What Ends Will Bring - Part II

In this tale’s melodic conclusion, Albert finds the others who share in his grief, his secrets, and his solitude

Albert was feeling restless and wanting as he parked his bicycle in his garage. It was only quarter past eight by the time he got home, and the prospect of staying home terrified him. There was nothing here for him to do, or rather, no desire to do any of it. He thought of his mother as he sat in his kitchen, wishing he were hungry enough to cook a meal, and wishing still more there was someone else to share it with. He hadn’t spoken to his mother in over a year, having ended that conversation on a sour note. He had thought three years was enough time to talk openly with his mother about how he felt about his father, but she hadn’t softened at all in those three years, had in fact hardened, creating a wall around her love for her dead husband, and allowing no criticisms or open-minded talk about the flaws in his character. Albert’s mother had, in a sense, apotheosized her husband. However, it had been over a year since that argument, more than enough time for things to cool down between them, he hoped. So much had changed in Albert’s life in just two days, perhaps the trend would continue. After a moment’s rest, Albert backed his car out of his garage and drove north for the two-hour trip to his mother’s house.

Irene was plucking weeds from her garden as he pulled into her driveway. She sat down on the edge of her stone wall, eyeing Albert with an unknown quality. He stepped out and immediately felt out of place.

“Albert,” Irene said, “shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I took the day off.” He knew this was not a good thing to say to his mother. “Cherie died two days ago.”

Irene’s gaze never faltered. She sat four feet above him on the stone wall and several feet away, the feeling of superiority not lost on her. He felt small and childish under her old stare. He became a child once more, asking to stay home from school because he felt ill. She would let him stay home, of course, but only to save herself from the embarrassment of having to pick him up from school once the school nurse would see how ill he indeed was.

“I’ll just be going, so sorry to bother you, mother.” Albert stuttered as he opened his car door.

Irene blinked and pulled off her gardening gloves in a quick fluid motion. “Oh, don’t be silly, Albert. Come inside out of this heat. We wouldn’t want your drive to have been a waste.”

Albert closed his car door slowly as he watched as his mother stand and walk to the front door. He followed obediently.

The house was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside, despite its enormous size. There was efficiency and order in everything Irene did. Open concept rooms of the same or similar color blended into one another, each room holding at least one photo of his father at varying times in his life and career. Most were of Albert’s father alone, but some depicted both his mother and father. None bore Albert’s countenance.

Irene gestured for Albert to sit in a chair upon entering the den. She joined him after fixing herself a cup of coffee, then sipped and waited.

Albert started to speak once he realized she would not. “I’ve just come to inform you that Cherie died two days ago. I had to put her down.”

She sipped again before answering, “Who?”

“Cherie, my dog. You met her when father was admitted into the hospital. I brought her with me.”

“Ah, your dog. Sorry to say I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, Well, yes, I suppose it was years ago now,” Albert stumbled. “It’s just that so much has changed for me since she died. I guess I never really prepared myself for it. I never realized how much would change.”

“I doubt as much has changed as you think.” His mother’s eyes were stone. “She was your dog, not your wife.”

“No, but,” Albert started.

“You still work at that same desk job? Live in that house? Go for walks? Eat regularly?”

“Mother, I-”

“Still have that friend you brought to your father’s funeral? What else is there in your life that can change?”

Albert eyed his thumbs crossed over each other, waiting for her to stop. She could do that to him — make him feel like an eleven-year-old child again. A moment passed in deafening silence, her gaze never wavering.

“Mother, I just thought I could come here and patch things up with you. Things in my life have changed, and I was inspired to continue that momentum with you.”

“And what is it that you want to patch up?”

“From our last conversation.”

“Remind me,” she said.

He raised his eyes to meet her. A small bit of defiance bubbled up. “You remember.”

“I remember you foul-mouthing your father and what he did. I remember you trying to turn him into some kind of criminal. I remember your disrespect to both he and I.”

Albert bit back a retort, saying, “I apologize for how I acted then.”

“I don’t remember your actions being much more animated than they are now. I remember what was said.”

“And I stand by what I said. But I want to move past that. I don’t want to carry that with me forever. I want to be able to talk to you. I want for us to have a functioning relationship, and to be part of each other’s lives.”

“And I would love nothing less than for that to happen. However, without a formal apology for what you said about your father, I cannot allow that.”

Albert’s eyes grew wide. “I will not apologize.”

“Then your trip here was a waste,” she said, then sipped her coffee.

Albert slapped the arm of his chair. “Damnit, why are you so loyal to him? Why do you insist on defending him? A man’s profession doesn’t automatically make them a moral person; it’s the actions they make!”

