Funeral with a View (25 page)

“I can’t believe you’re five
already.”

I was in my office,
Celeste’s Kindergarten picture in hand, and grinning like an idiot. The 8x10
framed photo brought on a smile so prominent I found my face hurting.

Celeste was nothing short
of angelic in her yellow and pink floral print dress, hands clasped in her lap.
The background consisted of a babbling brook surrounded by spring flowers and
grass, the sky filled with puffy white clouds. A gap from the tooth she’d
recently lost made her bright smile all the more adorable, and her cherubic
face was framed by long, blond hair done up in pigtails.

“My God, Rick. She’s just
too damn cute.” I turned around to see Sandy leaning against the doorway
dressed in her standard form-fitting business suit, high heels, and retro
glasses. “May I?”

“Sure.” I handed over the
frame. She ran a finger along the glass, absorbing every detail.

Office life had been
going well. True to her promise, Sandy didn’t let the episode from over five
years ago affect our working relationship. Never once did she hold it against
me, never once did she make another pass at me. I continued to do good work,
and she continued to recognize me for it. There were times when I’d catch her
staring at me, an undefined emotion on her face, lips poised to say something, but
once she’d noticed that
I’d
noticed, it was back to Sandy as usual:
focused and beautiful.

“Your daughter is
gorgeous. I can’t imagine how proud you must be.” She placed the frame back on
my desk where I always kept it. “It was worth everything, wasn’t it? All the
trials, the ups and downs?”

“You have no idea.” The
sentence snuck out without any thought. Open mouth, insert foot. It was the
worst thing I could say given Sandy’s history with children. “Crap,” I groaned,
wanting to smack myself on the forehead. “I’m sorry, Sandy. That came out the
wrong way.”

She waved me off. “Don’t
worry about it. I know what you meant. Hasn’t anybody ever told you that the
fate of the world doesn’t hinge on every single thing you say or do?” Burgundy
lips became a smirk.

“Maybe once or twice.”

“Think there’ll come a
time when you actually believe it?”

I shrugged, hoping the
extra muscular activity would drain the crimson from my flushed cheeks. “Doubtful.”

Someone cleared their
throat. In the doorway, along with Jude, stood Catherine.

“We’re not disturbing
anything, are we?” she said. Sandy still wasn’t my wife’s favorite person and some
of that came through in her tone, but she’d managed to be civil, almost cordial,
to my boss on those occasions when my personal and professional lives
intersected. “Jude and I can come back if you’re in the middle of something.”

“No, not at all,” Sandy
said before I could answer. “Rick was showing me your daughter’s kindergarten
photo. And I have to say—no offense to your husband—she looks just like you,
Catherine. No mistaking where she gets her good looks from.”

“Thank God for small
miracles.” Jude thrust out her hand and offered it to Sandy. “Hi. Jude Curring.
Nice to meet you.”

“Sandy Colbert. Likewise.
The family resemblance is uncanny.” A beat passed. “Well, I’ll see you three
downstairs in a bit?”

The sisters nodded. With
a curt smile, Sandy excused herself and left.

“So, that was the dragon
lady?” Jude said. “I can see why you don’t like her, sis.” She made an
hourglass figure with her hands and whistled.

Catherine flipped the
bird. “Bite me.”

“That’s right, sis. I’m
number one.”

“Calm down, children.” I
kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Thanks for coming, guys. The Red Cross can never
have too much blood. It’s a great cause.”

They’d both come for Colbert
& Colbert’s first annual spring blood drive, something I’d help set up. A
co-worker’s son was in desperate need of a bone marrow transplant. By the time
I’d gotten wind of it, a few had already given a pint. After doing some
research, it became obvious to me how important donating blood was. Statistics
show that out of all the Americans who
can
, only about five percent
actually
do
. That didn’t sit right with me. I scoured the Red Cross
website looking for any information I could on the subject: how and where to
give, the process, blood types and how they’re determined, who needs blood and
why, etc. When I saw how easy it was to schedule a corporate event, I pitched
the idea to Sandy who thought it was great and let me run with it. People
didn’t want to take time out of their day to go to a facility? We’d bring it to
them.

