“Never mind that. We need a new plan.”
“It’s your lucky day, then, because I have two to suggest,” Raymond said. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else, though I have to say, it’s not easy to concentrate with you wolfing down your croissant like that. I’ll start with Plan B.”
“Why not start with Plan A?”
“Because I know you. You’ll reject the first suggestion on principle. So, here it is: You slip in and mingle discreetly with the guests. Then, when the ceremony is over, you find a way to hang back. There has to be a good hiding place or two in a building that big. When the sun goes down, you just come out of hiding, take the urn, and walk out. Simple, right?”
“What’s the other plan?”
“See! What did I tell you? Plan A begins the same way. I’m sure there will be a lot of guests. Camille was a very likable person. Given her husband’s vanity, he’ll want to impress them all with a big reception. When people make their way to the buffet, you stay behind and transferthe ashes into my urn, leaving Camille’s urn where you found it and the other people none the wiser.”
“I’m getting tired of you saying ‘none the wiser,’” Thomas said. “And I see you really took my moral concerns to heart.”
“I thought we’d settled all that,” Raymond replied in an innocent tone. “But since I apparently am wrong, how about a compromise? You can leave some of Camille’s ashes in her urn. I don’t think that will change anything about our fate, and that way her daughter won’t be paying her respects to an empty vessel. But be careful, only leave a little bit!”
This suggestion didn’t fully satisfy Thomas, but he just wanted the whole thing to be over. He swallowed his last bite of croissant, licked his fingers, and accepted with a nod.
“You’re going to stain that suit if you continue on like that,” his father grumbled. “Did you bring a change of clothes? Let’s be tourists for a while.”
The cable car made its way down California Street, the clicking sound of its rack and pinion setting a tempo. Thomas drummed his fingers in time on the wooden bench. His father stood on the step with a cheerful expression on his face, his head uncovered against the breeze—although, strangely enough, his hair didn’t actually move in the wind. As Thomas studied his father, he felt certain he looked even younger than before.
The car slowed as it approached the end of the line. Raymond jumped off and began to walk quickly, gesturing for his son to follow.
“Does time run backward in your world, like a watch whose hands turn counterclockwise?” Thomas asked.
“If you’re hoping to get something out of me by catching me off guard, don’t waste your time. I’m not going to risk ruining everything when I’m so close to my goal. And by the way, why do you have somany questions about what’s happened since I died, instead of asking about what I did with my life when I was still alive? If you want to make up for lost time and for all we left unsaid, now’s the time to do it. Feel free to jump in anywhere. What would you like to know about your father?”
The question plunged Thomas into a pensive silence.
Mr. Bartel was checking the chairs to make sure they were properly aligned under the dome in the Columbarium. He pushed one an inch forward to make a perfect row.
“I don’t think the people who come to Mom’s funeral will notice that level of detail, Dad. It’s a waste of time. And anyway, you know she always liked a little disorder.”
“We complemented each other perfectly in that way,” Mr. Bartel said. “I can’t stand a mess.”
“At least now you won’t have to clean up after her anymore,” Manon said.
Mr. Bartel came over and took her hand.
“Everyone grieves in their own way. You’ve lost your mom; I’ve lost my wife. I just need you to make sure everything is perfect for tomorrow. Have you met with the organ player?”
“He isn’t here yet. But the equipment has been delivered. I had them set up the keyboard far enough from the altar so that people won’t really see it.”
“Will they still hear the music?” Mr. Bartel sounded worried.
“It’s an electric organ. We can always turn up the volume.”
“You didn’t forget the list of the pieces we selected, did you?”
“I have the lyrics, the scores, and the order you wrote up. If it’ll make you feel better, I can get a stopwatch too.”
“No need. Since everything’s all set, I’m going in to the office. I’m just spinning in circles here.”
“The room lends itself to that, doesn’t it?” Manon joked, looking up at the dome overhead.
Once her father had left, she adjusted a few chairs so they were back where they had been, re-creating the slight disorder that her mother would have wanted.
A Columbarium employee came over and introduced the organist. The man, in his sixties, was dressed in a ruffled shirt and bell bottoms that contrasted with the severe expression he apparently thought would convey his condolences. Manon gave him the list of songs and the outline of the ceremony, then stood with her back against one of the columns and settled in to listen to the rehearsal.
