Funeral with a View (22 page)

About a month had passed.

Things at home were
better. Much better in fact. They weren’t perfect, never would be, but the
tension was gone. Catherine and I were close again, emotionally and physically.
We discussed where we’d been and where we were going. We’d begun trying for a
baby again, going so far as to schedule an appointment with Dr. Ann to go over
the details of genetic testing. Laughter and intimacy filled our home, having
returned from their overlong sabbatical. They’d been missed. To sum up, I had
my wife back, my best friend back, my life and marriage back. I felt as if I
could finally breath.

There is, however, always
a ‘but’.

I felt as if I could
finally breath
but
for Sandy and that damned conference.

In my quieter moments,
when I found myself idle and alone with my thoughts, my betrayal sprung from
nowhere, a dark Jack In The Box intent on startling me into an admission of
guilt. Fighting my instinct to tell Catherine about what I’d almost done and
did
do
bothered me like a persistent itch between the shoulder blades.

It was clear to me that I
wasn’t the only one trying to cope with the post-conference consequences.

The climate at work had
changed in those subsequent weeks. Gone was the chummy relationship Sandy and I
had enjoyed prior to finding ourselves in a heap of limbs and discarded
clothing on that hotel floor. Other than business conversations, we didn’t
speak. No more movie quotes lobbed back and forth, no more idle banter.
Nothing. Those things were replaced by short-lived smiles and furtive waves
when we ran into each other outside of meetings.

I was ashamed by what I’d
done.

Sandy was embarrassed by
it.

There was no way I’d talk
to Catherine about any of this. The more I thought about it, the more I knew
Bill was right, no matter how shitty it was; a lie of omission is still a lie. In
order to close that chapter of my life, I’d have to clear the air with one
Sandra Colbert. Things couldn’t continue on their current path. I’d learned the
hard way that my work life bled into my home life and vice versa. Not good. Not
good at all.

That Monday took its
sweet time arriving. The whole weekend had been tainted by the prospect of
approaching Sandy, and I spent most of it pacing and chewing my fingernails to
the nub. My odd behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed, and when asked about it, I’d
given Catherine flimsy excuses about stress at the office. Not a lie, but not
the complete truth, either. My stress was work-related. It just didn’t have
anything to do with my actual job.

Taking most of the day to
build up my fortitude, I knocked on the open door late in the afternoon. “Hey,
Sandy. Got a minute?”

She looked up from her
monitor, a harsh late-summer thunderstorm raging outside the office. Rain
pounded the two windows behind her desk.

“Sure,” she said curtly.
“Close the door behind you and have a seat.”

“About the conference …”

“Yes … the conference.
I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Face flushed, she stood and
looked out the window, arms crossed in front of her chest. Lightning flashed,
making her black business suit look even blacker.

“I’m sorry,” I said
quietly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I’ve never done anything
like that before.” Her voice was hushed, and I strained to hear it over rolling
thunder.

“Neither have I.”

“I’m not a home wrecker,
Rick. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“I never thought any such
thing.”

Her head dipped. “Thank
you.”

“Leading you on wasn’t my
intention, Sandy.”

“You didn’t lead me on. I
took advantage. It was ignorant of me, and I shouldn’t have been in your room
in the first place. You’re married for God’s sake. I’ve
met
your wife. What
was I thinking?” I didn’t answer. She was asking herself that question, not me.

We became quiet. The
storm intensified.

Sandy turned to me. She
looked hurt, but accepting. “How’ve you been?” she asked, changing the subject,
for which I was relieved. “You’d mentioned you had some things going on. Are
they better now? We haven’t seen much of each other lately, but you seem
happier.”

“I’m good. Everything is
getting back to normal.”

“And that’s a good thing,
right?”

“It’s a great thing.” It
was the best of things.

She smiled. “Happy to
hear it. I told you everything would fall into place.”

“When you’re right,
you’re right.”

My cellphone buzzed. I
didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, so I put it back in my pocket.

Sandy’s smile faded as
she rested her hands on the desk. “Rick, I know you may not believe this after
the way I’ve been acting for the past few weeks, but it’s also important to me
that you know none of this will affect our working relationship.” The thought
was nice, but I honestly didn’t see how things could ever go back. “I’m not
vindictive,” she winked, “no matter what the office gossips say. You do believe
me, don’t you?”

“Of course. I know you
better than that.”

My phone buzzed again.
Same number. I ignored it once more.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Then
we’ll move on like responsible adults.”

I sighed. “Sometimes I
still feel like a kid.”

“Don’t we all,” she
laughed. “Still, I meant what I said. If you need anything, ever, let me know.”

A reply was on the tip of
my tongue as my phone buzzed for the third time.

“Do you mind?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

I stood up, the phone to
my ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Rick
Franchitti?”

“Speaking.”

“This is—” A loud clap of
thunder rumbled the windowpanes, drowning out the man’s gruff, authoritative
voice.

“Could you repeat that,
please?”

“This is Sgt. Ramos of
the Princeton Township Police Department.” My blood turned to ice. “There’s
been an accident.”

