Final Arrangements (4 page)

I know you're here beside me, God
, she
prayed.
I can't hide anything from you. You know I'm still angry
about Mom dying of cancer. And now this. Dad is gone, too. Stretch
said you must have had a good reason, but I can't see what it was.
Besides, what does he know? He lives in a fantasy world. How am I
supposed to believe You know what you're doing when things like
this happen?

With this grim questioning completed, she
grabbed her large straw purse and set herself as best she could for
the ugly task ahead of bringing what little strength she had left
into the fray created by her father's death and her brother's
catastrophic moral failure. And wondered if any effort, of any
magnitude at all from this point forward, would ever be enough
again. In her heart, she was almost certain it wouldn't.

Chapter 4

The drive across town to Phil and Minda's
condo could have been worse, but for some unfathomable reason,
perhaps using the same logic by which he'd purchased the new roof,
a couple of months earlier, Dad had purchased a new vehicle, which
she'd decided to commandeer for the duration of her visit. The huge
luxury edition Suburban, dark blue in color and looking for all the
world like the sort of vehicle the SWAT team preferred, gave her
the feeling she was somehow insulated and isolated from the
typically frantic Valley traffic. There'd been a praise tape in the
dash and halfway through 'Majesty', while sitting in traffic on
Ventura Boulevard, the urge to pray was suddenly overwhelming.

"I'm sorry I said I was angry with you,
Lord," she said aloud. "And I'm sorry for shouting at you to do
something, but I'm feeling kind of helpless at the moment ... and
small. Like something's been disconnected inside of me. There is so
much to do when there's a death in the family, and there's no
script for any of it. I guess I was counting on Phil to handle
things. Depending on my brother to make all the arrangements. But
now Phil's fallen off the wagon. Exactly what am I supposed to do
about it? Or about any of this?"

Into her head popped an image of Stretch
Murphy. The man had about him such an air of assurance, of strength
and calm. The Pool Guy. Where was he now? In whose back yard,
cleaning what manner of pool? Interacting in what way from the many
choices doubtless presented to him as a man whose job it was to
enter dozens of peoples lives every week? People who needed their
messes cleaned up and had plenty of money to hire somebody to do it
for them. Who'd found Stretch Murphy to be their best choice from
the hundreds of choices available. Because they felt he brought
something to the job others lacked.

Which was what? What did people look for in a
pool cleaner, anyway? She had to admit she had no idea. Honesty,
she supposed. In a city where robberies were as high as the daily
total of Big Macs consumed, this was important. The Pool Guy had a
key to everybody's back yard. So honesty was the primary criteria.
That, plus some sort of skill set involving the ability to keep the
pool from turning green. Perhaps the two items were related in some
fashion. Maybe there was a Zen to the whole process which led to
many word of mouth referrals, built a book of business any
entrepreneur would envy.
His name is Stretch Murphy. Costs a
little extra, but you can trust him. He won't set you up to be
ripped off. And your water will never turn green.
Stretch was
honest. Except for one thing. A tendency to invent bizarre
fantasies. Such as the one about her dad setting up an arranged
marriage. However, if not taken to extremes, the fantasy tendency
was probably harmless.

She couldn't keep on pretending with him,
however. Leading him to believe she was seriously thinking it over.
That would be cruel. She'd simply tell him that since Dad had died,
the thing was null and void. The problem was, at the moment, if she
were totally honest, she had to admit Stretch was her only
available friend. She'd lost contact with her old girlfriends in
L.A. and hadn't made any new ones. Everybody she knew was now in
the Bay Area and were people she associated only with work.

I need a friend
, Shannon thought.
Even if he spends his days cleaning other people's swimming
pools and inventing a fantasy to fit each person he comes into
contact with.

It was settled then. He could be her friend
in this present crisis, and she could be his fantasy number 6,273,
or however many it was of them he had going. It was a tradeoff, but
a necessary one. She needed his help, and she might as well start
right now. Situational ethics intact, Shannon turned north off
Ventura Boulevard and pulled into the Gelson's parking lot and
called the number on his card.

