Funeral with a View

by Schiariti, Matt

  “In high school?”

  “College, dumbass. Don’t be jealous cause chicks dig me.”

  “Right. What would Suzie say?”

  “Who?”

  “Suzie. Your plus one at Jude’s wedding? Remember? A couple weeks ago? Hello, McFly, anybody home?”

  “Oh.” He waved his hand. “I cut her loose.”

  “Of course you did.”

  I’d just lost the over/under with Cat. Again. Damn.

  “I hear a lot of talking, but I don’t see a lot of working” This from Glen, comfortable in his cool lair.

  “Oh shut up, Glen,” chided my mother.

  “Yes, dear.” The bastard grinned. Something told me he wasn’t nearly as injured as he’d claimed.

  “Now,” I said, picking up some screws, “if you two have had your fill of ball-busting, I’d like to finish up this deck while I’m still young enough to stand erect.”

  “Speaking of erect, Richard …”

  “Mom!”

  I don’t think she heard me over the whine of electric drill.

  CHAPTER 30

  “I love this place, Ricky.” Catherine swept a stray hair behind her ear.

  “Great, isn’t it?”

  We were at Mercer County park, setting up a picnic lunch. The sun was strong, birds chirped, and oddly, not many people could be seen.

  “Something wrong?”

  I released an errant fingernail from my teeth. Busted. “Wrong? What could be wrong? It’s a gorgeous day, the park is practically ours, and we have a huge picnic basket full of goodies courtesy of your mom and pop. I can’t wait to get into these leftovers. The food was awesome last night. They sure do know how to throw a party.”

  Cat’s graduation ceremony was the previous day. Everyone had shown up; Mom, Glen, Bill, the Currings, Cat’s parents. I swelled with pride when Cat walked on stage and accepted her MBA. It was the culmination of thousands of hours of hard work, and her three-point-seven GPA was even more impressive given all she’d had to deal with during that time. I would have given up if I were in her shoes, but she fought right through it. How she managed to focus with a pregnancy scare, subsequent miscarriage, a wedding, and moving house looming over her head boggled my mind.

  “Your mom was quite the hit,” Cat said.

  Oh that Beth Franchitti. Instant entertainment.

  The Maddoxes threw the mother of all surprise pig roasts after graduation … to which we were precisely fifty-three minutes late. Cat was just so sweaty from wearing that cap and gown in the baking sun. What kind of man would I be if I hadn’t offered to join her in the shower and wash her back? The bill would be extensive, but worth it. When The Colonel asked why I was so late getting his Kit Cat to the party, I blamed bad plumbing. I don’t think he believed me.

  Getting back to Mom. As the night went on and her blood alcohol level escalated to batting average figures, she came up with the brilliant idea that it would be nice to join people in the pool for a swim. With her clothes on. Screaming ‘tallyho!’, she took a running start and executed a sloppy cannonball. It started a domino effect. Not one to be outdone, Bill followed suit. But it didn’t stop there. Mary Jo was next, and her husband not far behind. Mary Jo playing the lemming was a surprise. The Colonel going along with the crowd was downright astounding. Once again, I blame my mom.

  Earlier in the evening Beth lured him into her personal orbit with tales of her life in Sin City prior to meeting my father. The poor guy was instantly smitten, hanging on her every word as if she were the soul bright spot in the universe. It was funny. And frightening. Still, it was no wonder the guy followed her into the pool like an obedient soldier. Once more into the breach and all that jazz.

  “That’s my mom for you. A regular party animal.” I set containers of ham, smoked turkey, hummus, crackers, French bread, and potato salad (yes, Mom’s epic ... what else?) onto the blanket, emptying the basket of all but one item. “If Mary Jo and Pat aren’t careful, she may become a regular fixture in their social circles. I think your dad has a bit of a crush.”

  “Too late. I overheard them making plans for the summer. Dinner and dancing on the Spirit of Philadelphia. I think it’s kind of cute.”

  “You feel that way now, but you’ll live to regret the melding of those two worlds.”

