Funeral with a View Read online

  “Maybe I should take steps in order to guarantee you don’t stray, hmm?”

  “Steps?”

  She strutted over and draped her arms around my neck. “You know. Make sure you’re fully satisfied before you even leave the house.” Her teeth tugged at my ear, sending shivers from my head to my other head and all points between.

  “You sure you have time?” I whispered.

  “Jude’s not picking me up for another two hours. I’m sure we can accomplish something in that time.”

  “What about your makeup?”

  She trailed soft kisses along my jawline. “I’ll do it again.”

  Taking me by the hand, Cat led me into the bedroom, and boy did we accomplish something. Twice.

  Never let it be said that I don’t work well under pressure.

  Later, as she was humming contentedly in the shower, I snuck in the bathroom and took advantage of the steam-clouded mirror. Using my brilliant artistic talents and my index finger, I drew a heart with a smiley face, complete with a straight line to depict my unibrow, and wrote the words, ‘Love you, baby. Really Really,’ underneath.

  CHAPTER 35

  “You’re going to wear grooves in the tile if you keep pacing like that. And lay off the fingernails. You’ll end up bleeding on your bride-to-be.”

  I’d been pacing and sweating in my rented tux for the last half hour. I chewed my nails until there wasn’t anything left. Then I’d chewed some more.

  “I know. But look at all those people out there.” I poked my head out of the sacristy door and snuck a look at over two hundred people sitting expectantly.

  “You sure it’s not cold feet, buddy? C’mon, you can tell me. I’m your best man and your best friend. If you’re going to, now’s the time to back out.” Bill slapped my back. “Before it’s too late.”

  “Stop being a shit.”

  “Did you just say “shit” in church? Yes, I do believe you just said “shit” in church. You’re going to Hell. First class all the way. Do not pass go, do not—”

  “Zip it before I drown you in the baptismal font. No, I am not getting cold feet. I just don’t like the idea of all those eyes on me.”

  “Picture them naked.”

  “Won’t that land me in Hell, too?”

  “Why don’t we ask Father Greg?”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  “You’ll be okay, man. Besides, you’re not going to see them watching you the whole time. Once the procession walks down that aisle and Cat joins you, your back’s going to be to them anyway.”

  “Good point.”

  “Then they’ll be free to point and laugh at the rip in the seat of your pants.”

  “What? Where? Do you know how much I paid for this tux?”

  “If you two are quite done now,” Father Greg walked in and put a hand on my shoulder, “it’s time to face the music, Rick.” He winked, but it didn’t put me at ease.

  Up at the altar, over two hundred sets of eyes watched my every move. Heart thumping like a war drum and sweat glands pouring liquid fright, I clasped my clammy hands in front of me; my only defense against gnawing my nails. I caught my mother’s eyes, up front on the groom’s side, shoulder to shoulder with Glen. She smiled wistfully.

  Before I knew it, the organist began the entrance music. Time slowed to a crawl as the bridesmaids, dressed in blue, walked out one by one. By the time Jude—pregnant and big as a planetoid—waddled down the aisle and stepped up onto the altar, I felt as if I’d lived half a lifetime.

  The music stopped. All was quiet. Then came the wedding march. The notes from the pipe organ echoed off of every surface like a physical thing, bathing the bright open space in sound. The congregation turned in their seats, eager to see the bride.

  I focused down the long marble aisle.

  Catherine, escorted by her father, was a vision in white. She was the most incredibly beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Her skin glowed with the stunning brilliance of her gown, and her eyes lit up when they met mine. Cliché as it may sound, she was an angel floating on a cloud as she grew near.

  “You, friend, are one lucky SOB,” Bill whispered in my ear.

  I nodded, having lost the ability to form a syllable.

  “Bachelor party talent isn’t so impressive now, is it?”

  A shake of my head in response.

  The Colonel kissed my bride-to-be, and sent her to the altar. I took her hands in mine.

  “You look incredible.”

