Funeral with a View (12 page)

“So when are you going to
pop the question, Richard?” My mother wore  her usual large hat and sunglasses,
and drank from a tall glass of iced tea. It was early May. Bill and I were
helping her out with some much needed deck maintenance, a task usually falling
under Glen’s umbrella, but a twisted back had rendered him useless … an injury
that occurred in bed, according to my mother.

“We were being a bit
adventurous. Glen and I found a wonderful book in the Barnes and Noble. Have
you ever heard of the
Kama Sutra
? At any rate, Glen was trying to get
his legs up around my—”

“Mom, really. I don’t
need the details. A simple “Glen hurt his back, can you and Bill come over and do
some work on the deck?” would have sufficed.” God love her, but her diarrhea of
the mouth was sure to scar me for life.

“I will never cease to
wonder how I raised such a prude.”

“Nobody’s perfect. I’ll see
if Bill’s free Saturday.”

Now, with the warm sun
beating down on us, Bill and I worked to replace several deteriorated deck
boards. It wasn’t long before Mom began to harp on me about my engagement plans.
It took even less time for Bill to jump on the bandwagon.

“Yeah, Rick,” Bill said
over the whir of the electric drill. “When
are
you going to ask her to
marry you? You’ve had that ring for an eternity. What’s wrong?” He flapped his arms
as if they were wings, imitating everyone’s favorite fried bird. “Chicken?”

“Less talking, more
screwing,” I grunted.

“Funny you should mention
that, Richard.” Mom took a sip of tea and fanned herself. “I was thinking the
same thing. Remember. Baby Making Machine?” She thrust her hips repeatedly.
Bill laughed to the point he had to set down his drill.

“Mom!”

“I don’t know what you’re
waiting for. You purchased that wonderful ring, got The Colonel’s permission—”

“Who laughed in my face
before giving said permission. Thank you so very much for
that
brilliant
idea.”

“—and Jude has been back
from her honeymoon for a while now. Glen? Glen!”

“Yes, dear.” He appeared
behind the sliding glass doors. He couldn’t work but was more than happy to
supervise. From the comfort of his rocking chair. With a fan on him. In the
shade of the house.

“Do you know what Richard
is waiting for? Because I’m at a complete loss.”

“No, dear.”

“You see, Richard? No
reason for you to be pussyfooting around like this. The longer you wait the more
likely you’ll get cold feet. You aren’t getting cold feet, are you?”

“Yeah, Ricky,” Bill said.
He’d taken off his soaked shirt, exposing his muscular build. The two girls sunning
themselves in the neighbor’s yard gawked and whistled. He waved and blew them a
kiss. “You’re not getting cold feet are you, wussy boy? Beth wants you two to
crank out a litter of ankle biters.”

“You, shut your cake
hole,” I said, pointing at him. “And you,” I aimed my finger at Mom, “stop
breaking my balls. I already told you that I’ve been waiting until she was done
with her MBA. Cat’s been working her ass off. The last thing she needed was a
big distraction like that.” I wiped my forehead. “There’s plenty of time to get
the Baby Making Machine rolling. I’ll ask her soon … after the graduation
party.”

“Ba-by ma-ker ba-by ma-ker.”
Bill chanted the phrase like a college fight song. He thrust his hips, unaware
the girls hadn’t stopped ogling him. His two newest fans hung on the fence. All
the better to ensure the perfect gawking angle. It wasn’t until they started
giggling that he noticed they were still there. With a smile, he flexed his
biceps and said, “Hey ladies.”

“Likeomygod! He is so
hot,” said one.

“Totally amazeballs hot,”
said the other.

Blushing, the two
tittered and skipped back to their lounge chairs, lemonade, and
Maroon 5
.

I sighed and shook my
head. “Have you no shame? Those two are young enough to be your … shit. I don’t
even know. Too young to be your
anything
.”

“Lighten up. They’re at
least freshmen.”

“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.

“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.

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.