Funeral with a View

by Schiariti, Matt

  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.

  CHAPTER 48

  Our first wedding anniversary wasn’t the banner event I’d hoped for.

  On the day after the big blowup, having uttered somewhat meaningful apologies to one another, we put on our brave faces and made plans to celebrate our first year of marriage. It wasn’t lost on me that we’d made avoiding the big elephant in the room into an Olympic event, but anniversaries are important and I was determined to make our first special.

  Our milestone was spent in New York City, where we had dinner and saw a Broadway show. We dressed up, took the train into the city, walked around Times Square. We ate oversized and overpriced prime rib, we applauded the excellent cast of 42nd Street. It almost felt like a first date as we walked hand-in-hand, conversing about nothing of importance while we roamed the city streets, all of our problems left back in New Jersey. I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere since Jersey is the brunt of so many of them.

  “Have I told you how good you look tonight, Mrs. Franchitti?” I kissed Catherine’s neck as we stood together on our front porch. It was dark, and the waning moon broke through thick cloud cover with enough light to put her smiling eyes on display. A breeze carried the scent of mowed lawns and flowers.

  “I do believe you told me several times, Mr. Franchitti, but a girl can never get enough of that.”

  I nibbled her earlobe. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Keep those eyes closed, Cat. I have a surprise for you.”

  “You’re going to abandon me on the porch?”

  “Not for long, promise.”

  I let myself in, did what I had to do. When I came back out, Catherine was still on the porch, her black shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the developing chill in the air.

  “Eyes still closed?” I said playfully.

  “Mmm hmmm.”

  “No peeking?”

  “No peeking.”

  “Hmm. I dunno. You cheat at Monopoly all the time. Can you be trusted?”

  “Ricky,” she said, one eye squinting open, “are you going to keep me out here all night?”

  “Uh uh uh.” Placing my hands over her eyes, I whispered in her ear, close enough to smell the soap on her skin and the perfume she’d strategically applied there. “I told you not to peek. Okay. You’ve waited long enough. Let’s go in.”

  We walked into the house, me guiding her so she wouldn’t trip over the doorstep. That would have sucked.

  Once inside, I removed my hands and said, “You can open them now.”

  “What have you been … oh my God.”

  Two things scream romance like nothing else in this world: candles and roses. There was no shortage of either. In fact, I’d procured a shitload of each, which, if you’ll recall, is a lot.

  The foyer was aglow with the soft light of dozens of flickering candles. Placed one on top of the other, they surrounded the perimeter and led up the staircase in two lines, one against the bannister, one against the wall. Rose petals, more than I could count, covered the floors, making a red floral path up each stair. Candlelight caressed each one, giving them the illusion that they flowed as if a river traversing its way uphill, pointing the way upstairs.

  “You like?” I said.

  Catherine tore herself from the display, turning to me with a hand over her mouth. Tiny flames danced in her hazel eyes.

  “I love it, Ricky. It’s gorgeous. But how—”

  I stole a kiss. “Magic. Your job is not to question how. Your job is to enjoy.”

  Catherine nodded. Hands in my hair, she pulled me to her, pressing her lips to mine. Our bodies followed soon thereafter. Caressing, consuming each other’s warmth, we somehow managed the stairs and kissed our way to the second story. More candles lined the hallway, projecting liquid, sinuous shadows along the walls. Our clothes marked the passage like a trail of breadcrumbs on the floor in our wake.

  Finally, I thought. Her barriers were crumbling. This is what we’d been missing. Simple human contact. For that span of time as we worked our way to our master suite, arms entwined, hands running through hair, lips touching, tongues dancing, nothing else mattered. We were our old selves again, in love and with the echoes of our troubles dying away, swallowed whole.

  Candles lit the bedroom walls. Both the bed and floor were covered in more undulating rose petals. If she saw them or not, I couldn’t tell. Her eyes were closed, all of her attention channeled through her lips and focused on me. For that, I was thankful.

  I laid Catherine on the bed. Her tight black dress was lost, and propped up on her elbows with only a sheer bra and panties covering the most intimate parts of her, she looked at me, licking her lips. When I relieved myself of my silk boxers, her eyes trailed down my body hungrily. That look was something I’d thought lost to me. I was glad to have it back.

  “Mmmm. A little excited are we?” she said, each syllable sultry and full of want.

  Man, was I ever. I hadn’t been that hard in longer than I could remember.

  I joined her on the bed, my arms supporting my weight. Our bodies writhed, hands caressing, exploring as if for the first time. Burying my face in her neck, my cock ran along her inner thigh.

  “Okay,” she growled softly, nibbling my earlobe. “Maybe you’re more than just a little excited.”