  Her smile was electric. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today to witness the blah blah blah …” Father Greg began the ceremony and I drifted off. I didn’t hear a word. I was lost in Catherine’s bottomless hazel eyes. The crowd no longer mattered, the words no longer mattered. Even now I’m only vaguely aware of sitting, standing … I was in a dream state.

  “Rick?”

  The Pastor looked at me with a bemused smile.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you take this woman to be your wife?”

  Woops.

  I cleared my throat. “Right. Sorry.” A murmur of hushed chuckles rippled through the church. “I was too busy staring at you,” I whispered to Catherine, who flushed. In as loud a voice as I could muster, summoning all my pride and conviction, I said, “I do.”

  “By the blah blah blah of the blah blah blah, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  In front of two hundred-plus clapping and cheering people, I kissed Catherine Maddox, now Mrs. Catherine Franchitti, deep on the lips.

  And not once did I chew my fingernails.

  Really really.

  ~~~

  The reception was a whirlwind of activity. Pictures. Then more pictures. And for added measure, even more pictures. I was surprised we didn’t need some type of retinal reconstructive surgery from all the flashbulbs.

  Once again the Maddoxes went balls out. While smaller than Jude and Rob’s wedding, thanks mostly in part to my lesser extended family, it was still on the same level of opulence.

  “So how does it feel to be Mrs. Catherine Franchitti?” I said as we swayed on the dance floor, our first hop as husband and wife. “Are you swooning with thanks and wonder? I mean, you did decide to marry the best damn looking guy in the whole joint.”

  My wife (not girlfriend or lover, but wife) laughed. “Oh yes. I feel just like Eliza Doolittle. You rescued me from a life doomed to mediocrity and want.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “Can you believe it, Ricky? Us. Married.”

  “Right? It’s been some crazy ride.” A pregnancy scare, a near breakup, her father, moving in together, buying a house. Crazy indeed. “But anybody who can survive my mom is worth the wait.”

  “We’re finally okay, aren’t we, baby?”

  “Better than okay. We’re A-okay. Off the charts okay.” Silverware met glasses with a cacophony of clink, clink, clinking. The guests wanted a show. “I’d hate to disappoint our admiring public.”

  “We couldn’t have that, now could we?”

  “Shut up and plant one on her!”

  “As you wish, Jude!” With a romantically swashbuckling maneuver, I dipped Catherine and kissed her with everything I had.

  ~~~

  “Last stop, The Franchitti Palace,” Bill said, holding the door open.

  The next fifteen minutes were spent lugging in the wedding gifts. Most people gave cards containing various donations of cash to their favorite charity—in this case, the bride and groom—but there was no shortage of traditional gifts. Boxes of different shapes and sizes, each brandishing lavish bows and paper, covered the living room floor.

  “I think that’s the last of it.” Catherine, still dressed in her gown, plopped on the couch next to me. “Want to stay for a drink or maybe some coffee, Bill?”

  “Nah, I should get going. It’s your wedding night after all.” He winked. “The happy couple are supposed to consummate the marriage. You know, The Baby Ma
king Machine?”

  I moaned, picturing my mom cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West while she thrust her hips. “Don’t start in on that shit again. I’m way too tired to find a knife and stab you. Really, you can hang out for a bit if you’d like.”

  “Can’t. Appreciate the offer, but I have someplace to be.”

  Bill had no plus one for the reception. I couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have a date. To anything.

  “And where would that be?” Catherine said curiously.

  “You know that girl you invited from the bank?”

  “Angela?”

  “Yeah, Angela. She and I kinda hit it off, so we arranged to hook up at a bar after the reception.”

  “Bill, you horny bastard,” Catherine laughed. We were so busy dancing, mingling, and everything else the reception itinerary demands of the bride and groom, we lost track of what Bill was up to most of the night. “You be nice to her! She’s really a sweet girl. If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. I can do it, too. Forget I’m an Army brat at your peril. Daddy taught me how to kill a man with nothing more than a Q-tip by the time I was seven.”