“I agree. It was his actions that made him into the chief of police. It was his actions that allowed those widowed women to have a pension if their husbands died in duty or of an illness. Your father ensured I didn’t have to work after he died. He supported us both and made this city a safer place to live.”

“My father kicked me out of the house whenever he felt like it. Sometimes, for days. And you let him. He used the buckle end of his belt to discipline me when you weren’t around. He’d lock me in my room when you went away to visit your sister in America. He’d bring his police friends over and snort the cocaine they’d confiscated and use it to play poker! He never saw me as his son; he only saw me as some ill-met person he was semi-obligated to house and feed.” Albert’s chest heaved, his eyes stung. “He hated me, or at the very least, was indifferent.”

“And I still don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because he loved me.”

“That’s all?”

“There doesn’t need to be more than that.”

Albert felt drained and deflated. He rose and said, “then, I suppose you were right. This was a wasted trip.”

The rest of the day left Albert in a haze. All he could think about were the different things he could have said to her and the various avenues of discourse he could have taken. Each path disappeared in a vapor as soon as he arrived at a response from his mother. She was so domineering. He felt seven years old again, unable to argue with an adult. He could not clearly communicate his feelings and thoughts. She muddled his mind and muzzled his lips. He spent the day playing their argument over in his mind, never truly ever getting to the point he wanted so desperately to convey. Night came without his notice, and sleep once again denied his invitation.

At work the next day, Albert replied to email after email. Fellow employees from all points in the building asking for his reports or various information they were too lazy to take note of themselves. The air buzzed with the ring of muted phones and light chatter. While not content, he was satisfied with the distractions his work allowed him.

“Albert,” a voice said from behind him.

He smelled the perfume of lavender and felt a pang at the sense memory. He turned. “Hello, Therese.”

Therese stood a few feet behind Albert’s desk. “It’s good to see you back. Raymond let me know you’d be out. I’m a little surprised you came in today, honesty.”

“Oh?” Albert cracked a smile. “Is that permission to go home then?”

Therese smiled in kind. “No, I’m afraid that opportunity has passed. I am sorry to hear about your dog. I know how it is, I’ve had to put down three of my own.”

“It is hard,” Albert sighed. “But, I needed a distraction, so I’m glad I came in.”

Therese nodded and smiled politely, but said nothing more.

“Thank you for your concern,” Albert said.

She nodded once more before turning back and returning to her office.

An email notification from Raymond popped up on his computer. “It’s not often she tries to add a personal touch to her job.”

Albert smiled and returned to work.

The weeks passed with each day arriving with a little more normalcy than the previous one. His focus became gradually sharper as the loss of Cherie faded to the backdrop of his mind. Her collar was placed back into the rummage drawer, and he could sleep better now. The scent of dog could still be noticed in the house, but Albert kept his windows open as much as possible, even through the night, and the smell was beginning to dissipate. He would go to bed earlier, usually around eight at night, and set his alarm so he could take an earlier morning bike ride through the lavender fields before work. Raymond even joined him on a few, though he mainly stuck to the weekend bike rides.

On the first day after he returned to work — a Saturday — he and Raymond rode to Boulangerie Mie Masson for breakfast but found it closed. Neither Masson nor Garcon was in or around the bakery. Albert thought back to the many times he had ridden there, and he could not remember a time Masson or Garcon hadn’t been ready for his order and told Raymond as much. Raymond was disappointed as this would have been his first time at this bakery. He typically kept to the inner-city bakeries, and after a brief deliberation, they decided to try one of those.

Over the next three weeks, Albert returned to Boulangerie Mie Masson every morning before work, only to find it closed and empty, and every morning went to one of the inner-city bakeries instead. His disappointment turned to concern.

Early one Sunday morning when pedaling past Boulangerie Mie Masson Albert noticed Garcon back at the order window. It was early morning on a Sunday, as Albert and Raymond pedaled to the bike racks and stepped off. Albert could smell the bread baking behind Garcon as the wind carried the familiar scent to his nose accompanied by the morning dew yet to burn off.

Garcon smiled a little hesitantly. “Hello, Albert.”

“How are you, Garcon?” Albert replied. “It’s been an odd few weeks without you and Masson here.”

Garcon flicked his eyes to Raymond, then back to Albert. “I can imagine.” He looked passed them both to see no one else near, then said, “How long have you known my father?”

Albert was taken aback by the question. “About sixteen years, I think. I had been coming here when you were just four.”