“I’m just here for the
free doughnut.” Jude patted her stomach, which drew my attention to her shirt.
Written in three inch tall neon green letters were the words, “A
Longfellow
Is
Worth His Weight In Chocolate.” Jude’s whacky T-shirt, faded jeans, and black
Converse Chuck Taylors were a stark contrast in comparison to Cat’s red silk
blouse, tan mini skirt, and wedge heels. If it weren’t for the family
resemblance, I’d never peg them for sisters.

“They let you wear that
kind of shit to school?” I asked.

“Hellooo, brother-in-law.
Half day? Haven’t you ever heard of teacher conferences?” Jude rolled her eyes.
“Where’s Bill and Angela by the way? Aren’t they coming, too?”

“Bill is, Angela isn’t,”
Catherine sighed. “They’re taking
another
break.”

Jude threw her hands up. “You’re
kidding me.”

“I wish. Bill sent me a
text this morning. Another argument last night.”

I shook my head. Their
relationship was dizzying. “Isn’t it supposed to be men who are infamous for
commitment problems?”

As if summoned by my
mighty intellect—or perhaps by pure coincidence—Bill showed up in my doorway
not two seconds later.

“What’s that about
commitment problems? I didn’t miss the free doughnuts, did I?”

~~~

“So that was your boss I
saw coming out of your office?” Bill whispered in my ear as we waited in the
registration line.

“Yeah, that was her.”

“Pretty hot, Ricky. No
wonder why Cat hates her.”

“Shut up.” I snuck a peek
at Cat and Jude, who were ahead of us and chatting amongst themselves. The
auditorium was packed with people. It was a better turnout than expected, and I
felt good to be a part of it. “That’s ancient history, man. Bring it up again
and I’ll arrange it so they drain you dry. I can make that happen, you know. I
set this up. I know people.”

The line advanced, and we
moved along with it.

“What are you two
whispering about back there?”

“How wonderful you look
today, Jude,” Bill said.

She shook her butt.
“Don’t you know it.”

“Do you have a donor
card, Miss?” the Red Cross volunteer asked Cat. He was young and eager with an
overachiever’s smile and friendly brown eyes. His name tag said ‘Barry.’

“Sure do.” Cat pulled a
card from her wallet.

I looked over her
shoulder. “Since when do you have one of those?”

“Since forever. See?” She
held the laminated card in front of my face. It was weathered, the corners
curled up like claws. On it was her name and blood type.

“Type O positive? Just
like the band.” I sung the first few lines of “My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend.”
Barry chuckled as he took her card. Cat rolled her eyes. “Pretty common, actually.”

“The band was Type O
Negative
,
goofball,” Cat said. “And how would you know how common my blood type is?”

“I helped arrange all
this. You’d be surprised what you can learn from hours on their website. I’m
practically an expert.”

Cat patted my cheek. “Aww.
And so proud of yourself, too. What a big boy you are.”

Jude and Bill laughed at
my expense. Nothing new in that.

After we were all
registered, a process I’d delayed due to my lack of a donor card, Bill told us
the whole sordid tale of his latest falling out with Angela as we waited in
line to give a couple pints of our finest bloody vintages. He kept his chin up,
but the rest of him sagged.

Catherine placed a hand
on his shoulder. “She’ll come around. I told you, she’s a little … flighty at
times. One of the nicest girls you’ll ever meet, but she scares off easily.”

“Tell me something I
don’t
know,” Bill grunted. He threw his arms up dramatically. “Women.”

“Men,” the Maddox sisters
said in unison with equal dramatic flair.

“Next!” The plump Red
Cross nurse’s jowls jiggled as she waved me over.

“Well, I guess that’s
me.” I turned around and grasped Catherine’s arms. “Honey, if I don’t make it,
tell my mother and daughter I love them. But don’t tell Mom about my secret bank
account in Zurich. She’d fight you for my millions, win, then squander it all on
exotic lotions and sex toys. Also, there’s some leftover meatloaf in the
fridge. Think of me when you’re eating it.” I wiped away a fake tear.

“You are
such
a
dick,” she laughed.

“Yeah, but I’m your di—”

Catherine spun me around
and sent me staggering into the nurse with a kick in the ass. Nurse Ratchet
looked none too pleased when I used her shoulders to steady myself. Her lips pressed
into a thin line and her eyes became narrowed slits, the horror of which was
magnified through Coke-bottle glasses.

“Our lips are so close.” Our
faces weren’t more than six inches apart, and I tried to ignore that her
oversized old lady bosom was pressed to my chest.

“Sit,” she croaked. A fat
sausage finger pointed to the seat where she would bleed me like a stuck pig.

“
Ja vol herr
commandant
.”

I planted my ass in the
seat. It wasn’t long before Nurse Ratchet jabbed the needle into my arm. A
sharp pain radiated from the injection site. It felt like she’d made it hurt on
purpose. I yelped. Catherine and Jude laughed. Bill called me a pussy.

Watching my blood drain
through a tube on the way to who knows where wasn’t my idea of a good time, but
I sucked it up because I am, after all, a man.

“So, beautiful,” I batted
my eyelashes, “come here often?”

Nurse Ratchet grunted but
I saw a smile tug at the corners of her voluminous mouth.

Making myself
comfortable, I settled into the chair and let myself be bled.