  Bill held up his hands, palms out. “Easy there, GI Jane. I promise I won’t hurt her. Rest assured that Angela’s honor is safe with me tonight.” I snorted. “Honest, guys. It’s just a few drinks.” Bill checked his watch. “Shit. I better get going. Don’t want to keep her waiting for the real best damn looking guy in the whole joint. You two have a wonderful evening.” A fist bump for me, a kiss on the cheek for Cat. He paused with one foot out the door. “Oh, and Rick?”

  “That’s me.”

  A quick hip thrust. “Baby Making Machine!” Bill high-stepped it out of the house, laughing like a loon and narrowly avoiding the pillow I tossed at his head.

  I closed the door and went to the couch, where I sat and draped my new bride’s legs over my own. “That was some good time, huh?”

  “It certainly was. Cripes, my dogs are killing me.”

  “Here, let me.” I took her small foot between my hands and began massaging her arch.

  “Mmm, that feels like Heaven. Don’t stop, please.”

  “I love it when you beg.”

  “I know you do.” She smiled, eyes closed.

  “So, Mrs. Franchitti. What do you say to a wedding night romp in the hay?”

  No answer.

  “Earth to Catherine.” I whistled. “Hellooooo.”

  Snoring. She’d fallen fast asleep.

  “No lovin’ for you tonight, Mr. Franchitti,” I said to myself.

  I cradled her in my arms and carried her to bed.

  Quick fact: less than twenty five percent of all couples actually have sex on their wedding night. I looked it up on the internet. And as we all know, if it’s on the internet it must be true.

  Right?

  CHAPTER 36

  Cat jogged to the kitchen as I dragged luggage into the foyer.

  “I’m going to check the messages, Ricky.”

  I was beat from the honeymoon and traveling home. The flight hadn’t helped any. I’ve never been the best flyer, but the return trip from Jamaica was another story. A massive storm blanketed the island on the day we were due to leave, and we hit bone-jarring turbulence after no more than ten minutes in the air. One moment we were ascending without a care in the world, and the next it felt as if the hand of God grabbed the plane and dribbled it like a basketball. The tips of my fingers throbbed for the remainder of the flight.

  Harrowing journey home aside, our honeymoon was wonderful. The adults-only resort sported twenty-four hour room service, gambling, Jacuzzi tub, and four star dining. A favorite was the swim-up bar. Our suite opened up poolside and it was only a matter of swimming ten feet to obtain all the all-inclusive alcohol we could handle. The accoutrements were nice, but the best times were had in the room itself … if you get my drift.

  Despite being in a tropical paradise, one thing grabbed hold of Cat and wouldn’t let go.

  Jude’s impending delivery.

  I did my best to assure her we’d be contacted at the resort if anything bad happened. We were sure to give our families the number just in case there was spotty cellular service. We never received a call and, as we idled the days away, she became less anxious about it.

  But, first thing she wanted to do when we pulled into the driveway was check the answering machine.

  Luggage safely inside the house and door shut behind me, I looked forward to a hot shower and a nap. I had one foot on the stairs when Catherine squealed.

  I ran through the living room and into the kitchen, nearly colliding with my new, tanned bride on her way out.

  “Cat? What is it? What happened?”

  “It’s Jude.” She bounced with excitement. “She had the twins while we were in the air.”

  ~~~

  “Hey Aunt Cat and Uncle Ricky.”

  Jude lay in the hospital bed, wrecked from the delivery, but smiling. She held a tiny bundle to her chest. In the guest chair next to the bed, Rob held a similar one.

  “Oh my God. They’re so tiny, Jude,” Cat said. “But I thought you weren’t due for at least another week?”

  “She wasn’t.” Rob smiled proudly. It was comical watching him try to hold an infant and adjust his glasses at the same time. “But these two little trouble makers had different plans. Would you like to hold them? Both of you?”

  Nodding, we relieved the couple of their swaddled new additions. Small as they were, they were even lighter than they looked, and I couldn’t tell what weighed more; the baby, or its blanket. A mop of dark black hair sprouted from the blanket, and the baby’s face was pink and scrunchy. So cute.

  “So, who am I holding here?” I counted ten tiny fingers and toes.

  “That would be, Samantha. Sam for short.” Rob nodded to the baby in Cat’s arms. “And that would be—”

  “Jeffrey,” Jude said. She was drained and exhausted, but beamed with pride.

  Cat touched a small fist as she rocked Jeffrey back and forth. “Samantha and Jeffrey,” she whispered.

  Jude propped herself up and stretched. “So how was the honeymoon, guys?”

  “Great,” I said, touching the tip of Sam’s pink nose. “But something tells me it wasn’t as eventful as your past few days.”