  On the sly I poured us some Pinot. Nothing screams romance to the heavens like drinking wine out of red SOLO tumblers.

  “Here you go, Cat.”

  Cat’s eyes opened wide and she pointed over my shoulder. “Ricky, watch out!”

  BLAM!

  With a swoosh of air, a football flew within an inch of my face and landed smack dab in the middle of our picnic setup. Food flew. Wine spilled. Containers toppled. Silverware clanked. The near-empty basket popped into the air and flipped end over end, landing next to Catherine.

  “Son of a bitch. You hurt?”

  Cat shook her head, shocked but none the worse for wear. “No.”

  Jaw clenched, I picked up the football and spun around, fully intent on stuffing the pigskin down some unlucky punk’s throat.

  That’s when I saw him.

  Things like this weren’t supposed to happen. It was like getting struck by lightning twice. In the same year. I found myself looking into a freckly, red-haired, pre-pubescent face.

  Johnny Unitas. Johnny stinkin’ U! The same damn kid who’d pegged me in ass in the very same spot, on a very similar day not so many moons ago. He looked about eight, a year older than when we’d last met, but I recognized him in seconds.

  “You,” I whispered.

  “Sorry, mister.” He made a face “Hey, do I know you?” A snap of pale fingers. “I know. Didn’t I hit you with a ball last year?”

  I stood tall, and my shadow blotted out the sun. All the better to intimidate you, my ginger haired quarterback. “Why don’t you watch where you’re—”

  “Rick.”

  I held up a finger. “Just a second, Cat. I’ll help straighten things up as soon as I’m done with mister armchair QB here.”

  “Ricky.”

  “Don’t you go anywhere,” I said, poking the kid’s chest with the nose of the ball. I turned around and faced Cat. “What is it, baby?”

  “What’s this?” She held a small black felt box in the palms of her hands like a parishioner receiving Holy Communion.

  Oh shit.

  It must’ve fallen out of its hiding place when the basket flipped over.

  I was frozen in place, football in hand, unable to move or speak. Ruined. All ruined.

  “Mister, can I have my ball back?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mumbled. Without looking back, I tossed it over my shoulder. The kid thanked me and I heard his footsteps recede into the distance.

  “Ricky, is this what I think it is?”

  Instead of offering an answer, I walked over to her, took the box from her hands, and kneeled. Maybe the kid had done me a favor. No more stalling. The cat was out of the bag, or in this case, the ring was out of the picnic basket, and there was no sense in putting it off any longer. Not how I’d planned my proposal, but it would be a memory worth looking back on … as long as she said yes.

  Catherine’s hands glided slowly to her mouth. They trembled.

  With my own shaking hand, I flipped open the lid with a small creaking sound. Sun caught the perfectly cut facets, sending sparkles of light to dance on her cheeks like pixies.

  “Catherine Maddox, will you marry me?”

  “Oh my God.” Tears formed in her eyes as I placed the ring on her finger. It slid on without resistance, as if it was always meant to be there. Her eyes floated from the ring to meet mine. “Yes,” she said, her voice almost beneath the threshold of my hearing.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Really really?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she threw her arms around my shoulders and crushed herself to me. “I thought you were never going to ask. Yes, Ricky. Really really.”
>
  There came the sounds of scattered applause. It seemed we’d made a little scene. We shared a kiss and the applause grew louder. A bit embarrassed, we sheepishly looked around the gathered crowed of rubberneckers getting an eyeful of our not-so private moment. Johnny U and his brother clapped, their football lying still on the grass. They gave me nods and two skinny thumbs up.

  I reciprocated.

  Really really.

  CHAPTER 31

  The parlor doors mark the limit of my mobility. I’ve discovered (the hard way) that any farther than that invisible barrier and I’m sucked back toward my coffin. What a pain in the ass. Be that as it may, I’m able to get a partial view of the hall. I look left. No Bill. A look to the right. No sign of my best friend. Where the hell is he? Is he late, or will he skip this event altogether? Part of me can’t blame him if he stays away. He seemed cagey last night; things with Mr. Henly were never the same after the … incident. But in the interest of full disclosure, I will consider it tantamount to him taking a giant dump on my imminent grave if he plays the no-show.

