“I have your best interests at heart. It seems I left you much too soon. I still had so much to teach you.”
“Mom said something along the same lines recently.”
“Really? When exactly did she say that?”
“Maybe you should keep quiet while I go through immigration,” said Thomas as he got in the line that seemed to have no end.
“Why don’t you come right out and ask me to shut up, then.”
“I just did.”
Thomas watched nervously as the immigration officer inspected his passport. If this man asked him to open his bag, Thomas felt sure he would do more than sniff the contents of the urn. When the officer asked why he was in the United States, Thomas said it was for a funeral. The man didn’t have any more questions after that, and just an hour after landing, Thomas found himself sitting in a taxi on his way to the city.
As the Transamerica Pyramid came into view in the distance, Raymond seemed troubled. “She’s here,” he whispered, “I can feel it. I haven’t been this close to her in more than twenty years. It’s quite moving, isn’t it?”
Thomas looked at his father. Seeing him so shaken made him feel something too.
“Yes. I guess we aren’t far now. I’ll do everything I can, I promise.”
“I know, son,” his father said, and he patted Thomas’s leg in the same way he had so many times before.
8
The taxi stopped in front of a typical Pacific Heights Victorian on Green Street. Thomas paid the driver, grabbed his bag, and rang the doorbell.
A woman in her forties, radiant and with a natural look, opened the door.
“Hi, I’m Thomas,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Lauren Kline. I was afraid your flight would be late. I have to be at the hospital in an hour, so I really need to go. Follow me and I’ll give you a quick tour.”
“Are you a doctor, then?” Thomas asked as he stepped inside.
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.”
“Do you have some sort of health problem?” Lauren asked with concern as she made her way down the stairs to the rental.
“No, everything’s fine in the health department.”
“Glad to hear it. Here we are.” She opened the door to the apartment. “The bedroom is to the right, and the bathroom and living room are on the left, plus a kitchenette.”
Thomas studied the room. The wood floor was made of wide boards. There was a couch covered with a blanket, an old coffee table, four wicker chairs, and a colorful rug. The decor was a little mismatched, but it created a cheerful atmosphere. The four windows—two looked out onto the street, two onto the flower-filled yard—filled the space with light.
“We live just upstairs,” his host explained, “but you won’t hear us. My husband is in Carmel today and won’t be home until early evening. And I’ll be back very late. Doctors’ hours aren’t the best.”
“I know,” Thomas replied.
“Is your wife a doctor?”
“No, my father was a surgeon.”
“Has he retired? What was his specialty?”
“Cardiothoracic. He lived for the operating table, but he’s no longer with us.”
“I’m sorry. What brings you to San Francisco? You’re only staying three nights, right?”