  ~~~

  “I can’t get over how tiny they are, Ricky. My sister. A mother. Unreal.”

  The sun dipped behind the tree line in our backyard. Leaves danced and limbs swayed in the warm, steady breeze. Light broke through the oaks and sparkled like a kaleidoscope as we sat on the deck, drinking from a bottle of red; the perfect vantage point for watching a sunset, one we’d discovered soon after moving in.

  I swirled my wineglass and took a sip. “I was afraid I’d break Samantha. Can you believe that was the first time I’d ever held a baby?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  Cat grinned. “You took to it like a pro.”

  “Thank you, thank you verra much. It’s amazing though, isn’t it? That this microscopic thing grows and grows until nine months later you have a living, breathing mini-person.”

  “I think you’d be good at it.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific, Cat. I’m good at a great many things.”

  “Fatherhood. You would make an amazing dad.” Cat’s expression turned contemplative. She lifted the wine to her mouth, but placed it down without taking a sip. “Rick?”

  “What’s on your mind, gorgeous?”

  “Let’s have one.” Her eyes were intense, yet uncertain.

  Catherine wanted a kid. A baby of her own. Our own. To conceive, carry, bring into the world, raise, and care for. The subject of kids had come up on more than one occasion, but never seriously. They were passing, fleeting remarks: I’d like kids one day. Me, too. So on and so forth. We shared the desire for children, but after the initial pregnancy and resultant miscarriage Cat had gone on the pill, not wanting another surprise to send
us into a tailspin. Seeing her fawn over the newborns at the hospital earlier in the day, her comment didn’t surprise me.

  Resting my elbows on the table, I thought it through. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. In fact, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  “Not even when you said you’d marry me?”

  Her smile returned. “You know what I mean, dick.”

  “My dick would certainly have to be involved. Unless you’ve been considering the mailman as the potential sire to your progeny? Sure, he’s short and has more hair than a bearskin rug, but his calves are huge. Excellent musculature.”

  “I’m being serious. I want to start a family.”

  I knew it, and she knew I knew it. But me being who I am, I couldn’t help having a little fun at her expense. I’m a penis like that.

  I held up a hand, blocking out the last of the sunlight, and pointedly looked in all directions. “Here? Now? Right on the deck?”

  Straddling my lap, she laced her fingers behind my neck and sucked on my lower lip. “Here, inside … I don’t care. Think you’re up for some practice, stud?”

  “I think I could be coerced,” I said, tasting the wine on her lips.”

  Her hand worked its way into my shorts. “How’s this for starters?”

  “Houston, we have liftoff.”

  CHAPTER 37

  A pair of Catherine’s high school friends finish offering their condolences and gesture to the remembrance board. In what’s becoming habit now, I float upward as they approach, having to tear myself away from the photos of Cat and I holding our twin niece and nephew the day they came home from the hospital.

  Floating aimlessly now, I see her.

  Sandy Colbert. My ex-boss

  She walks into the funeral parlor as confident as ever and sweeps her gaze across the assembled gathering. Her eyes lock on Catherine. Zeroed in, she moves with purpose to the front of the room. Shoulder-length black hair sways as her athletic legs propel her forward; a black so deep it sometimes looks purple when caught in the light. A form-fitting navy blue dress cut just below the knee brings out the intensity in her eyes and compliments her makeup.