  I smiled, then my tongue found hers as I ran the strap of her panties past her hip and down her leg. I wanted her so bad I could taste it. But it wasn’t just about sex. It was more than that. Until that moment, what had been a kernel of a thought blossomed and spread throughout my mind. I missed her. I missed Catherine Maddox, the woman I’d fallen in love with, the woman I moved in with, the woman I waded through seas of emotional tumult with, more than I’d realized.

  Kissing her lips, I trailed my index finger, agonizingly slowly, up her thigh, eliciting a moan from deep within her. She pulled at my lip with her teeth.

  It wasn’t only me who was tuned up. I felt her excitement, warm, wet, eager, with my finger. She was as ready as I was. I put my finger, musky with her desire, in my mouth then kissed her. Catherine returned it with eagerness and passion.

  She grabbed my length, teasing herself with the tip. I shuddered, and she smiled, knowing I was under her full control.

  “Fuck.”

  “That’s the idea,” she said, licking my lips which were covered in her excitement. Catherine’s hand squeezed me harder. “Get a rubber. I want you. Right here, right now. Enough with the foreplay.”

  With an effort that would make He
rcules proud, I pulled myself away from her body and rifled through the nightstand where I always kept them.

  Nothing but socks.

  “Fuck,” I groaned.

  “We will, once you get the condoms.”

  Best laid plans can get derailed in a second. In my haste to make the night perfect, I’d forgotten the one thing I absolutely shouldn’t have. I clenched my jaw, inwardly cursing myself for my stupidity. Then again, I’m a guy, and guys make a full time occupation of screwing things up. It’s part of our DNA.

  “We don’t have any,” I sighed. But I shook off the brewing failure and blanketed her with my body, teasing her collarbone with my tongue. “Screw it. We’ll wing it.”

  It was too late. Catherine’s demeanor and body language changed in an instant. She slipped away, like sand through my fingers

  “Rick … I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Sure you can. It’s like riding a bike. You never forget how.” I tried to kiss her again, but her hands on my chest stopped me.

  Frustrated, she shook her head and turned on her side.

  “What? What is it?” I already knew the answer to the question, but I ran my hands through her long hair and kissed her bare shoulder to delay the inevitable.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “I can’t get … I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to go through that again, Rick. Not so soon. It’s too soon.” Her shoulders shook. “I can’t.”

  And that was that. Everything I thought we’d been building toward, the elimination of the hurt, the distance, finally being drawn back to one another, fled my body in a single sigh, leaving me empty.

  Angry, I sat up and rubbed my face. “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry … wait, where are you going?” Catherine reached for me, but I’d already gotten up.

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I shut the bathroom door behind me.

  CHAPTER 49

  Attitudes have a tendency to rub off. Like newsprint on your thumb, they smudge, tarnish, linger. At first, Catherine was the one hurting and I tried to make things right by any means necessary. After so many failed attempts to rekindle things, after so many rejections and rebukes, my entire demeanor changed. Maybe we weren’t meant to have kids. Maybe we shouldn’t have them.

  It was late June. I was due to leave for an advertising conference being held in Baltimore Harbor the next day. There was a time when leaving home for a long weekend would have been a nuisance. That time was long gone. After all that had happened in recent months, I found myself looking forward to it. The prospect of getting away and resetting my batteries grew more appealing as the trip grew near. In the back of my mind, I felt as though the distance would do us a world of good. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. The truth was a darker thing. I wanted to get away from the suffocating stress that had cast a bleak shadow on our home.

  “Have you talked to Bill lately?” Catherine asked me over dinner.

  “No, it’s been a while. Why?”

  “I talked to Angela at work today. She says they’re hitting a rough patch.”

  “That’s nothing new.” My guess was he finally got tired of her and was starting to distance himself. Classic Bill.

  “She thinks they may be moving too fast.”

  “What?” I almost spit out my Coke. “Bill’s moving too fast for her? I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. She told me he wants to move in together.”

  I choked on a forkful of ziti and chased it down with more soda. “Get outta here.”

  “She shot him down, flat out. You may want to give him a call and see how he’s doing or maybe get together with him. The way she tells it he’s hurting pretty bad. But you’d know that if you made an effort to keep in touch.”

  I let that last remark slide because it was true. I hadn’t spoken to Bill much lately. There was too much on my plate for me to deal with his topsy-turvy relationship issues, which I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would worm their way into my life. It was as inevitable as sunrise and sunset. Selfish? Yes. I admit it. But my mood was toxic. His baggage was the last thing I needed.

  “So she dumped him?” I said.

  “She calls it a break, but that’s pretty much the same thing, isn’t it?”

  “Wow. Poor bastard. I never would have dreamed of Bill in that position. If anything, I figured the roles would be reversed. Maybe I’ll call him after the conference.”

  “Okay.” She wiped her mouth, folded the napkin into a neat triangle, slowly set it back on the table, flattening it obsessively. Catherine started playing with her C&R charms. There was something on her mind. “So, I spoke with Dr. Ann today.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “She thinks we should see a geneticist.”

