~~~
“Catherine, how are you?”
“Good. This is my boyfriend, Ricky.”
“Ah, the father. Pleasure to meet you.”
The Father. If we only knew.
I shook her hand. “Rick Franchitti. Nice to meet you, Dr. Conera.”
“Please, have a seat. And call me Dr. Ann.” She sat down and indicated a cookie jar filled with Dumdums. “Would you like a lollipop, Rick?”
Dumdums? My doctor always gave me those. When I was five years old. I shook my head. The good doctor smiled and took one for herself.
“These things will be the death of me.”
Dr. Conera—Dr. Ann—asked Catherine a few questions about her mother and father before getting into the nitty-gritty.
“How is your general health, Catherine?”
“I’ve been fine, other than fatigue and a little nausea.”
Dr. Ann wrote a note on the chart. “That’s entirely normal.”
“I’ve also had a little spotting.”
Dr. Ann looked up.
Spotting? What the hell is spotting? My ignorance astounded me, but I kept quiet.
“The spotting is probably nothing,” Dr. Ann said. “It may be as simple as having intercourse. It’s not heavy, is it?”
Catherine shook her head. “No. Very small amounts.”
“Good.” Dr. Ann looked back at the chart, her mouth wrapped around a green-apple lollipop. “And I see we have a heartbeat.”
That’s a sound I’ll never forget. The whoosh whoosh of the baby’s beating heart drove home the reality of the situation. It was scary, yet somehow exhilarating.
The room fell into silence. Dr. Ann flipped through the chart, taking the candy out of her mouth, twirling the stick, then putting it back in.
“Is something the matter?” Catherine said.
“Hmmm? No, no, no. Everything seems to be fine.”
Doctor and patient discussed diet, exercise, and general-type womanly things. As for me? I sat quietly and smiled, my hand clutched in Catherine’s.
~~~
“What the hell is spotting?”
We’d left Dr. Ann’s office, and were headed north on US Route 1 toward Princeton. After Cat made the prescribed follow-up appointment we decided to grab a bite to eat in Forrestall Village. I was thankful to be out of the estrogen-centric world, with its motherhood magazines and vagina dioramas.
“Minor bleeding during pregnancy. It happens. Like Dr. Ann said, it’s probably nothing. She’d have told us if something was wrong.” Cat placed her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on it, but we may want to take it easy in bed until then.”
“Gotcha.”
Yikes. Sex causing bleeding. Consider me freaked out.
We picked a cozy pizza place. While we ate, I quietly brought up the spotting thing again. Catherine assured me I wasn’t hurting her … once she’d finished laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are,” she said, smiling. “Your concern is cute.” Cat erased some sauce from her lip with a napkin. “Ricky. You remember I told my sister, right?”
I nodded as I worked on a corner piece of Sicilian with sausage. She’d told me she let her sister Jude in on the secret the night of the make-up sleepover. The two were thick as thieves, so it hadn’t surprised me.
“Well,” she continued slowly, “I told my mother, too. Now everybody knows.”
Shit.
“Only a matter of time, I guess,” I said.
I had yet to meet Catherine’s family. It was one of those things that was discussed in passing, but never came to fruition. In a way, we both had deeper reasons for the delay. My mom was a free-spirited force of nature with a penchant for embarrassing me.
Catherine’s parents were an altogether different breed.
Her mother was something of a southern debutant in her youth, and her father, as relayed by Catherine, was imposing in a militaristic way. She’d told me stories of him scaring off boys he felt weren’t good enough for her on more than one occasion.
While we both loved our families dearly, part of us didn’t want to deal with the drama of introductions and the judgment that inevitably comes along with meeting the significant other’s folks.
I took a sip of my Sprite and let the news sink in. Outside, people from all walks of life strolled in the sun, some smiling, some harried and frantic. Everyday people living everyday lives. I wondered if any of them were experiencing the same thing I was.
Cat put her hand on mine. “Ricky? You still with me?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I smiled.
