Final Arrangements (19 page)

"I had a good teacher. Stretch, I'm having
you investigated. By a very thorough professional service. I
thought you should know."

"Investigated?"

"My intern, David Bergstrom, hired a security
company to check you out. By tomorrow morning, I'll know whether or
not you're for real. I'll know where you went to school, who your
friends were, how much money you've got, how much you owe, and a
lot of other stuff. Does that offend you?"

"It should," he said, slurping his coffee a
tad too loud. "If it wasn't for the fact I already had you
investigated myself about six months' ago."

A prickly heat began around her ears and she
knew her face was turning beet red. "Good Lord--you didn't."

"Just kidding. C'mon, Shannon, it's me. But
since you're having me investigated, I think you should at least
tell me one dark secret about yourself before you find out all of
mine."

"What could I tell you about myself that my
father hasn't already told you?"

"I don't know."

"Did he ever tell you I almost eloped?"

Stretch's eyebrows went up. "Nope. He forgot
to mention that one."

She stood up, grabbed Tedricka, and went to
the window. There was little traffic on the Hollywood freeway
below, limited mostly to truck drivers and those whose business
required them to be on duty early, such as restaurant workers and
studio people. It wouldn't be light for a few more hours. It hardly
seemed real she was having the man thoroughly investigated, the
agency even now compiling a great deal of information most people
assumed was safely buried forever in the bureaucratic backwaters of
Los Angeles county records.

"I didn't elope. I had second thoughts," she
said. "The guy I told you about, my high school sweetheart?"

"Does he have a name?"

"Brian."

"Thank you. Now I have somebody to hate."

"Why?"

"Because you loved him first."

"Don't tell me you never had a high school
sweetheart."

"Yes."

"And?"

"Kathleen. She dumped me on her parents
advice. I used to hang around in front of her house. Finally, the
whole family moved back to Arkansas to get rid of me."

"Thank you. I won't hate her for being your
first love. Anyways, on prom night, Brian proposed to me. We both
knew our parents wouldn't let us get married so young, so we were
going to sneak off to Las Vegas and then come home married and drop
the bomb. The internet was new, then, but he had a computer with
on-line capabilities and we even registered with a wedding chapel
over the internet. Fortunately, we came to our senses."

"I'm adopted," Stretch said.

"What?" She heard him clearly, but was having
trouble shifting gears on the downhill grade the conversational
vehicle had taken. Things had begun to go much too fast, and there
was the feeling of something scary.

"I'm adopted."

"And now you're a millionaire pool guy.
That's quite a progression. Forgive me for saying this now, but I
never thought Ike and Cece were your natural parents. They're too
short."

"I lived in foster homes until I was 14.
Nobody adopted me because I was too tall. And I was a very ugly
child. Until one glorious day, God sent Ike and Cece into my
life."

"Is that why you want to be a youth pastor?
Because of your life spent in foster homes?"

"Yes." He smiled, and behind the smile she
could see the pain in his eyes. No, she could feel it. An orphan
boy on his way to becoming a man. Wondering if anybody would ever
love him.

"And you were going to tell me all this
when?"

He looked down and slowly began putting the
chess pieces back into the paper sack. "Never," he said. "Well, one
day. I was going to tell you one day." He turned away. To hide his
face? Filled with anger? Or grief? Both? Neither?

"You lied to me about everything. About the
judo you did to my brother. You learned to fight dirty because you
grew up in foster homes, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? Why?"

"I ... I don't know. I was afraid for you to
know I didn't have a normal upbringing."

"I want you to go now," Shannon said. "I
really need to be alone."

"I should have told you," he said. "I'm
sorry. Please don't shut me out."

"Please leave."

She had to shut the door after him. He'd
walked out, leaving it ajar. When she turned back, she noticed he'd
left his chess set. Almost in reflex, she grabbed the bag and flung
it across the room. The pieces flew everywhere.

"Just like my life," she said to Tedricka.
"In pieces on the floor." Tedricka had the wisdom not to answer
back, this trait lending to her furry visage the appearance of
wisdom.

