“It’s too dangerous, Thomas. I can’t let you do that. I made a mistake dragging you into all this. It’s over now. Besides, I don’t want to go back to your mother’s apartment. I’m too old for that. If I’m lucky, maybe they’ll put me somewhere near Camille. Worst-case scenario, they’ll scatter my ashes outside. This park is still better than the dusty bookcase where I’ve spent the last five years.”
“It’s not like I’d be killing anyone.”
“Don’t be flippant about this! You’d be breaking into a hallowed building. If you got caught, you’d be totally unable to justify your actions or play the sympathy card with a judge. I’d simply hoped that, by bringing you to San Francisco, I might somehow help you realize your dream of playing on an American stage. I don’t want both of us to end up locked away.”
The guitarist couldn’t handle the weirdo talking to himself anymore. He picked up his stuff and found a new spot, farther away.
Thomas fell silent again and watched a tourist couple walk past hand in hand.
“This trip wasn’t a mistake,” he said.
“You have your whole life ahead of you, son. I refuse to let you take this risk.”
“And I refuse to leave you here. What will I tell your grandchildren someday? That I abandoned their grandfather when he needed me?”
“I had no idea you were expecting. Congratulations.”
“You act like such a child sometimes.”
“Maybe, but I won your mother’s heart with my nonsense. Don’t ever pass up a chance to make a good joke, especially when you’re in dire circumstances.”
“Is the office on the ground floor, at least?” asked Thomas.
“Ground floor, third window, first building on the left. I realize fighting you on this is hopeless,” Raymond replied innocently.
“We’ll go in after midnight, then.”
Raymond put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “You’re right, this trip wasn’t a mistake. But I want you to promise me something.”
“Tell me what it is, and we’ll see.”
“Promise me that you’ll come back to San Francisco someday and play at Davies Symphony Hall and that, at the end of the concert, as the crowd showers you with applause, you’ll think of your father.”
“I think of you every time I go onstage.”
Raymond was quiet for a moment.
“We should have spent more time together,” he said. “Become best friends. I wanted to be a role model for you, to mold you in my image, pass down my values, and I thought doing all that took distance. I felt I’d led an exemplary life; I was a proud man. But everything you’ve accomplished goes beyond my wildest dreams. I never told you enough just how proud I was of you. Not only of the man you have become, but of the child you were too. Of your determination, your courage, the way you looked out for others. Of that light in your eyes that made me feel like anything was possible.”
“Stop it, Dad.”
“To hell with modesty. It only keeps us from hearing the things that really matter. I don’t have much time; I can feel myself fading little by little. So, I want you to listen to me and make me that promise.”
Thomas looked straight into his father’s eyes and promised.
15
Thomas walked quickly through Union Square, making his way toward the shops just below the plaza.
“Where are we going?” Raymond asked.
“To buy me a new outfit,” Thomas replied.
“In a sportswear store?”
“I think dark, comfortable clothes will be better suited to breaking and entering.”
“Arsène managed all right in his suit,” Raymond protested.
