive, I was constantly trying to charm you into one thing or convince you of another. But if there’s one thing my experience as a parent taught me, it’s just how little control I had.”
Raymond placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Strangely, Thomas could feel his presence. A glance passed between them that said everything words could not.
Thomas went to grab the deck of cards from his desk drawer. He placed one face up, then six more face down in a row. Sitting across from him, Raymond watched and occasionally made a suggestion.
The evening continued in this way until Thomas’s head dropped to the table and he drifted off to sleep. Watching with a mischievous glint in his eye, Raymond whispered in his son’s ear that he would be more comfortable in bed.
With that, Thomas rose and walked all the way to his bedroom, still wholly and deeply asleep.
6
As the morning light filtered in through the dormer windows, Thomas squinted and wondered briefly where he was. His memory of the night before was muddled.