"Pool Guy," he answered, after only one
ring.

"It's me."

"Hi, Me."

"Do you know who this is?"

"Of course I do, Shannon."

"Were you serious about calling you if I
needed help? Because I'm falling apart. If you weren't serious,
it's okay. I'll completely understand if you didn't really mean it.
If you were just being polite. And I'm sorry I screamed at you
about the marriage thing."

"Where are you?"

"I'm pulling into Gelson's. On Ventura."

"I'll meet you in 20 minutes, in their coffee
shop. Save me a seat at the counter."

"We just had coffee."

"We'll have some more. It's shaping up to be
a 10-cup day."

She lucked out on a parking spot near the
entrance and was soon blown away, as she always was, by the 30 foot
long bakery counter, filled with things which until seen, could not
even be imagined by the purely mortal mind, such confectioneries
doubtless originating in the minds of the pastry chefs via direct
Divine inspiration.

One such goody, about the size of a dinner
roll, housed in a paper thin, butter-soaked and delicately crisped
shell, filled with chocolate creme sauce and topped with slivered
almonds and candied apricots, weakened her resistance. She snapped
up two of them on an impulse buy and found herself sitting with
them and a couple of large coffees, forcing herself not to begin
eating until Stretch arrived, a noble resistance which lasted about
30 seconds until she sneaked a bite. At which point, there was
nothing she could do but eat them both and get rid of the evidence
just as he came walking in.

"Love the hat," he said.

"Do you ever get used to it?" she asked him
as he towered over her.

"To what? Meeting a beautiful girl for
coffee?"

"No. To being stared at because you're so
tall."

"They're staring? I've never noticed."

"Kidding again."

"Yes. By the way, how was the pastry?"

"What pastry?"

"The one which left chocolate sauce all over
your chin."

Shannon sighed and reached for a napkin. "I
can't believe I ate two of them. I was going to wait until you got
here, but I took one nibble and inhaled them both. It must be the
stress."

"Which ones were they?"

"They call them angel crowns."

Stretch went to the counter and ordered a
half dozen more.

"Sugar it will be," he said. "Extraordinary
times call for extraordinary measures." He prayed. "Father, we know
you are with us. And we thank you for our angel crowns. May they
give us the boost we need to carry on with the tasks before us.
Amen."

"Stretch, you stepped over the line."

"By ordering six of them? I figured you've
already had two. Four for me, and two more for you, so we'll be
even."

"No. I'm not talking about sugar. I'm talking
about what you said before. You called me a beautiful girl. I think
you've gotten the wrong idea. I phoned you because you offered to
help and I happen to be having a bit of a struggle. I hope you're
not getting the wrong idea."

"And which wrong idea may that be?"

"That I'm someone you can win over with
compliments and treats. The way a high school kid might do. If you
haven't noticed, I'm a mature woman."
Oh
, she thought,
I
can't believe I just wavered on my decision to set him straight. I
just continued his fantasy for fear he might leave me alone in my
time of need.

"You are beautiful. But you're right. I
shouldn't have said what I said. It's completely the wrong time and
place. I apologize. I don't even know why I said what I said. It
just popped out of my mouth when I saw you. Shannon ... you are
beautiful. I couldn't help myself. But since it bothers you, I'll
try to be more of a gentleman."

Shannon ... you are beautiful
. The
statement zinged inside her, in a place she didn't want it to. What
was going on? Was she that desperate, that pathetic? She was
playing a game with the man, taking advantage of his confusion. And
yet, was she? What was she really doing? Trying to set up the rules
of their newly formed relationship? On the day her father died?

"No, Stretch," she found herself saying. "I
don't want you to change. I'll try to be more understanding. You
paid me a compliment and I should at least thank you."
What am I
doing? Dear Lord! I was fishing, pretending to find offense because
he called me beautiful. I was testing the waters to see if there
was anything there. Encouraging him to be interested in me. Oh! And
it's not because I'm playing a game just to play one. I find him
attractive ... that's it ... I'm drawn to him. I'm in a bad way
emotionally, and I've fallen into this guy's fantasy. He's rubbing
off on me.