Raymond tapped Albert on the back and said he’d be on his way. Albert sensed something was not quite right and was positive Raymond felt it too. He was unfamiliar with Garcon and Masson, having never met them. With this fog hanging over Garcon’s demeanor, Raymond must have felt out of place.

“I’m sorry, sir, I can still take your order,” Garcon called after as Raymond turned to his bike. Raymond smiled genially, waved him off, and peddled away.

“Sorry about that,” Albert said to Garcon. “He’s anxious in these sorts of situations.”

Garcon cast his eyes to the grass. “Yes, well, this would be anxiety-inducing for anyone.”

Albert cocked his head to get a better view of Garcon’s eyes. A small teardrop formed in one eye and trailed down his cheek. Albert put a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Garcon, where is Masson?”

“Dead.” There was no hesitation. “He hanged himself three weeks ago in his bedroom. I found him there in the morning.”

Albert embraced Garcon, and he did not resist. The young man sobbed quietly into Albert’s chest, and Albert held him tighter, rubbing his back, easing away the pain and trembles. Albert let go once the worst had passed. Garcon stood there, his eyes downcast, and his expression numb.

“He’d felt alone for so long. My mother divorced him when I was two and left for Algiers. He opened this place soon after to give that chapter of his life closure, but he never truly recovered. He always had this melancholy about him.”

Albert nodded, unsure of what to say. Garcon straightened up and gave a half-smile. “You were the only friend he had. He enjoyed seeing you and always looked forward to seeing Cherie too. Thank you.”

He went back inside and reappeared in the order window. “Today will be tough being the first day back, but I’m looking forward to it. Now, would you like a croissant?”

“Yes, please.” Albert’s brow pinched together as Garcon turned to get his order, then said, “So, only you are working this café now?”

“Yeah, the only relative who lives nearby is my uncle, but he can only give me rides to and from home. He works weekends.” He handed Albert his croissant, and Albert paid.

The croissant was warm and moist as he chewed. He turned to the road. The sun was higher now but still held on to a wisp of pink. A couple had parked and were walking over to the order window, and two cyclists pedaled up the hill, looking in their direction. The morning rush was about to begin. Garcon was busy taking out sheets of bread from the oven and replacing them with others full of molded dough. Garcon was experienced and moved in fluid confident strides, but Albert sensed anxiety about him. The first couple made their way to the order window, both asking for breakfast sandwiches and a coffee to share. Garcon wrote the order down, but without Masson to lead, he was twice as slow as usual. The couple paid for the meal, and a line had formed behind them.

Albert silently moved around to the back of the café stand and went inside. Garcon turned, startled to see him there. Albert took the order slip and began preparing it. “Don’t worry, my first job was in a bakery just like this one. I’ll help out.” Garcon smiled, relieved, then turned back to the order window.

The morning passed by swiftly and smoothly. They never had more than three people waiting at a time. Albert was surprised he hadn’t forgotten much from his earlier years in the bakery. They ate their lunch quickly and separately during the slow period, then kept things moving through the afternoon and early evening.

Garcon closed the hatch over the order window and brought the sign inside. It was close to five o’clock when Albert looked up from drying the dishes to find Garcon opening the door for an older man. He looked about Albert’s age, maybe a couple of years younger. His salt and pepper hair was cut short, and his red-checked tie was loose. Albert assumed this was Garcon’s uncle with the way they were greeting each other.

“Albert, this is my uncle, Salamano.”

Salamano reached out to Albert, and they shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Albert helped me out today. He’s not too bad either. Might just hire him full-time,” Garcon said, patting Albert’s arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I am a little confused as to how you know Garcon?” Salamano asked.

Albert barked an awkward laugh. “Well, I’ve been coming here each morning for sixteen years, and was good friends with Masson.”

He cut himself short and shot a glance at Garcon. The atmosphere in the small kitchen thickened. “I’m sorry. Garcon told me what happened. This must be hard for you.”

Salamano sighed. He slowly slid his hand up and down his tie, pressing it flat against his chest as he said, “Yes, it is. My brother liked to entertain solemnity too often, even when we were little. I wish I had seen the signs before he let go.” His hand stopped midway down his chest. “I have too many regrets with him to voice now. Thank you for helping my nephew today. Can I buy you dinner as a thank you? Or have you eaten already? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

Albert chuckled and said, “I’d be happy to have dinner with you.”

Salamano smiled broadly and rested a hand on Garcon’s shoulder. “We better get you home first. I doubt you’d want to have dinner with a couple old birds.”

Garcon and Albert laughed. There was something bright in Salamano’s eyes — something Albert found curious and something he wanted to discover, and maybe even share.