But Tina relaxed a little. “It’s a California car,” she said. “It thinks you’re going back on your word about the balmy winters.”
We backed out of the spot and headed down the lane. She turned her head for a moment to look at the flowers one more time, then faced front. “Well, that part’s done.”
“You did a great job,” I said. “It was lovely.”
“I kept the press away,” she said. “That was the least I could do.” She fingered a loose string at the hem of her sweater. “I’ll tell Darion he doesn’t have to take off his shift for me. I’m sorry I held him up.”
“I’m happy to hang out with you,” I said. “Gavin won’t be back for several days.”
“I can’t believe he rode his motorcycle all the way to Mexico City,” she said.
“It’s expensive to fly, and he wanted to be able to get around in case he was able to visit Manuelito.” We passed through the big open gates.
Tina took one more glance behind at the grounds.
“Will you come here?” I asked.
She faced front and gripped the glass shell again. “No. I’m not much on graveside weeping.”
The streets were quiet. We were in a posh part of San Diego. Tina had spared no expense on the location. Albert had left all the decisions to her and Layla.
“Did you keep your baby’s ashes too?” I asked.
Tina frowned. “No, my mother insisted on a grave.” She flinched. “I think about his bones in a box in the ground, and I…” She faltered. “I can’t think about it.”
I winced. Finn had also been buried.
“There’s no good way to do any of this,” Tina said. “Picturing them in the incinerator isn’t exactly comforting either.”
I couldn’t think about these things. “Where would you like to go?” I asked her.
Tina stared out the window. “We should stop by his studio. He left something for you, and now is as good a time as any to give it to you.”
I tried to imagine what it might be. I pictured a ceramic version of Albert’s famous demonic clowns and suppressed a shudder. I had admired Albert and loved his relationship with Tina. But his work? I was not a fan.
“Where is his place?” I asked.
“A couple miles up the road. I’m going to keep his studio open, do some artist-in-residence type stuff.”
“Did he have a house too?”
“It’s all one big estate,” she said. “I still have to figure out how to handle the rest of the house, the upkeep, you know.”
I didn’t know much about Albert’s wishes. “Is Layla going to live there?”
Tina shook her head. “No, she always had her own place. They met in the hospital, and I’m not sure she’s ever even been to his estate. Between the hospital and rehab, he never was able to get out to see it again.”
Her voice caught on the last word.
“You met him at just the right time for him,” I said. “You brought him so much happiness this past year.”
She pulled her cap off and rubbed her head. Her wispy blonde hair crackled with static. “It seemed so short.”
I thought of my seven days with Finn. That had been short. But then, Tina had only three hours with her baby. We could never have had enough. How often did we ever think that time was enough? Gavin had only a year with Manuelito before Rosa took him away again.
Grandparents. Parents. Children. Pets. Never enough time. This was where we should concentrate our energy. Where we should place our happiness. But life kept going. Work. Obligations. They stole our time.
I had to stop thinking about it. My life was making me crazy. I had priorities. I wanted a family to prioritize. But I had no way to make it happen right now. I was stuck. Gavin was snipped. We were barely making ends meet. No time or money for surgery. No time or money for a baby even if he hadn’t had the vasectomy.
Tina directed me through a neighborhood where each house was surrounded by fences and gates. “It’s three down,” she said. “The gray brick one.” She dragged her brown suede knapsack up from the floor and dug around.
When we approached the drive, Tina pushed a button on what looked like a garage door opener. The iron gate glided on a track to let us through.
The road led to a circle in front of a large house with gray pillars. Everything about the property was colorless. The grass was long dead, smashed down with huge patches of dirt.
“Cheerful, isn’t it?” Tina said.
“I guess it matches the personality of someone who painted demonic clowns,” I said.
She sat back, surveying the house. “He was a real mess most of his career. He never got over his wife and daughter. Losing them was the ultimate failure.”
I stopped the car in front of the door. “Nobody could handle that,” I said. “And someone sensitive like Albert didn’t stand a chance anyway.”
She nodded. “The great artists are always the ones who lose it. The world is just too intense.”
I killed the engine, but Tina made no move to get out of the car and go in.