“They want to have you over for dinner this weekend. Sunday night. Can you do it?”
Can you do it? Simple words, complex question.
Could I?
Hell yes, I could. No way I would let her father intimidate me.
I brought her hand to my lips and gave it a gentle kiss.
“Damn straight I can do it.”
CHAPTER 15
Speak of the devils. Here come Mary Jo and Patrick Maddox, my mother and father-in-law. Or is that ex mother and father-in-law? Former mother and father-in-law? Will I figure this shit out? My phantom money’s on “no.”
They look impeccable; pressed, primmed, ironed, and combed.
Mary Jo is dressed elegantly, but appropriately, in her full-length black dress and matching bag, neither of which is cheap. Her posture is sublime, her makeup perfect. Even after all these years she’s still a gorgeous woman. The strain on her face doesn’t lessen her beauty, try as it might.
Close behind her, strong hand on her shoulder, is Catherine’s father, Patrick. He’s not much taller than his wife, but his presence is, and always has been, huge; the result of years of military service. Colonel (Ret) Patrick Maddox is a man who commands attention. His face is stoic, his bearing ramrod straight, hair close-cropped and precise. His mouth is hidden behind the large mustache I’d come to know so well over the years, but from its angle, I know he’s frowning.
They approach Catherine and company.
“Good morning, Glen, Beth,” says Mary Jo in her cultured southern lilt. She never did like me calling her “Mom” or “Mrs. Maddox.” A round of hugs. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” they each say in one form or another.
My mother begins to stand, but The Colonel shakes his head. He grips Glen’s hand, hugs Mom.
Yes. Colonel. Like his wife, calling him “Dad” or “Mr. Maddox” was off the table. He was always The Colonel, and even in death the habit sticks with me.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Daddy,” Catherine says, voice beginning to break.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Mary Jo gives my widow a fierce embrace. The pair rock back and forth, and Catherine’s shoulders shake to the point where it pains me to watch … but it’s more difficult to look away.
“Hey, Kit Cat,” The Colonel whispers as he hugs his daughter.
“Do you mind if your father and I take a look at the montage board again, Cat?” Mary Jo points to the array of pictures set up on a table next to my casket. “We won’t be long.”
“Yes. Sure. I think Ricky would have liked knowing people have been enjoying the photos so much. He’d probably say that even dead he’s still the best damn looking guy in the whole joint.” She wipes at her eyes, but she can’t hide her smile.
The Maddoxes walk over to the remembrance board; my life told in still images. Among the family portraits, graduation pictures, and shots of me with friends and family, one has stood out as a favorite: a candid photo of me and the Maddox family friend, Butch.
CHAPTER 16
“And Ricky, whatever you do, do not call my father ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Maddox.’ He prefers ‘Colonel,’” Catherine said as we drove into the wilds of Chesterfield, NJ.
It was the day of the Big Sunday Meet and Greet Dinner. My fingernails were jagged, throbbing remnants of keratin.
Nervous? Me?
Nah.
“Uh-
huh,” I grunted, only half paying attention. I didn’t want to end up in a swale or wrapped around a tree. Wouldn’t have been a good first impression.
“Are you listening?”
“Yeah, I’m listening. Don’t call your pops anything but ‘The Colonel.’ Gotcha. I’m concentrating on keeping us alive. Not used to the roads back here.”
“Good. Oh! There it is.” Catherine indicated an unassuming copse of trees. “Turn right by that white mailbox.”
“Sir, yes sir!” I flipped on the blinker and made the turn.
Catherine scowled. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Moi? A dick? When am I ever a dick?”
“You can be a dick when you really set your mind to it.” She pinched my thigh.
“I would ask you kindly to please not accost your driver whilst he is driving, Admiral. Besides, I’m your dick. Aren’t you the lucky one?”
“Don’t be a wiseass. This is serious. I’m really nervous about this, Ricky. My parents aren’t like your mom. They’re not quite as,” she looked up in thought, “free spirited.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad … holy shitballs.”