Something inside her was terribly wrong.
There was fear greater than she'd ever felt before. "Oh my God,"
she whispered, sitting on the sofa's edge. "I'm so alone. So
terribly alone." The wise advice she'd gotten from the General
seemed to have evaporated. It was back to square one--raw emotion
wearing her nerves even rawer. She grabbed her cell and hit the
speed dial.

"Phil? Are you still up?"

"No. You know how it is. You drink until you
crash."

"No, I do not know. Because I don't drink,"
Shannon replied.

"Did you know Mom used to sneak brandy during
the day? I take after her. You take after Dad. I've never
understood you. Never understood how you could be such a goody
goody."

"I don't want to hear it. And may I remind
you that you're still on probation? You have no business drinking.
You're jeopardizing everything in your life."

"I'll be the judge of that. What time is
it?"

"A little after one."

"Sis, are you all right?"

"No. I think I just told the pool guy to get
out of my life. But I'm not sure if it was the right thing to do.
I'm feeling pretty horrible."

"You did the right thing. The guy isn't right
for you. You deserve somebody with some class, some smarts."

"Do I? Maybe I'm just a Tennessee hillbilly
underneath."

"Don't be ridiculous. Now try to get some
sleep."

"Phil, I'm scared. I'm clutching a stuffed
bear for emotional support. But it feels like my brain is turning
to ice."

"Things will look better in the morning. Or
do you want to come over? I've got clean sheets in the guest room.
Just let yourself in. No. Wake me. I'll put the coffee on and we'll
talk when you get here. I might as well start a new era of sobriety
now. To tell you the truth, I hate drinking. The guilt alone is
killing me. It scares me."

"No. Go back to sleep. I'll stay here at the
hotel. I don't feel like crossing town. There's too many drunks
like yourself leaving the bars at this hour."

"Not me. I always take a cab."

"Only because you're not allowed to
drive."

"We'll talk tomorrow. I'll be sober by then.
Good-night, Sis."

She bundled herself under the covers with
Tedricka, leaving the curtains open to let the reflected light from
the night sky, a canopy of low clouds, illuminated by the city
lights, shine in. She could sort it all out tomorrow. Decide which
fork in the road to take. Life with Stretch Murphy, or go it alone.
Or make no decision at all, just do like her brother did. Escape
into the ozone. Take it one day at a time and let God sort it all
out.

At worst, her affairs in the San Fernando
Valley would all be over in a week. Sooner, if General Kremsky
successfully used his influence to have Dad's body released. With
that bit of luck, she could finish up the funeral and be back in
Pacific Heights by the weekend. That, plus the new position with
the firm and the addition of a nice fat commission added to her
bank account would go a long way to assuage the pain and heartache
she felt. She was almost 30 and had accomplished many of her
dreams. The fulfillment of those dreams could take her a long way.
Perhaps all the way to the end of her life, if she was lucky.

Chapter 12

In the morning, she awoke just after nine and
was glad for the services of the hotel, thankful for the people
which made it unnecessary for her to force her tired, depressed
body through the challenges of the thousand and one mundane things
which constitute for most the ordinary chores of maintaining their
state each day prior to going out the door to work.

The suite had a stellar bath accommodation
which Shannon took advantage of, and when the maid had drawn the
bath, she went into pamper mode. The large oval jetted tub,
bubbling hot, foaming with the best soaps and scents, presented
itself as a refuge from the press of recent events, and it was here
she allowed her thoughts to rise above the fray.

From the living room stereo, she allowed the
soothing sounds of Christian praise music from KLOVE to drift her
way, the music soothing, permeating her soul. It was a ritual she
often found comforting during times of extreme duress, one in which
she, by the grace of God, could perhaps hope to find some key to
the chaos in question.

"Dear Lord," she prayed aloud, slowly, "you
see me here before you in a time of crisis. Nothing is hidden from
you, and there is nothing in my life to which you do not have the
answer. But I need to find out what it is you're trying to tell me.
Lord, I'm listening."

