But as soon as he began to play, Manon felt tears welling in her eyes. She fled the mausoleum for some fresh air in the park, where the smell of newly mowed grass revived her.
She was dreading the evening ahead of her almost as much as she was the next day’s funeral. If she had dinner with her father, the silence would push her right over the edge. She’d have to swallow her pride and call a friend to rescue her. A girls’ night with a little alcohol—make that a lot of alcohol—would do her good. Her mother would definitely have wanted Manon to have fun, rather than mope around.
“Do you remember things better, now that you’re up there?” she whispered, her face directed toward the sky. “I really hope death has fixed your memory. After you’re in your final resting place here, I’ll come sit with you and tell you about all the times we spent together, just like I’ve done the past few years. I know you’re still here in a way. I feel your presence. I’ll tell you about my childhood, the feeling of your hands stroking my face, of your kisses showering me with love, of your reassuring words. Your joy and spontaneity that brightened my life. I’ll tell you about our alfresco lunches, about how we shared all our secrets, the times we burst out laughing, the times we disagreed. I’ll have to live without you for so long, Mom. I’m not going to speak atthe service tomorrow. Please don’t be angry with me. I just can’t do it. It’s too painful, and the words I have to say are only for you, anyway. For the two of us. See you tomorrow, Mom.”
Manon walked back toward the Columbarium with a heavy heart. She stepped into the mausoleum to find the organist sorting his music. She nodded her goodbye as he left, then arranged a bouquet on the altar and sat down in the last row to admire it all.
As Thomas strolled down Market Street, he stopped in front of an optician’s window to admire a pair of sunglasses. He jumped when he saw his father reflected in the glass wearing a pair of 1940s vintage-style Ray-Bans.
“What do you think? It’s for tomorrow.”
“How did you do that?” asked Thomas, staring at the glasses.
“I don’t know. I discover a new ability with each passing minute. It’s pretty fun. I have to be careful, though. When we walked past that costume shop earlier, I was reminded of a costume party your mother and I had gone to. We had a great time. But I almost ended up with a wig back there. You would have given me one of your scolding looks. Anyway, should I keep the glasses or not?”
“It seems a little late to be wondering that.”
“I’m asking you if they look good on me.”
“It’s the perfect look for an air show. I can even lend you my suede jacket.”
Raymond pushed the glasses down his nose and shot his son a dirty look over the lenses.
“You look very handsome,” Thomas said, more charitably this time.
“I owned the same ones when I met your mother. Would you like to hear how we met?”
“I’ve heard the story a hundred times, but I’m happy to hear it again.”
“You don’t know the real story,” Raymond replied before launching into the tale of how he won Jeanne’s heart. “I was a resident at Boucicaut Hospital. One night, when I was working in the emergency room, they brought in a young man who was in terrible shape. He’d had a motorcycle accident. It was summer, and a lot of the doctors were on vacation, so I had to operate solo for the first time. I did my best, but it wasn’t enough; he died on the table. That first patient I lost had an impact on the rest of my life—it’s almost ironic, when you think about it. It fell to me to tell his family. I took off my gloves, my surgical cap and gown, and I made my way to the waiting room. But there wasn’t any family there to speak to, just a young woman alone on a bench. I noticed her right away because she was strikingly beautiful. When she looked up, I realized she was there for my patient. When I shared the news, she took it with remarkable dignity, not showing any outward signs of emotion. She thanked me and left. But at the end of my shift, I found her outside, curled up against a wall and crying every single tear from her body. She’d spent the whole night out there. I have no idea why, but I walked over and asked her to follow me in an authoritative tone. She got in my car—a Simca eleven hundred I should never have given up—and we drove all the way to Trouville without exchanging a single word. I parked in front of Les Vapeurs restaurant, and we ordered two crepes, which we ate while gazing into each other’s eyes, still without breaking the silence. We didn’t say a word throughout the entire meal, or during the two-hour drive home, either. When I dropped her off in front of her building, she simply thanked me again. Funny story, huh?”
“Your definition of the word ‘funny’ doesn’t always line up with mine, but I will admit it’s an interesting way for two people to meet. What happened next?”
“Ah, I’m delighted to see you’re finally interested in your old dad’s life.”
“It was Mom’s life, too, right?”
“Yes, of course. Anyway, three years went by. It was March twenty-first—I remember because it was the first day of spring. I was supposedto attend a charity cocktail party; I had promised weeks before that I would go. But when the time came, I had no desire to keep my word. Fortunately, a pang of last-minute regret got me there. The event was taking place on the top floor of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. I was standing there, admiring the view, when your mother appeared in a red dress that fell just above her knees. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and I couldn’t help but stare. She smiled, then disappeared into the crowd. Your mother knew immediately that I hadn’t recognized her; don’t ask me how—a woman’s instinct is more of a mystery than creation itself. In my defense, she looked nothing like the tearful young woman I had driven to Normandy. Much time had passed. For over an hour, we played a game of cat and mouse. I would walk toward a table where she was chatting with friends, and just before I got there, she would get up and move to another. Whenever I neared the bar, where she was waiting for a drink, she would go back to her seat. Then finally, suddenly, I heard a voice behind me say, ‘You have no idea who I am, do you?’ You should know that your becoming a pianist didn’t come out of nowhere. You got your musical ear from me. Though my memory for faces is atrociously bad, I have never, ever forgotten a voice. And I especially did not forget the voice of the woman who had thanked me twice in that grave and melodious tone. Without turning around, I answered, ‘Maybe a chocolate crepe and a seaside view would jog my memory.’ It’s a real blow to my ego to admit this, but I actually won your mother’s heart with that idiotic line.”
“Now,thatI would call funny,” Thomas said. “Go on.”
“We exchanged numbers—landlines, because mobile phones only existed in the cars of government officials back then. I called her two days later only to learn she was heading out the door to go to Biarritz for a story. At the time, your mother worked forParis Match.She promised to call when she got back, but she called from her hotel instead. It was a Friday. She’d been writing her article in a beachside bar and would be coming home Sunday. She suggested we have dinner together then. Since the only restaurants open on Sunday were terribly depressingplaces in train stations or tourist traps, I invited her to my small apartment on Rue de Bretagne. I went to the market in the morning and spent the whole afternoon cooking. Around five o’clock, the phone rang again. Your mother said she was afraid the traffic around Orly Airport would be terrible on a Sunday night, and she’d decided to come back the next day instead.”
“What did you do?” Thomas asked.
“I had dinner for one and remained as calm and composed as she’d been the first two times we met. I was sure that was the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t . . .”
“Brilliant observation, son. You wouldn’t be here if it had been. The next day, as I was leaving for work, I found a small package on my welcome mat. It was a Basque cake wrapped in parchment paper, upon which your mother had written that she hoped I’d have a good day.”
“So, she came home on Sunday night after all?”
“Obviously.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Which only proves that you have a lot to learn about women. She didn’t want our first date to take place with just the two of us in my apartment.”
