“You’re so impatient! The secret is that spending my life working was incredibly stupid. All those days and nights I stayed at the hospital instead of going for a walk with you or laughing with your mother.”
“Are you telling me to give up my career so I can go for more walks?”
“You can be so annoying, Thomas. I’m just saying that someday, when you’re happy, I hope you do everything you can to stay that way. Just think of all the things I missed. Think of the time we should have spent together.”
“It’s a little late for this now, don’t you think?”
“If you have something to say, say it. Now’s the time. I’m sure you’ll feel lighter afterward.”
Thomas kicked a can on the side of the road and sent it flying.
“You left without saying goodbye. I wasn’t ready.”
“That’s why I came back.”
“You came back for Camille.”
“I didn’t have time to say goodbye. You were traveling the world, and I was always waiting for you to come home. I didn’t know my heart was going to stop beating one morning. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, I promise.”
“Why are we stopped in front of this house?” Thomas glanced toward the window.
“I came to say goodbye.” His father sighed.
“This is where she lived?”
“Yes, and now it’s her place of eternal rest,” Raymond said. “He took her home with him. As if holding her hostage for more than twenty years wasn’t enough! Let’s go.”
The car set off again, making its way down a small road to the parking lot near Baker Beach. Thomas asked the driver to wait, saying he needed to get some fresh air before returning to the city.
“I figured as much,” the driver replied with a chuckle. “Got any extra?” he asked with a wink. “I’ll give you the ride and the wait for free.”
“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, surprised.
“You and your imaginary friend have been chatting away for the last twenty minutes. It must be some good stuff you’re on. Sometimes I feel lonely at night in my car. I wouldn’t mind a sample of whatever it is you’re smoking.”
“I’d rather pay for the ride,” Thomas replied as he opened the door. “And you probably shouldn’t smoke while you’re driving.”
Raymond walked over to the ocean, then turned around, his eyes glued to the house they’d stopped in front of earlier. Its white paintwork and blue shutters stood out up on the hill.
“Baker Beach will be perfect,” he said. “I’ll go for walks now and then, and if I’m lucky, she’ll see me from the window. It’s not what I imagined for the two of us, but it’s not always possible to get what we want. And I have to admit, the view is incredible.”
“Maybe for you,” Thomas grumbled.
“Don’t be selfish. You have your whole life ahead of you. You get to decide what to do with it. But whenever you play at Davies Symphony Hall—and I know you will—come for a walk on this beach. Here, more than anywhere else, you’ll think of me with joy.”
“That picture doesn’t seem so joyful to me.”
“Because you’re seeing the glass as half empty. You’re thinking of my absence instead of thinking about what we’ve had. Think instead about everything we’ve done together. Do you remember our bicycle tour, when I took you to see the châteaux of the Loire Valley? I made you pedal all day long, and then in the evenings—”
“You took me to see the music and light shows at the châteaux—Chambord, Cheverny, Blois, Chaumont. I was so sore I could hardly sit.”
“Don’t forget Amboise! We stayed up so late. We both felt exhausted and awestruck, all at once. One day you’ll take that trip with your son ordaughter, and you’ll look back at them the whole time you’re pedaling. Maybe that’s what it means to be a father—you lead the way, but you also keep looking back to check on your children.”
Thomas took a few steps forward, sat down on the sand, and studied the horizon. His father joined him, then nudged him in the side, his elbow passing through his son’s jacket.
“We’re going to be late for your dinner. Speaking of which, can I come along?”
“How could I possibly say no?”
