“A stroll?”
“You’re a little young to be losing your hearing, aren’t you? Yes, a stroll. You put one foot in front of the other. It’s not that complicated.”
“But where? And don’t talk to me like that. Remember, I could be enjoying a quiet week at home in Paris instead of ‘strolling’ about, as you put it.”
“Maybe. But that would be deadly boring.”
“And you think this place is so full of life?”
“Don’t just stand there in one place. It looks strange. Go sit on that bench and play with your phone or count sheep if you prefer. Whatever you do, just act natural. That’s all I ask.”
Thomas shot his father a dirty look and went to sit on a bench in the middle of the lawn, across from the mausoleum. He took out his phone and checked his messages. Serge had sent a message informing Thomas that his girlfriend had moved back in, but that they’d fought again the night before. Philippe had shared more news from the filming of his commercial. He said he wanted to show Thomas the dailies. Thomas’s mother was worried because she couldn’t reach him and wanted to know if he’d left on tour without stopping to say goodbye.
“They didn’t give up, either.” Raymond chuckled as he appeared next to his son.
“Who are you talking about?”
“The people who designed the bench you’re resting your rear end on. It’s an urn of sorts, if you can believe it. I bet they mixed ashes with the concrete. This poor Gerald fellow is stuck in that bench for eternity. Here, look at the plaque; I’m not making it up. Read it for yourself.”
Thomas leaned over to read the inscription on the bench.
In Loving Memory of
Gerald Filmoore(1949–2008)
Rest In Peace
“Maybe he spent his whole life standing up,” Raymond mused.
Thomas raised his eyes to see Manon looking his way from the entrance to the mausoleum.
“I think I’ve been spotted,” he whispered.
“About time,” his father replied, sounding relieved.
“She’s staring right at me,” Thomas fretted.
Manon walked over and stopped in front of the bench, then asked if she could sit down. Looking overwhelmed, she twisted her hands together without saying a word. Thomas remained quiet, hesitant to speak first.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.
“To be honest, I don’t know what I’m looking for here.”
He had hoped to make her smile, but he was unsuccessful.
“Is something wrong?” Thomas asked.
“I’m burying my mom. Everything’s perfect.”
“Was that sarcasm? Of course it was.”
“As if losing her wasn’t hard enough, now I have to carry out her last wishes. She put me in charge of them instead of my father! You’d think that a parent could at least try to make their child’s life a little bit easier when it comes to their death.”
“Amen,” Thomas said.
“I’m sorry to be so direct, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Am I right in remembering that you told me you were a musician? What instrument do you play?”
“I’m a pianist.”