~~~

“I think you have some serious
competition for Ricky’s affections, Cat.”

There was nothing Jude
enjoyed more than dolling out verbal punishment on her little sister.

“Jude has a good point,”
Bill said, spraying doughnut crumbs on my desk. “Rick’s a hardcore boob guy.
Always has been. Did you see the size of the rack on that nurse? Hubba hubba.”

“I bet if you take her
out of that iron bra they’d be down to her knees,” Cat said. “Is that what
you’re into, Rick? Old lady boobs? You can tell me. I’ll find some way to live
with your affliction.”

Oh the drama.

“You’re all a barrel of
laughs. Regular comedians. You’re just pissed cause I got the biggest
doughnut.” I held my chocolate glazed high. “Your covetousness disgusts me.”

Bill glanced at his
watch. “Shit. It’s after one. I have to get back to work.”

“Mmm. I do, too.”
Catherine stood up, finished the rest of her Boston cream, and gave me a peck
on the cheek. “C’mon, Jude. I have a meeting at two.”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming,”
Jude moaned. She gave me a quick hug and trailed Bill and Cat out the door.
“Thanks for the free doughnuts, Ricky. Try not to let Nurse Goodyear cop a
feel!”

“Hey you slobs,” I yelled
down the hall. They’d left sugary crumbs all over my goddamn desk. “Who’s
supposed to clean this up?” My question fell on deaf ears. They were already on
their way down the stairs.

I surveyed the mess.

“Lovely.”

I sighed, and swept the
crumbs into the waste basket.

“Ugh. Amateurs.”

My cleanup completed, I
logged onto the Red Cross website to see how long it would take to get my donor
card.

Why should I be left out
of their elite little group, right?

“Mommy? Daddy?”

Celeste’s tired voice
woke Cat and I out of a deep sleep. I looked at the alarm clock: two-thirty in
the morning.

“What is it, Pookie?”
Catherine sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. The light cast a soft glow on
Celeste’s chubby face, highlighting her disheveled amber hair. She rubbed her
eyes and pouted.

“I can’t sleep.” Her
words were thick with congestion, her eyes red-rimmed.

“Not feeling good?” Celeste
had hopped into Catherine’s waiting arms, head nestled against her mother’s shoulder.
A wet cough rumbled deep in her chest. She nodded.

Coughing and congestion
had been the norm for the past several weeks, something the pediatrician had
diagnosed as a common cold. The cold—which had started not long after Celeste’s
fifth birthday—seemed anything
but
common, however, as no amount of
medicine quelled the symptoms. Not a night went by where Celeste wouldn’t
wander into our room during the wee hours, unable to sleep. It was unusual and
worrisome.