"I'm glad we cleared that up, Stretch," she
heard herself saying, as though it was coming from someone else. "I
don't want to get off on the wrong foot with you. Because I'm just
here to make the final arrangements for my dad, and then I'll be
gone. I'm sorry. I've been leading you on because right now I need
a friend. But I've thought it over. I'm not available to marry
you."

"You have someone," he said, and stuffed an
entire angel crown into his mouth, chewing somewhat glumly a few
times before swallowing the thing almost whole.

It was a way out. She decided to take it. A
small white lie to turn off his fantasy. "Yes. I'm seeing someone.
One of my former clients. A very wealthy young man. Related to one
of the City's oldest families. He's a runner. We're both training
together to run the San Francisco Marathon in July."
I just lied
to him! Why? Would it have been so terrible to have admitted there
was no one in my life? I've been without anybody serious for over
two years? Spending most of my weekends driving to Sacramento,
playing at being the important businesswoman?
She felt dizzy. A
sugar rush? Or guilt from having lied so easily, so boldly? No!
Because she was attracted to him. Horrors! It didn't matter whether
or not he was living in fantasy land ... he was attractive
anyway!

"I'm not," he said.

"You're not what?" She felt disoriented, as
though awakening from a particularly deep sleep, her body half
paralyzed from intense dreaming.

"I'm not seeing anybody," he said. "It's
because I decided to spend a year without being in a relationship.
I'm trying to discern my vocation in life. I've been spending most
of my free time working with the youth minister at my church.
Trying to decide whether or not to enter the ministry."

Another fantasy. He probably cleans the
youth minister's pool!
"And how long do you think that will
take? To decide?"

"Don't know. It's a scary decision. It'll
mean at least four years of higher education. Quitting the pool
business."

"Is that such a big deal? Giving up cleaning
pools?"

"Oh, I don't clean pools."

"Now I really don't get it, Stretch. Because
that's exactly what you were doing this morning. You were cleaning
my father's pool."

"No. I was visiting your father. We had our
date to play chess."

"But I saw you pouring in some
chemicals."

"I always do. But not for pay. Just because
it's in my nature. Because your dad wasn't very good at cleaning
his pool."

"You're not the guy who cleans my dad's
pool?"

"You're dad always cleaned it himself. I
think he thought it was too extravagant to hire someone to do it.
But, you should know."

"Then what do you do if you don't clean
pools? I mean, you are "The Pool Guy", aren't you? That's what it
says on your card."

"Yeh, that's me. I'm The Pool Guy. But I
don't clean them. I'm the owner of the business. I run it with my
parents. I drum up the business by making commercials and doing
follow-up sales calls on the leads we get. My mother keeps the
books and my father manages the area managers who manage the guys
who do the cleaning. But enough about me. What's important is
deciding what we're going to do about the final arrangements you've
got to make this week."

"Well, I'm glad you brought that up, Stretch.
Because here's the thing. I'm just not up to arranging anything. I
feel hopelessly incapable of dealing with any of it."

"Then we'll have to call on the other members
of the family. No need you should have to do everything
yourself."

"Stretch, there are no other members of the
family. At least none who can help. All of our relatives live on
the Eastern seaboard. A bunch of cousins I haven't seen since I was
a child. Dad was the last of his brothers. Phil and I are the only
Irelands out here."

"Then your brother Phil can take care of
everything. After all he should. It's his responsibility as
well."

"Are you going to eat this last angel crown?
Because the four I just had weren't enough."

"We'll split it." He cut it in half with a
plastic knife and slid her half towards her on it's wax paper and
she took a bite.
Anyone watching us would think it was just a
guy and a girl enjoying a sugar ritual while getting to know one
another, she thought. They'd have no idea. No idea at all
.