While she prayed, she found herself mindful
of her dad's advice. He had once told her, "There are billions of
people in the world, all asking the Lord to do something for them.
So when I pray, I ask the Lord what I can do for Him."

It's a mystery
, she thought.
What
can I do for the Lord? There are billions of us, in many ways,
exactly alike. We live our lives, we do the best we can to help our
families and others along their way. We are all the same and yet we
are all uniquely different. Everything God does is a paradox. We
live, yet we die. We die, yet we live. We are all as one, and we
are all uniquely special to God. I am part of the great, uncounted
crowd gathered at the Heavenly altar in John's vision, and yet I am
alone in a hotel room, seeking my Maker as an individual, wondering
what gift I can bestow
.

In her heart, she knew, she wanted a change
to occur. She was ready for some kind of breakthrough in her life.
And had to admit, there had already been a couple of major changes.
But not of the kind she desired. She had attained a measure of
business success through the arduous applications of her chosen
profession.

No, she had found favor in business, she
realized, because of God--because of her faith, which had caused
her to befriend a lonely old man in the park. Through that simple
Christian action, she had met General Kremsky and he had rewarded
her with a status above that of most of her peers.

Another monumental change was coming by way
of the death of her father, bringing her through the door of a new
passage in her life, and as such she was beginning to feel the
weight of her own mortality pressing upon her. A single woman, who
had not had the opportunity, now lost forever, to triumphantly
present husband and children to her parents.

The thought pained her. Had she been overly
scrupulous in her career and life choices? Had she committed the
ultimate blunder and ignored marriage and children, forcing her
parents to go without the blessed experience of being grandparents
to their daughter's children? Had she simply been for the past 10
years a product of the world system, the successful woman who, in
order to do her part to shatter the glass ceiling, postponed or in
other ways blocked her maternal functions in order to compete with
the men in the workplace? Had her sacrifice in this regard been the
ultimate folly? It was too large a thought to consider.

And now there was Stretch Murphy tugging at
the corners of her life. Which tugging ostensibly had its origins
in the bizarre and antiquated notion of an arranged marriage, which
he claimed Dad had suggested, shortly after getting to know
Stretch.

Had Dad actually come up with the idea? Or
had Stretch, for reasons of his own, made the whole thing up? Or
neither? Perhaps Dad had fallen prey to a partial senility. Thus
far, it was a mystery. She hadn't as yet come across any
information which might link Dad to the proposition. Stretch had
introduced her to his parents, they serving as witnesses to her
dad's actions. But could she trust them?

I haven't rejected the notion of marrying
Stretch
, she thought. Which means I am not in my right mind. I
should have laughed the idea right off the table. But for some
reason I didn't. Has Stretch struck a chord in me, one I didn't
know existed?
Stretch represents husband, family, spirituality,
and a sort of male brokenness which I find almost irresistible.
He's been an orphan until age 14. Rescued by adoptive parents, one
of whom is an immigrant from war-torn Ireland. But why did he lie
about being an orphan? No, not lied, but concealed. There is a
difference. And why have I rejected him? Or have I? No, Stretch
left the door open last night on his way out. On purpose? As a
symbol? Everything is so uncertain between us. We are dancing
around the edges of love, dancing in the shadows. Because I cannot
trust another human being. The general was right. It all comes down
to a decision to trust somebody else
.

She forgot everything for a moment, and
shampooed her hair before holding her breath and submerging into
the bubbles, allowing the water jets to massage her scalp, inducing
complete relaxation. Which was when the revealing thought struck
her.
I want a husband and a family. No, not merely want them.
I'm hungry for them.

My God
, she thought, bursting above
the bubbles, thinking back to the tearful admission while riding in
the limo, of desiring many children, and the hunger she'd felt at
the feast of ribs, followed by the fear of where it was all
leading. Out loud, to the Lord, she spoke. "I'm dying to have a
husband and children. And it's something that's been there all
along. A force inside of me that I've kept at bay with my work. A
force the appearance of Stretch Murphy has released."