Casa De Maddox came into view. The house my then-girlfriend had grown up in was a mini-plantation; a humongous two story home complete with ivy-covered brick, white-trimmed windows, a three car garage that resembled a barn, and a lawn any country club would envy.
I whistled. “Where’s the golf cart?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I navigated up the winding drive, past a kidney-shaped pond. “Are there actually fish in that frigging thing?”
“Not anymore. It’s just for show. Mom said it was too much of a pain in the ass keeping them alive.”
“Yes. I can imagine what a cross to bear that must have been, the poor woman.”
I hummed ‘We’re In The Money’.
Cat gave me the finger.
I stuck out my tongue.
Having parked in the circular driveway, we walked up the lavish stone steps toward a large, white double door nestled under an awning.
“You guys don’t have a butler or anything, do you? A Butterworth? A Renfield?” I hunched over and made a hump out of an upraise shoulder. “An Igor?” I pronounced it ‘Eye-gor.’ Catherine looked at me as if I was a visitor from another planet. Or Pennsylvania. “You know, Igor? “There wolf, there Castle.””
“You’re weird.”
“I know.”
She shook her head, sighed. “Anyway, wiseass, there is no ‘Eye-gor’ or Butterworth or anything like that.” She smiled the smile of the wicked. “There is only Butch.”
“Butch?”
Just then the door opened. Still hunched in my best Marty Feldman pose, I’d been totally unprepared for the massive brown and black hellhound bearing down on me. By the time I glanced its way, it was too late. It pounced on me.
“Jesus Christ,” I squealed, and fell to the ground.
A feminine voice came from inside the house. “Butch!”
Catherine laughed. “Ricky? Meet Butch.”
“Butch! Heel!” came the female voice from inside the house again.
“Help! It’s gonna tear my throat out!” I was trapped under at least one hundred pounds of canine wrath.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Ricky,” Catherine said through a fit of giggles. “Haven’t you ever seen a German Shepherd before?”
Butch’s rough tongue slathered my face, but through sheer force of will, I was able to speak through the assault of doggy kisses.
“Is he just tasting me before deciding if I’m good enough to eat?”
“I doubt it. You’re too thin.” Catherine got down on one knee and Butch came to her immediately. “Hey Butchy Butch! How’s my little puppy, hmmm?” she cooed, tickling his ears and accepting his slobbery kisses with a smile.
I stood and wiped dog spit off my face. A woman who could only be Catherine’s older sister stood grinning in the doorway. Other than slightly lighter skin and blue eyes, she and Cat may as well have been carbon copies. Even her hair, which she wore in a short bob ala Rachel from Friends, was the same strawberry blond.
I extended my hand. “Um, hi. Jude?”
“Got it in one. You may want to wipe off that hand before I shake it.”
“What? Oh, right.” I rubbed some dog slobber on my shorts. Nothing but class.
“That’s better.” She winked and we shook hands. “You must be Rick.”
“Hope so. If not, someone’s been really pissed about their SAT scores all these years.”
“Pleased to meet you, Rick. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I’m sure you have.
“All of it good, I hope?”
“Some good, some bad, some very good.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“The good and very good are all true. But I vehemently deny the bad.”
“Too late. Part of the historical record now.”
“Hey Jude, don’t be so cruel.”
“And you were doing so well,” she sighed. “But you’re pretty cute, so I’ll let that slide.”
“I can live with that.”
“Good.” Jude stepped inside. “C’mon in, guys. The parental units are waiting out back.” She stooped down and patted her thighs. “C’mere, Butch! Inside! There’s a good puppy.” Butch tore ass back into the house, his deadly claws clacking on the hardwood.
Catherine took my hand and kissed me on the cheek. “Not bad, Ricky. Nice entrance. Sorry I didn’t warn you about The Beatles thing, though. That really chafes her ass.”
“You saying you didn’t leave that out on purpose?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“I’ll make you pay for that, woman.”
“Promises, promises. Come on. Let’s go in. Don’t want to keep Mom and Pop waiting.”
