Funeral with a View (18 page)

Mid-May.

I’d slept like shit. Again.
Catherine was fast asleep by the time I’d gotten into bed. Normally prone to
snuggling, she’d made no attempt to be close. I didn’t push it, and rolled over
on my side with my back to her. Falling asleep had been a hard fought victory,
but when sleep did come, it was fitful. Dark bags under my eyes and a pasty complexion
in the morning were evidence of the lack of a quality night’s rest.

“Something on your mind,
Rick?”

You could say that.

I tore my eyes from my
email—something I’d been staring at for God knows how long—when Sandy popped
into my office.

“I’m good. I was up half
the night.” My smile was one hundred percent false. “Restless legs.”

“Restless legs.” Sandy’s
narrowed eyes and folded arms told me her bullshit meter was going crazy. “I
hate when that happens. You know, sometimes Mother Nature can help with that,”
she whispered, and made a peace sign.

“I’m sure.”

“If there’s anything you
need to talk about, you’ll let me know?”

“Absolutely. I’m good
though.”

“Have it your way.” She
hesitated. “What are you doing for lunch?”

“I’m sorry?” I blinked in
confusion.

“Are you doing anything
for lunch today?” she said as if English were my second language.

“No, I didn’t have any
plans.”

“You do now. We’re going
out to eat. I’m buying.” By her tone, I knew better than to argue.

“Okay.”