“An accident?” Adrenaline
took over. “What’s happened?”

“It’s your wife, sir.
She’s in the emergency room at Princeton Hospital—”

I didn’t hear the rest.
Throwing the phone in my pocket, I jogged to the door.

“Rick? Rick!” Sandy
grabbed my arm. “What is it? Who’s been in an accident?”

“It’s my wife. Cat’s in
trouble. I have to go. I’m sorry, Sandy … for everything.”

~~~

I burst through the
emergency room doors, avoiding running into any of the moderately-sized crowd,
almost slipping on the wet tile, and bolted to the reception desk.

“I’m looking for my
wife,” I panted. “Catherine Franchitti. She’s been in a car accident.”

The woman behind the
round desk looked me up and down through glasses attached to a chain that hung around
her thick neck before tapping a few keys on her computer. I was a sodden mess.
My hair stuck to my head, and my suit, pants, and shoes were waterlogged from
running through two parking lots in the middle of a storm so bad it would have
made Noah stop and say, “I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

“What’s the hold up?” I
demanded. She regarded me with patience born of having witnessed many a frantic
person run up to her in a disheveled heap. “Look, I’m sorry. Please. I’m scared
to death here.”

“She’s in room twenty,
sir. You’re Mr. Franchitti?” I nodded. “Go right on back.” She pointed to the
double doors Catherine was taken through not more than a few months ago. I
nodded my thanks.

The curtain was wide
open. A man in a white lab coat stopped me just as I was ready to make my way
into the small room.

“Mr. Franchitti?” It was
the same doctor who’d snapped to action when I’d rushed in with my bleeding
wife; Dr. Horner. If he recognized me or merely put two and two together was
something I didn’t question. “Catherine has suffered some minor lacerations and
contusions. She took a pretty bad hit, but the airbag did its job. She’s going
to be fine. Most importantly, the baby wasn’t harmed.”

I breathed a sigh of
relief.

“Thank you. If you don’t
mind, I’m going to … Wait. What did you just say?”

The good doctor smiled. “I
said your baby was unharmed.”

“Hey, Ricky.”

A young nurse with a mane
of wild red hair, glacier blue eyes, and a bad case of acne was finishing
putting a bandage on my wife’s cheek. Whatever I was expecting, I was thankful
the reality was much less severe than the imagined. Catherine’s blond hair was
damp, both from sweat and the weather, and she was a bit pale. Other than that
and a few bandages, she seemed fine. I said a silent prayer that all the worst
case scenarios I’d built up in my mind as I hydroplaned my way to the hospital
hadn’t come to pass.

“Hey, yourself.” I took Cat’s
hand and nodded to her bandage. “Is that some type of new anti-aging facial
treatment that’s just hit the market?”

“You’re a dick,” she said
with a pained smile. “But at least you’re my dick.”

“Beat me to it, beautiful.”

“Did you talk to the
doctor? Ouch.” She glared at the nurse. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” the nurse said.
“Almost finished.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He
caught me in the hall. I was scared shitless. Then he told me something.”

“About the baby?”

I smiled. “Yes. Not the
best way to get good news, but all things considered? I’ll take it.”

“So you’re happy about
it?”

“Hell yes, I’m happy. But
what happened? I was still at work when the police called.” I felt my face
flush, thinking back to what it was I was discussing when that call came. “As
soon as he said ‘wife,’ ‘accident,’ and ‘emergency room,’ I hung up and broke about
every traffic law there is to get over here. I didn’t even ask him about the
particulars.”

“Well, that’s a funny
story. I was on my way home with a pregnancy test. I got your text saying you’d
be late, so I went out to get something to eat then went to the pharmacy. Some
asshole T-boned me coming out of the parking lot. You’d think people would be
more careful driving in this monsoon.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I told the
ER doctor that I thought I was pregnant. CT scan is standard for suspected head
trauma and they have to know if you’re pregnant before running one. Turns out I
was right.”

“That’s great, honey.”

“Is it?”

I squeezed her hand. “Yes.”

“Really really?”

“I’m all done here,”
announced the nurse. “Congratulations.” She winked and mentioned something
about discharge papers.

I sat in the chair next
to the gurney, my wet clothes soaking the fabric, and brushed a lock of matted
hair from Catherine’s forehead. Her eyes held so many emotions. Hope. Fear.
Apprehension. The shadows of past arguments still lingered.

“Really really,” I said,
kissing her hand. “I meant every single word I said over the past few weeks,
Cat. About starting a family, about having a baby. I wasn’t just saying it
because that’s what I thought you wanted to hear. It’s what I want. For
us
.
You and me and baby make three.”

Her smile lit up the
room.

A commotion that rose
above the constant din of activity in the ER came from out in the hall.

“I want to see my sister
and you can’t stop me!”

“Jude,” Cat said with a
grin.

“I’ll go get her before
she starts busting up the joint.”

“She’ll do it, too.”

“You stay put.” I laid a
soft kiss on her lips. “Love you, Cat.”