  My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. I set it down.

  “A geneticist,” I repeated flatly.

  “Yes.”

  I looked out the window. Sunlight blistered the grass, turning any patches not fortunate enough to enjoy the shade of the trees into withering brown wasteland. “I need to run the sprinkler more.”

  “Ricky, did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you fine.”

  “Why won’t you look at me?” Her voice was soft, tentative and upset.

  “Maybe we have grubs.”

  “Grubs?”

  “They eat the grass at the root. Persistent bastards. Starts slow, and before you know it your whole lawn is toast.”

  “I haven’t made an appointment yet, but she’d like us to come in and talk with her.”

  “Yeah, definitely grubs. Hard to undo that damage.”

  “Ricky, will you please look at me?”

  I did.

  “I was thinking,” she started, then stopped. Catherine squared her shoulders, preparing to tell me what I already knew she was going to say. “I want to start trying again.”

  “You’re serious.”

  A shadow fell over her face. “Yes, I’m serious.” There was no doubt in her tone or her expression.

  “I don’t know, Cat.”

  She pressed her back deeper into the chair, hurt, perhaps even shocked.

  “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

  “What I mean is, have you seen what it’s been like around here lately?” I swept my hand in a wide arc, indicating the house and, to a greater extent, our lives. “This has been Stress Central.”

  “I know things haven’t been perfect.”

  “Perfect? Nothing’s perfect. I’d settle for close to normal, but we’re nowhere near that, much less perfect.”

  Catherine regarded me as if I were a stranger. In a way, I felt like one. These words, this attitude, none of it was like me at all.

  “Take a look around, Cat,” I went on. “Think about it for a second. Deep down, do you really think we’re in the right place to start trying for a baby again?”

  She stared at the table. “It’s been bad. It has. I know it.”

  “You have to admit that we’re lucky we survived the last one. We’re still recovering. I don’t know if I want to deal with that again, not in the state we’re in.”

  Her mouth opened, but I interrupted.

  “I’m starting to wonder if we should even have kids.”

  Catherine’s head shot up as the sentence hung in the air like an executioner’s axe.

  “You can’t mean that,” she said, each word razor sharp.

  “I do mean it.” I gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white and bloodless, wondering if this was how the beginning of the end for Sandy and her husband went down.

  “So you’re just going to give up? On having a family? On me?”

  I let out a sigh. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Not in those exact words, but the meaning’s loud and clear.”

  Trying to right a ship adrift, I steadied my breathing, released some of the pressure my hands were exerting on the table. We were bolting dow
n a slippery slope.

  “Look, baby—”

  Catherine stood up from the kitchen chair, which gave a shriek of protest and toppled to the floor with a crash. “Don’t you ‘baby’ me! You’ve crushed me, Ricky. Do you hear me? Crushed me.” Her lips trembled, anger turning to sadness and back again. It was in the furrow of her brow, the way she stabbed the table with a red-painted nail to emphasize each word. She wasn’t mad at me. Not anymore. She hated me.

  Attitudes rub off, sinking into your pores and rotting away from the inside out. Her frustration became mine, my anger hers.

  “What do you want from me?” I yelled. “You change gears like this on me out of the blue? Talk to Dr. Ann behind my back—”

  “I don’t need your permission to talk to my own doctor,” she seethed.

  “—and expect me to just forget what it was like the last time? You expect me to sweep the fact that you were devastated and treated me like a non-entity for months under the carpet?” I was on my feet now, hissing verbiage through clenched teeth. “Ricky will jump for joy that you’ve finally had a change of heart and agree. Is that how this is supposed to go?”

  “You’re an asshole!”

  Catherine blew past me in a blur of rage. I ground my teeth and followed her into the foyer, her feet angry stomps as she climbed the stairs.

  “Cat, try to see it from my perspective for once.”

  She came to an abrupt halt on the second-floor landing and pointed at me. “You know what, Rick?” Her voice trembled with scarcely contained fury. “Forget I asked.” Ask wasn’t the word I’d use to describe how she’d brought it up. “Forget I asked you anything at all. Go to your fucking conference with fucking Sandy and forget this ever happened.”

  The hallway swallowed her up.

  “Christ.” I sat down on the first step, head in my hands.

  CHAPTER 50

  Bzzzzzzzzzz.

  I set aside the last items from my unpacked suitcase and picked up my phone. It was Bill, not Catherine. My lungs deflated.

  My wife was already gone by the time I’d woken up that morning. She hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t even left a note, and when I called to let her know I’d gotten to Baltimore safely, it went straight to voicemail. Leaving for the conference was the last thing I wanted to do with the argument still looming over us like an oppressive cloud of regret, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I could have—should have—handled it so much better. All of it.