  The influx of people has dissipated somewhat, and the parlor, with the exception of dribs and drabs of muted conversation, sits in a hush. Up front, Catherine and Mom are quiet as church mice, the former worrying over her bracelet, the latter pulling lint off her dress with nervous, frustrated movements. Rob is stoic and cool, resembling a statue in his stillness. Jude hasn’t come in from outside yet, surely watching over the children like a hawk. I want to see Celeste so badly I experience phantom pains in the truest sense of the phrase.

  Nobody likes a funeral.

  Traffic at the remembrance board is now non-existent. Sticking to the ceiling so as to not give anyone the chills, I travel across the parlor and settle in close to the easel. My focus wanders from those earlier times—the silly pictures of us dancing at Jude and Rob’s wedding, a still of The Colonel and me on the patio smoking cigars and wearing confused expressions, the askew self portrait of Cat and I just after she’d gotten her MBA, right before our marathon shower lovemaking session—and on to what would be the next phase of my life. Cat’s proudly displaying her gleaming wedding ring. She and I at our own wedding reception. Color imagery of us in our first, and only, house.

  That next phase, that next step, was both the best and worst of it, encompassing everything from the good, to the bad, to the very ugly.

  CHAPTER 32

  The news of our engagement met with zealous enthusiasm. Mom was ecstatic about the promise of grandkids, never failing to make mention of the Baby Making Machine, and according to Mary Jo, she and The Colonel were pleased as punch. The topic of who’d be paying the bill did come up. Catherine’s father insisted he pay and wouldn’t take no for an answer. How he could do that without having to take out a second mortgage remained something of a mystery to me, but I learned early on there was no arguing with the man.

  A date had been set: the Saturday before Memorial Day of the following year. That allowed us a cushion of just under a year to make the necessary arrangements, something Catherine pounced on like Butch on my Italian-American carcass the first time we’d met. Before long, my fiancé had the hall booked, the photographer picked, and the limo locked up. With the biggest hurdles cleared we could focus on the next order of business: finding a house.

  The apartment was fine, but it was a temporary stop on the line. We wanted a house, something we could turn into a true home as we stepped into the next phase of our lives together. Our careers had both been on the upswing. MBA in hand, Cat had moved up a rung or two and became a full-on network administrator. More responsibility, but more vacation and money to go along with it. As for myself, I’d gone up a few pay grades at Colbert & Colbert. The clients I’d been landing, in addition to long term contracts, hadn’t gone unnoticed by upper management. Between the two of us, the influx of money was liquid enough to allow for a mortgage payment, The American Dream.

  We scoured newspapers, the internet, and visited every open house we could find. After countless hours of searching, travelling, looking, and worrying, we discovered a place in West Windsor we instantly fell in love with. The two story colonial featured three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, attached two car garage, and a full basement. But that’s not even the best part. In realty, homes are all about location, location, location, and this home was situated on a quiet cul de sac in a development adjacent to Mercer County Park.

  “I think I’m in love, Ricky.” Cat and I waited in the updated kitchen while the realtor made some phone calls outside. She’d given us the grand tour and there was nothing we didn’t like about the place. “It has everything we’re looking for. A big yard on a quiet street, close to the park. Plenty of room for a growing family. It’s fantastic.”

  “You want it?”

  “I do.”

  “Really really?”

  She held my hands in hers, eyes glowing with nervous excitement. “Really really.”

  That was all I needed to hear. With Bill’s help, who not only ran the numbers but, using his connections as a financial advisor, hooked us up with a bank offering an obscenely low interest rate, we closed on the place that October and moved right in.

  Happiness for all … except one.

  “Shit. I can’t believe you two’re leaving me.”

  We’d received news that our second offer had been accepted. We were celebrating on my tiny porch for the last time, frosty beers in hand. The three of us.