She slowly changed her
focus from me to the wall. “Love you too, Ricky.”

The funeral parlor is
near-silent. I’ve been roaming around, eavesdropping in my ghostly way, but a
collective hush has fallen like a blanket of fresh snow. The time to get the
proverbial show on the road is almost here and still no Bill. Is he ever going
to show up?

I move over to the
picture display.

Why do I torture myself
like this? Simple. I’m scared.

I want to inhale all
these remnants of my life, the happy memories and the faces of my loved ones,
before they’re snatched away from me forever. This uncertain space between
spaces is maddening. When I’m finally buried and gone, will I remember any of
this, or will it all just end? When I’m in the ground, will cold nothingness
descend on me as I blink out of existence? I’m frightened that there’s nothing
at the end of my tunnel. The longer my end is kept from me, the tighter my grip
on the past and the present becomes.

Now I’m absorbed with
pictures of my small family. Pictures of a tired, yet proud Catherine holding Celeste
minutes after giving birth. Pictures of our daughter playing with a shovel and
pail at the beach when she’d first started crawling. Preschool class photos.
The three of us smiling, gathered around a birthday cake. Memories flood back
with each and every image.

In life you think you’ll
have time to go back and revisit the memories, but you put it off until another
day. Organizing the photo album? Bah, that can wait'll tomorrow. Then you end
up like me, trying to extract three dimensional emotions from two dimensions of
color on paper for all you’re worth.

Almost an hour ago I’d
convinced myself that I didn’t know how I felt about funerals. I was kidding
myself. I’ve been terrified this whole time, but now I’m angry. Angry that I
didn’t get nearly enough time with my family. Angry for saying things I
shouldn’t have said. Angry for
not
saying the things I
should
have.

“Mommy, Aunt Angie’s here.”

Celeste’s voice rings
clearly and loudly, cutting through the silence. I peer over to the door where
my daughter is leading Angela in by the hand. She, like most everyone else, is
dressed in black. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she’s clutching her handbag
against her stomach as if to ward off some type of malignant force.

Angela hugs Catherine and
whispers in her ear. I don’t catch what’s said, but my wife nods and asks, “Bill?”

Angela shakes her head. Her
short brown hair bobs. Very much an ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ kind of
girl, Angela had never once changed her hairstyle in all the years I’ve known
her.

“He’s not here already?”

“No. Not yet.”

“I’m sorry, Cat,” Angela
says wearily. “Would you like me to call him?”

Catherine shakes her
head. “No. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s fine. I really
don’t mind.”

“He’ll be here, Angela.”
She sits up a bit straighter, squaring her shoulders. “I know it. He owes it to
Ricky.”

“Aunt Angie,” Celeste
says, tugging on Angela’s skirt. “Where’s Uncle Bill?”

“I’m not sure, sweetie.”

“I haven’t seen him in
almost forever. He wasn’t at the .. the …” Celeste scrunches up her nose and
looks at the ceiling for the right word.

“Viewing?”

“Yeah! The viewing. He
wasn’t at the viewing last night.”

“He was, but you’d
already left with your Aunt Jude by the time he got here.”

“Mommy said I had to go
to bed.”

Angela smiles. “Little
girls need their sleep.”

“He doesn’t come over
when you do anymore. I miss him.” She lowers her head, scuffs her shoe against
the deep red carpet. “But not as much as I miss Daddy.”

Angela squats down,
bringing herself to the little girl’s level and hugs her. “We all do, Celeste.”

A beat passes.

“Mommy says Daddy is sleeping,”
Celeste says. Catherine takes a shuddering breath, tries to hold back emergent
tears with a handkerchief. “But I dunno.”

“What is it you don’t
know?”

“I think he’s an angel.”

Angela raises an eyebrow
at Catherine, who shrugs. “You do, huh?”

An enthusiastic nod.
“Yep. Even though Sam and Jeff say there’s no such thing and I’m just being a
baby.”

“That wasn’t very nice of
them.”

“It’s okay,” Celeste
says, shrugging her tiny shoulders. “Big kids are always mean. They can’t help
it. Can we go out front to see if Uncle Bill’s here?”

“If it’s okay with your
mother, sure.”

“Can we, Mommy?”

“Sure, Pookie Bear,” Cat
says. “Don’t forget to thank Aunt Angie.”

“I won’t. Come on, Aunt
Angie,” Celeste grabs hold of Angela’s sleeve and takes bouncy steps toward the
parlor door, “I can show you some of my pictures.” ‘Pictures’ sounds like
‘pitchers’. Too cute.

“Oh, pictures? I love
pictures. What’ve you been drawing?”

“Angels, what else?”

“Of course. Silly me.”

Before they disappear
through the door, Celeste looks over her shoulder, a thoughtful finger in her
mouth. Her eyes wander, scanning the air for something and passing by me a few
times. She nods as if making up her mind, then leads Angela out into the foyer.

Not even ten seconds have
gone by and I miss her already.

Speaking of which, Bill’s
going to wind up missing me, literally, if he doesn’t get his ass here soon.
It’s not long before this show gets taken to the cemetery.

And whatever awaits me
when the ground swallows me up.