Thomas hesitated, then confessed he’d crossed the Atlantic to attend a funeral.
“Someone close to you? Obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have traveled so far.”
“Actually, I barely knew her. She was my father’s mistress.”
Lauren offered a wry smile.
“We went to France three years ago. My husband’s best friend lives in Paris, and we went to visit him.”
“Did you like it there?”
“So much. Parisians say exactly what they think. It’s irresistible.”
“You must not have stayed very long, then. Look, I don’t want to keep you. Your home is lovely. It’ll be perfect, don’t worry about a thing.”
“If you need anything, Arthur will be home this evening. He’ll be delighted to meet you.”
Lauren warned him not to worry if he heard something like the sound of gunshots coming from the garage—starting her old car was a little tricky. Then she was off.
Moments later, he heard the engine backfire. He looked out the window to see a green Triumph zooming down Green Street.
“What a lead foot!” Raymond exclaimed. “I like her, she’s got character.”
“The surgeon or the car?” asked Thomas.
“By the way, thank you for singing my praises to her in that elegant way you have. Would you like to go for a walk, or would you rather stay here and make more little jokes?”
Thomas opened the door to the bedroom. There was an old dresser stacked high with books, a wing chair next to the window, a jute rug, a large bed covered with a quilt, and two birch nightstands. The overall effect was charming.
“Which side do you want?” Raymond joked.
Thomas looked at his watch instead of answering. He was desperate to go to sleep, but he knew he had to stay awake to keep the jet lag at bay.
He took a shower, changed clothes, and then went for a walk on the neighborhood’s main street. A sign of the times, an old movie theater on Union Street that still featured its historic facade was now home to a gym. Thomas strolled in and out of several shops, then stepped into an art gallery that had the works of local artists on display.
Raymond stopped in front of a small pastel of a beach in the Presidio.
“This one’s not half bad,” he said. “Great lines in India ink and delicate colors. If you’re in the market for a gift for your mother, this would be perfect without breaking the bank.”
Thomas looked straight at his father. “You have to stop that.”
“What am I doing wrong now?”
“Speaking through me, reading my thoughts. This,” he said, pointing to his forehead, “is a line I forbid you to cross!”
“You’re being totally paranoid. Who do you think I am, anyway? An angel with supernatural gifts? That’s flattering, thanks, but you’ve got it all wrong. I’m just your father.”
“What about that little game you played on the plane? You think that’s normal?”
“I loaned you my voice, true, but I have no idea how it works. The urgency of the situation must have flipped some switch in me. I wouldn’t have any idea how to do it again. As for the painting, well, it’s a gorgeous day outside, and instead of enjoying it, you’re wandering around a bunch of shops, so I figured you must be looking for somethingto buy. And since you’re single, I knew it had to be for your mother. It doesn’t take a ghost to figure that out. So, now that my name’s been cleared, are you going to buy it or not?”
Thomas exited the store with the painting. He walked a few paces down the street and sat at a table on the terrace at Perry’s, where he ordered a beer.
“Your mother will love it,” Raymond said, glancing at the gift bag at Thomas’s feet. “That said, it also would have been a perfect gift for a sweetheart, if you had one ...”
“That’s a bit of a dated term.”
“No, it’s charming. What on earth do you like so much about being single? It’s boring!”