Squeezing her hand, I let her lead me into the Maddox compound, hoping my altercation with Butch would be the only hiccup.
CHAPTER 17
“Man, this place is fantastic.” The house was full of warm colors, comfortable furniture, and all the trimmings. “What’s that room?” I pointed to a pair of mysterious doors off the main hallway.
“That’s Dad’s study,” Catherine said. “He’s got a small library in there, some collectibles, the whole nine yards.” She squeezed my hand. “How’re you holding up?”
“So far so good.”
“I bet they’re on the patio, raring to go. It’s right up here, through the kitchen.”
“Mom, Dad! They’re heee-eeer,” Jude yelled as we stepped out onto the deck.
Must not chew nails. Must not chew nails.
Mary Jo Maddox turned from where she’d been setting up the picnic table. She had on a large sun hat and sunglasses, just like my mom wears. Her face lit up when she saw Catherine. Waving, she walked toward us.
I thrust my hands in my pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet as mother and daughter embraced.
“How are you doing?” Mary Jo whispered in Catherine’s ear. I detected a slight southern accent.
“I’m okay, Mom. Where’s Dad?”
“He had to take a quick phone call in his office.”
I could see where the sisters’ resemblance stemmed from. Although curly auburn hair spilled from underneath her hat, Mary Jo Maddox was an older version of her two daughters, from the small nose that turned up slightly at the end, to the full lips, high cheekbones, and dimpled chin. The Maddox women were three of the same person, age the only difference between them. The conspicuously absent Colonel was indeed a lucky man to be surrounded by such beauty.
I cleared my throat, more than a bit uncomfortable at the unspoken dialogue the two communicated with their eyes.
“Um, Mom? Our guest?” Jude to the rescue.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mary Jo, noticing me for the first time, inspected me from top to bottom, much like my mother had done with Catherine. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Mary Jo Maddox.” She offered her hand and
forced a cordial smile. “Cat and Jude’s mother. But I’m sure you figured that out already.”
Her hand was cool despite the heat.
“Richard Franchitti,” I said, trying out a smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Maddox.”
“Call me Mary Jo, please. Do you prefer Rich? Richard?”
“You can call me Rick, or Ricky. Just don’t call me Shirley.” I winked.
Jude snort-laughed and Catherine stifled her own with a hand. After a moment of confusion, Mary Jo’s face opened up in a genuine smile. “You’re funny … Rick. And handsome to boot. I can see why my daughter fancies you.”
Fancies? Did people still say that? Probably a southern thing.
“Thank you, Mary Jo. You have a beautiful home by the way. Almost as beautiful as the lady of the house.”
From behind Mary Jo, Jude put a finger in her mouth and crossed her eyes.
Mary Jo had an altogether different reaction. She blushed.
Major points for me.
“Aren’t you a charmer, Rick? Flattery will get you everywhere.”
I raised one side of my unibrow. “Not laying it on too thick, am I?”
“It’s entirely too much, but I’m not complaining.” Catherine’s mother showed me an impish smile and I felt my tension fall away by a sizeable margin.
“I calls 'em as I sees 'em. I can certainly see where your daughters get their good looks from.”
A deep voice resonated from behind me. “They sure as hell didn’t get them from me, son.”
So much for being relaxed.
CHAPTER 18
While it was apparent Catherine’s mother was making a concerted effort to not hate the guy she assumed had defiled her little girl, the bulldog of a man whose steely eyes bored into me did nothing to hide his disgust.
“Hey, Daddy.” Catherine hugged her father, and Butch plodded over, tail wagging as he sniffed his master’s shoes.
“Hey, Kit Cat.” Patrick Maddox hugged Catherine with powerful, hairy arms, his gaze unwavering. He stared at me with barely concealed contempt. I stared back. We were locked in a visual game of chicken and I had no intention of swerving first. “Your mom didn’t let all the food burn while I was inside, did she? It should be done soon.”
Funeral with a View Page 6
