“I never understood much about them, either, at least not until very recently. They divorced ten years before my father’s death. After their divorce, they got along beautifully. They often had dinner together. Mom enjoyed his company. Dad made her laugh, and she calmed him down.”
“I have to admit, I’m jealous. I would have preferred that, and I’m sure my mother would have too. My father is very old-fashioned,though, so divorce wasn’t an option. Still, you’re right. I should go talk to him.” She sighed. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“For what? I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time ... I’m referring to playing the piano, of course.”
“You’re so awkward that it’s almost charming,” Manon mused with a smile. She kept her eyes on him for a long time and then, after hesitating, suggested they have dinner together the following night. “As friends, of course,” she clarified.
Thomas told her that he would be on a plane. He had to go back to Paris and then on to Warsaw, where he would be playing on Saturday night.
“Now I’mreallyjealous,” Manon said.
“Do you really dream of sleeping in crummy hotels and waking up in the morning wondering which city you’re in?”
“No. But you get to travel the world and share your talents with audiences who are thrilled to hear you.”
“If they were always thrilled, I wouldn’t have a million butterflies in my stomach every time I go onstage. Classical music audiences have incredibly high standards. I feel like I’m taking a test every time, like the audience members have the score on their laps and are watching the measures carefully, listening for even the slightest mistake. What’s keeping you from traveling?”
“My mom did these past few years.”
“But now that you’re free? My God, you’re right ... my social ineptitude defies belief.”
“We could exchange contact information. You never know. Maybe I’ll visit Paris sometime, now that I’mfree,” she added mockingly.
They typed their numbers and email addresses into each other’s phones.
Manon looked closely at him again. “Are you sure you never lived in San Francisco?” she asked.
“Never. Where did you live in France?”
“In the south, but I was so little that I only have a few memories. The port in Beaulieu, a Greek revival house at the end of a peninsula, a pizzeria near the beach ... And I’m not even sure if they’re real memories or things people told me. We spent our vacations in Brittany to escape the summer heat, but those memories are even fuzzier. I have a vague one of a club where my mom took me for pony riding lessons, and a merry-go-round that I hated because its dead-eyed wooden horses scared me to death, and I almost forgot—”
“A creperie!”
“Yes, exactly! How did you know?”
“Oh, Brittany is known for its creperies, that’s all,” Thomas replied carefully. “It wasn’t much of a stretch.”
“I’m terribly talkative, aren’t I?”
“There’s nothing terrible about it.”
“There is, though; I’ll be quiet. I’ll let you enjoy your last evening in town. You’ve spent enough time in this depressing place. Have a good trip. I promise I’ll call you whenever I decide to travel back to my childhood home.”
Raymond was pacing impatiently at the door, his yawns growing increasingly conspicuous. Thomas joined him, and they walked side by side to the Columbarium.
“What a chatterbox!” Raymond exclaimed.
“She didn’t want to be alone. Understandable on a day like today, don’t you think?”
“Couldn’t her father have helped her with that?”
“I’ll get the bag and we can go.”
“I hope Camille is still on the altar. This is our last chance.”
“What if she’s not?”
“I’ll have to look around the place to find where they put her.”