I ran my hand through her
damp hair and felt her forehead. It was cool. No fever at least.

“Wanna sleep with Mommy
and Daddy tonight, princess?” I said.

“Yeah. Can I, Mommy?”

“Of course you can,” Cat
said, holding up the blanket. “Here, get under the covers.”

Celeste dug in like a
groundhog and snuggled between us.

She sniffed. “Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you and Daddy gonna
wrestle tonight?”

“No, sweetie. Go to bed.”

“G’night, Mommy. G’night,
Daddy.”

I rubbed her shoulder and
said, “Nite nite, Celeste.”

~~~

“This is getting
ridiculous.”

Catherine nodded at my
statement, then sipped from her third cup of coffee. Dark circles shadowed
heavy-lidded eyes. Saturday morning cartoons shouted from the TV room while my
wife and I slumped our elbows on the table, hardly able to keep from dozing off.

Celeste had spent most of
the night tossing and turning, which meant Cat and I had spent most of the
night tossing and turning. We were exhausted.

“She seems a little
better now, though,” Catherine said. We looked at the munchkin, engrossed in her
cartoons and coloring book. “It gets worse at night. The pediatrician said
it’ll go away.”

“But it’s not going away,
is it?”

“Nope.”

The phone rang. I put
down my fork and cradled the handset between my shoulder and ear.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Baby Boy.
How’s tricks?”

“Hey, Mom. Tricks are disagreeable
right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

I gave her the lowdown.

“Doctors,” she spat.
“They do more harm than good, if you ask me. Do you think it’s a coincidence
they call it
practicing
medicine, Richard? They never get it right.
Maybe it’s time to bring her to someone else.”

“Cat and I are starting
to think the same thing.”

“Maybe the poor girl’s
allergic to something. I bet it’s that silly hamster.”

“God, I hope not,” I groaned.
Mom detested rodents and anything resembling them. Her hatred toward Mr.
Wiggles was well documented. “Celeste loves that thing.”

“What is it?” Cat asked.

“Mom thinks she could be
allergic to M-I-S-T-E-R W-I-G-G-L-E-S.”

Catherine winced.

“Take her to an
allergist, Richard,” Mom said. “Have them do a scratch test. I had to do the
same with you when you were younger. Lord, but you were a pain in the ass.
Cried like a little girl as soon as you saw the needles.”

“Thanks for the heart-warming
trip down Memory Lane, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

We spoke for a few
minutes more before hanging up.

“Beth may have a point,
Ricky.” Catherine nodded to the tiny form huddled in front of the TV lost in a
world of creative freedom. “I hate to see her so drained all the time.”

“I know. I’ll call an
allergist first thing Monday morning.”

~~~

“It’s not good, Cat.”

Catherine plopped a final
potato into the pot of boiling water. “Mr. Wiggles?”

I nodded.

It was as we feared. The scratch
test revealed Celeste was indeed allergic to the hamster escape artist. I hated
keeping the truth from her on the drive home from the doctor’s office, face
messy from tirelessly attacking an ice cream cone the size of a traffic pylon
with her tongue, not a care in the world. It tore me up inside.

Cat shook her head and
wiped her hands on a dish towel. “We’ll have to tell her. Soon.”

“I know. I didn’t want to
do it alone. She’s going to go nuclear when she finds out we have to get rid of
her furry buddy.”

“No! You can’t get rid of
Mr. Wiggles! I love him!”

Wily, silent Celeste had
snuck up on us. Again. Fists clenched at her sides, she stared at us through
pools of tears. Her whole body shook.

Catherine knelt in front
of her. “I’m sorry, Celeste. But we have to.”

“No, no, no, no,
no
.”
A foot stomp followed each denial. “Uncle Bill gaved me Mr. Wiggles. I want him
to stay.”

“Pookie—”

“No!” She fixed us with
one last glare, and stormed off to her room.

“Well, that didn’t go so
well,” I said.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“No. I will. I’m the one
that kept it from her. I’m the one who should fix it.”

