Funeral with a View (13 page)

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.

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.”

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.”

“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.

“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 Making 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?