“Good. I’ll come get you
at one.”

~~~

“Thank you.” Sandy flashed
an attractive smile at the waiter as he refilled our water glasses.

We were at a cozy Mexican
restaurant located within minutes of the office, one of Princeton’s culinary
gems, and a place Cat would love … if we still went out.

“Rick, what’s with you
lately?” She bit into a complimentary tortilla and I almost laughed at the
beautiful, well-mannered woman eating with her hands, but the intensity in her
eyes kept me silent.

“I don’t know what you
mean, Sandy.”

“Don’t you?”

I shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, maybe I’ve been a little out of it.”

“A
little
? You’ve
been walking around the office like a robot for weeks, your work hasn’t been
popping, and you’ve been snippy with your co-workers. That’s not like you,
Rick” She pointed with a half-eaten chip. “That’s not like you at all.”

I shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? Be straight with
me. Is it drugs? Alcohol? We can get you into a program. You have a bright
future ahead of you and I’d hate … What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” I said after my
laughter subsided. “I’m not on drugs. And I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Then what
is
it?”
She reached across the table and placed her hand atop mine. “You can tell me. Please.
Whatever it is, I want to help.”

Her hand felt warm and
there was no denying that the contact felt fantastic.

After a deep breath I spilled
my guts about the miscarriage, the emergency room, the iciness at home … everything.
To her credit, Sandy sat in rapt attention as I rambled on, and didn’t make a
peep until I’d fully purged.

“My God. I had no idea.”
She sat back in her chair. “I never would have guessed … I mean … You and
Catherine seem so happy.”

“We were …
are
. We
will be, I hope. I’m trying to make the best of it, but it’s wearing on me. You
wanted to know why I’ve been fucking up at work? There it is.” I’d never
dropped an F-bomb in front of my boss before, but she didn’t bat an eyelash.
“But that’s an advantage of choosing career over family, isn’t it? You don’t
have to deal with any of this.”

Her cheeks flushed, and
she took a sip of water. I felt like a complete ass.

“I’m sorry, Sandy. That
was uncalled for.”

Sandy adjusted her
silverware almost obsessively, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, lacking
the smoky quality I’d come to know so well. Instead it sounded, distant, sad.

“It’s okay, Rick.
Actually,” her blue eyes met mine, “work was a consolation prize.”

“Excuse me for sounding
like an idiot, but I’m not following you.”

The waiter swooped in
with our entrees, asked us if we needed anything else. We declined. Sandy picked
up her knife and fork, put them to her plate, set them down.

“I was married once,” she
said, staring at her food. “It seems like a lifetime ago now. We weren’t that
much different than you and Catherine. Young, in love, our whole lives ahead of
us. I never thought it would end.”

“What happened?”

“Premature ovarian
failure.” Not something I was familiar with, but it didn’t take much of an
educated guess to deduce its meaning. “My ex came from a big family, and he
wanted kids. Lots of kids. I couldn’t give them to him.”

“Weren’t there other
ways?” I asked. “Treatments? Adoption?”

Sandy smiled, finally
looking up from her plate. “There’s always a way, Rick, but not for him. He
didn’t want to hear any of it. No adoption, no
in vitro
, nothing. After
we found out about my infertility he saw me as damaged goods. My marriage
effectively ended on the day I was given my diagnosis. He hung on for a while,
tried to make a show of being supportive and understanding, but I knew it was a
façade, a way to show his parents that he did ‘the best he could’. So much for
in sickness and in health, in good times and bad.”

I had no idea what to
say.

“So,” she continued, “I
threw myself into work. If I couldn’t be successful at having a family, I was
determined to have a successful career.”

“You’ve certainly done
that.”

“As I said, a consolation
prize. My bitch on wheels persona in the office? A front. All of it. I’m good
at my job, but not nearly as confident as people think.”

“Would it help if I said
you had me fooled?”

Red lips turned into a
genuine smile. “A little.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned in.
“I’m not driven because thinking about what I had and lost makes me that way.
I’m driven so I won’t
have
to think about it, Rick.”

I’d seen the flaws in her
act, witnessed hints at the true Sandy, the fun, thoughtful person beneath on
several occasions, but little did I know. How could I have?

We can’t know
everything about everyone.

“This all hits a little
too close to home, Sandy.”

“That’s why I shared. I
can relate to what you and Catherine are going through because I’ve been there.
Things like this leave their mark on a person and bleed into everything. I knew
there was something bothering you and I’m glad I asked about it.”

“I promise I’ll get back
on track at work. You have my word on that.”

“I know it. Take care of
what needs taking care of. Everything else will work itself out.”

“Thanks, Sandy. I
appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. And
Rick,” her hand found mine again, “if there’s anything you need, and I do mean
anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

There was nothing but
truth in her deep, intense eyes.

“Now let’s eat this
before it gets cold,” she said with a wink.

The sounds of the
lunchtime rush filled our lull in conversation as Sandy and I started to eat.

Life goes on.

“Rick? Is that you?”

Yes, life goes on. Too
bad there’s no pause button.

The faint southern lilt
let me know who the voice belonged to even before I turned around.

Mary Jo weaved her way
through the close-packed tables, waving. My face cracked into a smile that must
have resembled an African death mask.

“I knew it was you,” she
said, hitching the strap of her Gucci bag higher up on her shoulder. She was
dressed casually in a denim skirt, a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up to
her elbows, and wedge sandals. Somehow, the run-of-the-mill outfit was elegant
on her. “Fancy meeting you here like this. Good Lord it’s busy today.”

I rose and gave her a
hug. Sandy cleared her throat.

“Mary Jo,” I said, “this
is my boss, Sandra Colbert. Sandy, my mother-in-law, Mary Jo Maddox.”

Mary Jo’s composure
briefly faltered. “Nice to meet you, Sandra.” The tone wasn’t what one would
consider hostile, but it didn’t ooze cheer either.

“Likewise.”

“So, Mary Jo,” I said
before things had a chance to become too awkward. “What brings you here?”
Duh.

A bat of eyelashes seemed
to wipe clean any disapproval. “Lunch, silly. I’m going to see an old friend
and I’m picking up some take-out so I don’t show up empty handed. Is that the
California burrito, Sandra?”

“Sure is.”

“Isn’t it to die for?”

“Only thing I ever order
here. It’s ruined everything else for me.”

“Isn’t it the truth?
Sorry to have interrupted your lunch, Ricky.” My mother-in-law gave me a final
hug. “Go back to it before it gets cold. Take care of yourself. And it was a
pleasure meeting you, Sandra. Bye-bye now.” With a wave, she left us to pick up
her food.

I sat down with a huff.

“She seems nice,” Sandy
said.

“She is.”

“You know, Rick, if you
weren’t in the mood for Mexican you could have told me.”

“What?”

“You’re more interested
in your fingernails than what’s on your plate.”

Why was I so nervous?
It’s not as if I had been caught doing anything wrong, but sometimes the
impression of impropriety is almost as bad as impropriety itself. Truth be
told, I was afraid my guilt at having opened up to Sandy had left a stink on
me. Pulling my fingers from my mouth, I picked up my cutlery.

“Everything okay?” she
asked.

“Yeah. Right as rain.”

But that’s the thing
about rain, isn’t it? When it rains, it inevitably pours.

As part of what had
become routine, Catherine and I were in front of the TV watching something I
can’t even recall, both lost in our own personal funks. Things hadn’t improved.
My wife’s barrier deflected any and all talk of the miscarriage, and attempts
at intimacy were repelled with equal success. If it were one or the other, I’d
have been able to deal. Both at the same time made me miserable. The surprise
visit from Mary Jo earlier in the day didn’t help matters any. I sensed
something coming, a climate shift much like when the air changes before a big
storm. The atmosphere in the house was heavy and ominous.

“Something on your mind?”
Catherine said, eyes fixed on the television.

“Not really. Why?”

“You’re fidgeting and
your nails are bleeding.”

I regarded the tips of my
fingers. Small crimson dots beaded my skin in disorderly patterns.

She turned off the TV and
slowly turned to face me. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

When you’ve been with
someone long enough, when you’ve lived with them, slept with them, shared the
most intimate aspects of your body and mind with them, you become attuned to
their emotional queues. Body language, tone of voice, the set of their eyes;
any one of these can hint at their state of mind. Interpreting these non-verbal
clues gets to be second nature. In the time it takes for a humming bird to
complete one flap of its wings, I picked up on every one of them. Posture:
rigid, tense, accusatory. Tone of voice: cold, measured. Eyes: hard.

The storm was right on
top of me and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“How was lunch, Rick?”
The sentence slammed into my head like a plummeting wall of water. Mary Jo had
dropped the dime on me. Purely innocent, I was sure, but this was what had me
so on edge. Sandy was not Catherine’s favorite person, and the fact that I’d
been seen in public with her hadn’t been well-received.

“It was fine,” I said
lamely.

An eyebrow rose. “And the
company?”

“It was just lunch, Cat.”

“Just lunch,” she said,
each word dipped in mockery. “Just lunch with your girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you, but
my ears must be going rotten in my old age, because what you said doesn’t sound
like my wife at all.”

“She tell you how much
she wants you?”

“What the hell are you
talking about, Cat?” My voice was slowly getting louder, not yet a yell, but well
on its way.

She inched toward me with
predatory movements, her body speaking a language I didn’t know. “Why were you
so nervous when you saw my mother?”

“I wasn’t nervous at
lunch.” A complete and total lie. I was, but not for the reasons she seemed to
be building up to.

“That’s not the story I
got.”

