But I was here to focus on Claudia’s life, not mine.
“You’re right,” I said. “We do have a lot more freedom these days. Though still not as much as we could, and should, have.” As soon as I said the words, I regretted revealing my personal politics. I usually tried to stay neutral.
But Claudia’s approving smile indicated I didn’t need to worry.
“I think we’re going to get along well, my darling.”
19
Claudia was napping in the sunshine when I walked back into the townhouse. Sebastian had left us alone to “get to know each other” while he tended to a list of various domestic tasks she’d given him. A lightbulb change in the library. A faucet tightening in the powder room.
As I wandered through the house unaccompanied, I couldn’t resist peeking into the rooms that branched off the airy hallway. The same palette of neutrals dominated the living room—benign off-white and pale gray tones—and the only hints of color were the meticulously arranged hydrangeas in stark, angular vases. It reminded me of the preserved homes of famous people I’d seen in my travels—of Monet at Giverny, of Elvis at Graceland—where domestic vignettes, cordoned off by ropes, were paused in time as if the occupants had just stepped out momentarily. Everything about this home felt austere, untouched, and completely inconsistent with the warm, vibrant woman I’d met in the garden.
I heard the slow shuffle of footsteps down the marble staircase and scooted out of the living room back into the hallway, pulse thumping with guilt. Sebastian was navigating the last of the stairs with a large cello case, his hands awkwardly around its middle like he was trying to waltz with a voluptuous partner. He grimaced as it hit the wall, though it was unclear whether he was more concerned about the instrument or scarring the pristine white finish.
“Oh, hey!” He rested the bulbous end of the case on the floor. “Is everything okay with Grandma?”
“Yes, she’s just napping in the sun. I figured it was better to let her enjoy it.” I looked curiously at the instrument case. “Is that her cello?”
“No, mine, actually,” Sebastian said. “Grandma likes to listen to me play, so I bring it over sometimes and, you know, serenade her—so to speak.”
The tender image softened my annoyance with him. I suppose he had his reasons for lying, just like I did.
“That’s very sweet of you,” I said. “Music can be calming for the dying.”
Sebastian flinched at my last word. “It’s only a small thing, but I think it makes her feel better. Sometimes she asks me to play for hours and she just sits and listens with her eyes closed, looking so peaceful—like she’s having a nice dream or something.”
I offered him an encouraging smile. “Those small pleasures tend to be the most meaningful for people at this stage.”
Silence floated conspicuously and we looked everywhere but at each other.
Sebastian looked at his watch. “I’d better get going.” He rested the cello against the front door as he pulled out his phone. “Are you heading back downtown? I’ll give you a ride.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll just take the subway.” Sharing a back seat with Sebastian and having him know my address both felt a little too … intimate.
“It’s no trouble at all. You live around the West Village, right? I heard you mention it to Grandma. My chamber ensemble rehearsal is right by NYU, so I can drop you on the way.”
It would be an obvious lie to say I preferred taking the subway. Maybe I could conjure up some other “business” I had on the Upper West Side. But we did need to discuss my future visits to Claudia—that particular lie had to stop.
“If you could drop me at Washington Square Park, that would be great. Thank you.”
Sebastian lit up. “Cool! Let me just call an Uber.”
* * *
After a brief drama maneuvering the cello into the Uber’s trunk, we were headed down Columbus in the backseat of a lavender Toyota sedan. Rhonda, a Texan middle-aged blonde, was at the wheel. As we passed the back of the Museum of Natural History, a pang of sorrow hit me—I’d spent so many afternoons there with Grandpa. Another instance of grief squeezing my heart when I least expected it. I looked across the back seat at Sebastian. Years from now, he’d be able to find solace in the fact that he’d been attentive to his grandmother in this final stretch of her life. But it probably still wouldn’t feel like nearly enough.
“So, your grandma said you’re the only one in your family who lives in New York?”
Sebastian looked surprised that I’d broken the silence. “Yeah, just me. My mom and dad and three older sisters all still live in Connecticut, in the town where I grew up.”
“And they don’t come to the city much?”
“They do for holidays and stuff.” He fiddled with the button on his shirtsleeve. “My dad came down when we took Grandma to the gastroenterologist—it was a guy he knew in college and I think he pulled some strings to get her in.”
“What was the diagnosis?”
His brown eyes dulled. “Stage four pancreatic cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” I let the words float for a few seconds. “How much time do they think she has left?”
“About two months, at best.”
“That must have been a shock for you all. And for her.”
“See, that’s the crazy thing.” Sebastian’s body tensed. “The doctor told my dad the diagnosis first and my dad told him not to tell Grandma that she was dying.”
“What?” I fought the urge to express my disapproval—it was my job to remain impartial. “That’s really…”
“Unethical? Yeah. I was so angry at my dad when he made me swear not to tell her. But he insisted that she’s better off not knowing—I think it’s because he just can’t face telling her.” Sebastian took off his glasses and began polishing them with his scarf. “I would’ve argued with him more, but it’s his mother we’re talking about. And in our family, it’s always been the case that what my dad says, goes.” I sensed bitterness in his tone.
“But she knows she’s sick, right?”
“She knows she has cancer, but she doesn’t know how bad it is.”
“And even though your family knows she’s dying, they still don’t visit her more?” I was kind of grilling Sebastian, but I needed to know these things if I was going to keep visiting Claudia. Navigating complicated family dynamics was a delicate part of my job.
He nodded. “Like I said, that’s how my family has always dealt with death—by not talking about it and pretending it won’t happen. We’re not exactly normal.”
“Actually, that is pretty normal, in Western countries at least. It’s less normal for people to discuss it openly.”
The Uber stopped at the traffic lights outside Lincoln Center and Sebastian watched the fountain propel water elegantly into the air.
“They’ll probably come when it’s getting close to the end,” he said as the lights changed. “They tried to convince her to move into a nursing home last year, before all this happened, and she refused. So they arranged for home health aides—Selma comes early in the morning to help Grandma shower and get dressed and all that, and then Joyce comes at six and spends the night.”
“And Claudia doesn’t think that round-the-clock care is strange?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, she hasn’t said anything. My dad told her that if she wanted to stay living at her townhouse, she had to accept it. And it’s not like she’s short on space.”
“So why do you need me then?” Claudia clearly had plenty of help from people who didn’t have to pretend they were interested in photography.
“Well, Selma and Joyce are great, but they’re all about making sure she’s as healthy as possible and that her practical everyday needs are taken care of. They’re not really into sitting back and having long chats about life.”