“I’m not sure you’re the best person to give me this lecture. Has it truly never occurred to you that you and Mom’s divorce may have given me commitment issues?”
“Oh, don’t play the victim. The reason you’re so afraid of commitment is because you put your career first, your music, your trips ... It’s all rather selfish. Order something to eat; you shouldn’t go to bed hungry.”
“Hmm . . .”
“Your ‘hmms’ are starting to get on my nerves.”
“What about you? Do you sleep at night since you’ve died?” Thomas asked.
“Let me put it this way: Day and night don’t mean much to me anymore, but the idea of eternal rest is a scam.”
“I thought you weren’t allowed to tell me anything about it.”
“I didn’t tell you anything. You drew your own conclusions about whether I sleep or not, didn’t you? They can’t hold a simple conversation with my son against me. And by the way, if I do slip up, please keep it to yourself.”
“Who could I ever tell this to without sounding like a nut job?”
“Don’t say that. Someday, you’ll meet someone, and the two of you will write a beautiful story together, you’ll see. And you’ll be able to tell her everything, even your craziest thoughts.”
“Could you do that with Camille?”
“I did it with your mother.”
Raymond looked at the menu and suggested a hamburger. “When traveling, it’s always best to opt for local cuisine,” he added.
Thomas ordered a salad.
“I’ve figured out what your problem is. You don’t laugh enough, son.”
“I know what you’re going to say next: ‘You only live once.’”
“No, that’s also a load of nonsense. The truth is that you only die once, but you live every day. So, stop making that sad face. You look like you’re at a funeral.”
“I was practicing for my upcoming role. You can hardly complain about that, now can you?” As he spoke, Thomas placed his hand on his father’s shoulder.
Across the room, the waitress couldn’t help but wonder about the customer who was comforting an empty chair.
9
In Carmel, a small town a little over a hundred miles south of San Francisco, crowds often gather on the beach at dusk to watch the sun slip into the ocean. But in San Francisco, dawn is the real showstopper. In the early morning hours, the Golden Gate Bridge disappears into the fog, which envelops the bay and covers the city up to the marina. Arthur had explained all of this to Thomas.
The sun rises slowly out of its cottony veil, he had said, casting a honey-colored hue on the Pacific beaches. Then, after it passes over the Castro neighborhood, the fog evaporates once more, as quickly as a receding tide.
Arthur had told Thomas that if he woke up early enough, he should go up Twin Peaks to enjoy the breathtaking view. He even had offered to lend Thomas his car. When he woke up at first light, Thomas decided to take this advice.
He left through the back door, where he caught the smell of freshly tilled soil wafting from the yard. The Saab was parked in an alley that ran along the side of the Victorian home. Thomas took Arthur’s keys out of his pocket.
His father was sitting in the back seat. Raymond explained that he’d always wanted to have a chauffeur. “I couldn’t have afforded it with my salary,” he said. “So, it’s particularly gratifying now to be driven around by my son.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can sit on the hood. I don’t mind.”
“Be careful when you downshift. The transmission on this car is tricky.”
“Since when are you a car expert?” Thomas asked, amused.
“I had a Saab just like this one before you were born, can you believe it? I drove your mother all the way to Tuscany in it! She was a beauty, olive green—the car, not your mother, of course. Jeanne hated the color, but she liked how comfortable the seats were.”
“If you hadn’t met Camille, do you think you and Mom would have stayed in love?”