Upstairs, I knocked on
Celeste’s door. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

I opened the door a
crack. Celeste was standing in front of Mr. Wiggles’ cage, watching him run
toward an unattainable destination on his hamster wheel. She ran to her bed and
buried her face in the pillow as I walked in.

“Celeste,” I said,
sitting next to her. “Mr. Wiggles is making you feel yucky. I don’t want to see
him go any more than you do, but he can’t stay here anymore.”

“I don’t care. You and
Mommy are mean.”

“We’re not trying to be.
We only want what’s best for you.”

I heard footsteps in the
hall over the squeak of the hamster’s exercise routine. Catherine appeared in
the doorway, looking sad.

“I don’t want him to
leave, Daddy.”

Celeste’s muffled,
tear-filled voice broke my heart. How do you explain to a child that nothing in
life is permanent? That things end? Kids bounce back quickly, but they live
in-the-now, and right then, she was devastated.

“Things change, Celeste.
Remember when you lost your first tooth?”

She pulled her head from
out of the pillow and turned over on her back. “Yeah.”

“You were so upset when
it fell out, like a part of you was missing. But then what happened?”

“Another one growed in.”

“That’s right. Another
one grew back in its place. You don’t forget that old tooth, though, do you?”

She shook her head. “Uh
uh. I ‘member all kinda stuff.”

“Because you’re a smart
little girl. You’ll remember Mr. Wiggles. I know you love him, and he loves
you, too. But you won’t forget him when he goes, and I know he’ll remember
you.”

She played with a tassel
on her shirt, deep in thought. “Is he gonna die, Daddy?”

That took me by surprise.
Kids are great at a lot of things. Taking a conversation and steering it into
unexpected directions is one of them. “What makes you think that?”

“I dunno. Sarah from
school had a cat named Mittens. Mittens was really, really old. Like, old as
you and Mommy, and one day Mittens wasn’t home anymore and Sarah’s mommy tolded
Sarah that Mittens had to go away, but then her big brother tolded her Mittens
didn’t go away and her mommy was just lying to make Sarah feel better and that
Mittens really died.”

“That was mean of Sarah’s
brother,” I said.

Celeste shrugged. “Big
kids’re always mean. They can’t help it. But is that what going away means,
Daddy? Are you and Mommy just tryin’ to make me feel better?”

Catherine walked in, sat
on the other side of the bed, and said, “That’s different than what’s happening
with Mr. Wiggles, princess. Sarah’s cat—”

“Mittens, Mommy.”

“Right. Mittens. It sounds
like Mittens was very old. Mr. Wiggles is still young, but he makes you feel
bad. We’re going to give him to a nice family who he won’t make feel so yucky,
and he’ll be happy.”

“But he’s gonna die one
day, right?”

My wife and I exchanged a
glance. Neither of us were prepared for this.

Rather than lie, I told
her the truth.

“Yes, Celeste. One day
Mr. Wiggles will pass away.”

“Does everything die?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know why,” Cat
said. “But that’s how things are, princess.”

Celeste looked away.
“That’s sad.”

“I know it is. But,” I
said, pointing to her chest, “as long as you keep Mr. Wiggles here in your
heart, as long as you always think about him, he’s still with you. It’ll be
like he’s never gone away.”

“Really really?”

“Really really.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Feel better now?”
Catherine asked.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good.”

“Can he stay with me this
one last night, Daddy?”

“I don’t know, Celeste …”

She sat up and held her
hands together. “Please, pretty please? Mommy, just this one more night?”

“All right,” Cat agreed.
“Just this one night. But then that’s it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Cat and I kissed Celeste
on the forehead.

“Better get cleaned up
for dinner,” I said.

“Okay. And Daddy?”

Catherine and I stopped
on our way out into the hall. “Yeah?”

“D’you think I can maybe have
a fish? I gotted a book from the libary at school and all the fishies were so
pretty!”

I smiled and took Cat’s
hand in mine. “We’ll see, Pookie Bear.”