“Then what
is
the
story you got?”

“Why didn’t you mention
it?”

“Why didn’t I mention
what?” The questions were coming fast and furious, each drafting the last,
almost too quickly for my brain to process.

“That you went out to
lunch with Sandy.”

“Because you didn’t ask.”

Her laugh was dark.
“Because you didn’t ask,” she said as if tasting each word’s truth. “That’s
funny. Gee, honey, why didn’t you tell me you have cancer? Oh, I dunno,
sweetie. Because you didn’t ask?”

“Okay, that’s enough.”
Agitated, I stood up, feeling as if I’d torn my skin away from a surface it had
been glued to for weeks. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Did you ‘puke’ to her,
Ricky? Tell her about all our recent trouble in vivid detail?”

My face flushed. I bit my
cheek, choking on the lie before I had a chance to say it, knowing she’d see
through it like a thin pane of glass.

Catherine wrapped her
arms tightly around her chest, and she wore an expression of unabashed
smugness. “Am I getting closer to the target?”

“What target!”

“I’m not stupid, Rick.
The long hours at work, the constant texts—”

It was my turn to laugh.
“What is this, the Fifties? You act like I come home smelling of Scotch and
cheap perfume with lipstick on my collar. You knew I’d have to work late
sometimes, Cat. That was part of the promotion.”

“She texts you
all the
time
, Ricky. Probably telling you how much she cares, how special you are—”

“At least someone does,
which is more than I can say for you!”

Everything froze. The
room, the clock, her expression of utter shock, the very air went into a tense,
all-consuming stasis. I couldn’t believe I’d said those words, couldn’t fathom
I had it in me to think them, much less give them voice. Catherine and I had
had our fair share of arguments over the years, but this one was unlike any of
its predecessors. This one had weight, a form, teeth. It went beyond words and
turned into a vicious monster.

Deliberately, at the pace
of molasses, Catherine got to her feet, hazel eyes locked onto me, and when she
spoke, it was quiet, making up with intensity what it lacked in decibels.

“You have a lot of
nerve.”

“No,
you
have a
lot of nerve. For fuck’s sake, Cat. You’ve been walking around the house like a
zombie for the past two months. I can’t take it anymore. You won’t talk to me,
won’t sleep with me,” I threw my hands up, frustrated as I searched for my next
words, “you won’t even touch me.”

Teeth gnashed at her
lower lip, her eyes closed and head shaking. “I can’t …”

“You can’t what? What is
it you can’t do?” Careful not to spook her, I held her shoulders, not to keep
her from running away, but for comfort and to let her know I was there. “Cat, I
know we suffered a tragedy. I know it. But let’s talk, please? We’re roaming
around the house, barely aware of each other. What kind of marriage is that? I
want to help you. I want us to help each other. But we can’t do that if we
don’t at least discuss things.”

She continued to shake
her head as I brought my forehead to hers. We’d said awful things, the most
horrible things, but I knew I could talk sense into her. She was trying too
hard to handle it all on her own. Catherine was depressed, had been for a
while. I’d tried to help her, but, obviously, it hadn’t been enough.

Our breathing synched,
and I felt her relax.

“Baby,” I continued, “maybe
you should talk to someone. Maybe I’m not enough.” A tear slipped down her
cheek. “You’re going through a lot. I think … I think you should get some
therapy.”

And just like that, the
spell was broken.

Catherine pushed me away,
and I stumbled back, feeling shocked and wounded. What had I said that was so
wrong? I couldn’t understand it. It made no sense.

“I don’t need therapy,”
she said, wiping at her nose, shaking her head in clear denial. “I don’t need
therapy.”

“You’re not thinking
clearly, Cat.”

She pointed an angry
finger at me. “You don’t get to tell me that. I’m not crazy, and you won’t send
me to some shrink. Is that how it’s going to be? Things get too hard to handle
so you’re going to ship me off to seek ‘professional help,’ ” she made agitated
air quotes, “and wash your hands of me?”

“I didn’t say you were
crazy.” Two handfuls of my hair filled my fists. “Jesus Christ, will you stop
twisting my words?”

By the time I opened my
eyes, she was already halfway up the stairs.

I ran up, taking the
steps two at a time, and spun her around. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells
around you, Cat. You’re not the only one who lost a child.” My voice broke with
pent up emotion. “I did, too.”

For the briefest of
moments, no more than a flicker, really, her ice-filled, dead eyes, thawed and
were reborn. My heart soared, thinking those were the words she’d needed all
this time, to know that I’d been hurting right along with her.

Her chest expanded as she
filled her lungs. Lips moved.

And I hoped. Hoped that
whatever was forming on those lips would be a step in the right direction, so
we could move past this and get back to being the couple we were, the couple I
knew we could be.

“I’m going to bed.”

Without looking back or
saying anything else, she went into the bedroom and closed the door.

My heart, soaring only a
moment ago, had been shot out of the air and fell crashing to the ground in a
twisted, burning wreck.