  Cat, me, and Mr. Jameson.

  “Just when I was gettin’ used ta ya’s, too.”

  “It’s only a few minutes away,” Catherine said. “We’ll come visit. And you’ll have to stop by and see the new place sometime.”

  “Not to mention you’ll be invited to the wedding,” I added.

  “Ahh, that’s all well n’ good, but I know you won’t come back here to visit an old sack of skin and bones like me.” He guzzled his beer. “Appreciate the sentiment though. That being said, I’m happy for you two. Getting’ hitched, buyin’ your own real place. Warms this old goat’s heart. I’m gonna miss you kids.”

  I couldn’t have known it then, but Mr. Jameson’s words were prophetic. Sad to say, but I would only see the man on two more occasions, one of them my own funeral.

  CHAPTER 33

  Thanksgiving. The first official holiday in our new house. My entire family (Glen as well) sat around our dining room table, plates piled high with food, glasses filled to their rims.

  The Maddoxes had observed a certain tradition since before the wheel was round. On the Day of Thanks, each family member would stand up and state the things they were thankful for that year.

  “Rob and I have the same thing to be thankful for.” Jude stood up, a wineglass full of water in hand. When asked if she wanted wine, she declined, blaming a sour stomach. She took a dramatic pause before placing a hand on her stomach. “We’re pregnant.”

  The womenfolk squealed in delight, the menfolk offered manly congratulations.

  “Oh my God, I’m going to be an aunt.” Catherine ran around the table and engulfed her older sister in a hug. “Do you know the sex? When’s the due date? This means baby shower!”

  I shook Rob’s hand as Catherine and her mother barraged Jude with questions. “Congratulations, dad.”

  Rob adjusted his glasses, grinning ear to ear. “Thanks, Rick. We’re pretty excited about it.”

  I turned to The Colonel. “Does that make you Colonel Grampa now?”

  His moustache gave away nothing but his eyebrows indicated shock. “I’m going to be a grandfather?” he said. “Holy shit.” Not much stunned the man, trust me.

  “Okay, okay” Jude laughed, and with hands splayed to fend off the incessant questions, she extricated herself from the suffocating hugs. “I should probably add that we’re having twins.”

  “Twins!” I wasn’t sure who said that, so we’ll go with everybody.

  “I’m going to be a gramma, twice?” Mary Jo said. “Are you sure?”

/>   “Yes, we’re sure. Two heartbeats means two babies, Mom. It’s too early to tell the sexes, but we’ve discussed it and would rather be surprised. Come June, we’re gonna have two more Currings running around the eastern seaboard.”

  Catherine did the math. “You’re going to be big as a house for my wedding.”

  Jude stuck out her tongue. “Thanks a lot, sis. Love you, too.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m so happy for you both.”

  Mom raised her glass. “It seems as if your family keeps getting bigger and bigger. A toast. To family.”

  We all raised our glasses. “To family.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Cat and I hosted our first Christmas in the new house. New Year’s came and went, spent in The Big Apple with Bill and his then girlfriend, Brenda. Or was it Barbara? Belinda, maybe? Bill’s list of paramours had gotten to the point where it read like a list of tropical storms. Valentine’s Day was even more special, given my and Cat’s engagement. Work continued to go well, and the wedding arrangements fell into place. We were cooking with gas and loving life.

  Before I knew it, the night of my bachelor party was upon me. What kind of red-blooded American male would I be if I didn’t allow Bill, the obvious choice for best man, to throw me one?

  “Bill won’t shut up about the ‘talent’ he’s acquired for the evening’s debauchery.” Cat was busy putting on her face, staring intently into the bathroom mirror. Her Manhattan-based bachelorette party was also that night. “Said talent is supposedly pretty filthy,” I teased, wiggling my unibrow.

  Catherine’s reflection grinned as she applied eye shadow. “Is that so?”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m merely the witless bachelor, unwilling subject of my best friend’s evil machinations. But, if you have to shoot someone, shoot Bill. Just don’t give him any warning. He’s fast for a big guy.”