Funeral with a View

by Schiariti, Matt

  “Our blood types don’t match! And the only other person Cat was with at that time was you, Bill. You know, I should beat the piss out of you. I should pick up a blunt object and cave in your skull. But you know what?” I stalked to the door. “You’re not goddamn worth it. You are fucking dead to me.”

  “Ricky …”

  “You and Cat. Both of you. Dead to me. You want her? You can have her.”

  The sound of the slammed door echoed through the breezeway as I made my way to the parking lot.

  Somehow I ended up on the road. Can’t remember getting in the car or starting it. Can’t remember blasting the radio to the point where it made my ears ring. I remember driving, cobalt streaks of passing streetlights, and eventually parking on the street.

  The house was dark. Tentatively, I reached out and knocked.

  No answer.

  I knocked harder.

  Still, no answer.

  As I was ready to give up and go somewhere else, anywhere else, I heard the clicking of the lock.

  The door opened.

  “Rick? What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Sandy.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Sandy stood in her doorway, wearing a revealing black silk nightgown. Her damp obsidian hair cascaded over her shoulders. A slight breeze carried a hint of lavender.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” I peeked into the parlor. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

  Sandy shook her head. “Well, no. But what are you doing here so late? Do you know what time it is?”

  “That seems to be a popular question tonight.” I stepped into the house. “No, I don’t know what time it is. And I don’t care.”

  “What happened to your eye?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Sandy didn’t have a chance to utter a follow-up to that. As soon as she closed the door I put my hands on her face and pulled her to me, pressing my lips hard to hers. She melted into the kiss after a moment’s hesitation, wrapped her arms around me, and ran her fingers through my hair.

  “Shit, Rick,” she said, taking a breath of air. “What’s gotten into you?”

  I laid a finger on her lips. “I don’t want to talk about anything. I just want you. I just want this.” My hand trailed down her side and I grabbed her toned ass.

  We stumbled up the stairs, shedding our clothes with each step. Our bodies were like one being with four arms and four legs, joined at the mouth and hips, and one thought ran through my mind as we made our way to the bedroom with only our scattered clothes to mark the passing.

  This was just what I needed.

  A good old fashioned revenge fuck.

  I threw Sandy onto her bed. She was in her panties now, the nightgown nowhere to be seen. Her body was even more incredible than I’d suspected. I soaked up every detail with my hungry eyes; her luminously tanned skin, how her taught stomach rippled as she propped herself on her elbows and watched me remove my boxers; how her nipples stood up in arousal. The silken skin of her well-muscled, lean thighs lead to toned calves and perfect, high arched feet.

  My tongue teased her navel, and I worked it up her prone body to her collarbone, leaving a faint trail. Sandy grabbed my hair and pulled me into another powerful kiss.

  I was kissing her neck, running my tongue in circles when she breathed, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Right then it was the only thing I wanted.

  “All I want,” I began, running my tongue from her collarbone to her neck to her jawline, “is you,” I nibbled her ear, “and me,” I drew my throbbing hand softly up along her inner thigh, “and this.” My hand found its way to the small patch of hair between her legs. I rubbed gently and she moaned deep in her throat.

  The naked, unabashed need in Sandy’s eyes was so powerful I felt lost in it.

  Licking her lips, she grabbed my ass and pulled me close.

  ~~~

  “You’re buzzing.”

  “You sure it’s not your battery operated boyfriend?”

  “Positive. I killed that thing a while back.”

  I leaned over Sandy and picked up my phone. The light from her Zippo cast a shiny glow on her as she lit another joint. My phone’s display was filled with missed call and text notifications. I’d been ignoring it all weekend.

  “You may want to check them, you know,” she said, taking a long drag, holding it, exhaling. Sweet, smoky tendrils drifted to the ceiling. “Want a hit?”

  “Sure, why not? Not like it’s gonna kill me.”

  Smoke filled my lungs as I read the bright phone display. It was a litany of missed calls, mostly from Catherine. There was one from my mother as well. I wasn’t in the mood for them. I wasn’t in the mood for much of anything. The only two things in my world right then were Sandy next to me and the joint between my finger and thumb.

  I scanned through the texts, holding the smoke in my lungs and allowing the chemicals to get entrenched in my bloodstream.

  “I’m sorry. Pls come home.”

  “Where are U??”

  “R U OK?”

  “Pls let me know UR OK.”

  “I’m scared. Not answering UR phone! Know U hate me right now but let me know UR ALIVE?”

  I rapidly entered “I’M FINE” and tossed the phone aside.

  Although I wanted nothing to do with Catherine, allowing her to think I could be hurt or dead in a roadside ditch in the middle of nowhere seemed cruel and unusual punishment. In fact, letting her know that I was not only alive and well, but choosing to ignore her held a certain twisted appeal. Petty? Yes. Did I give a shit? No.

  Sandy examined me when I offered her the joint.

  “What?” I coughed, finally letting the smoke exit my lungs.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is all about, Rick?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Well,” she exhaled, “you come here in the dead of night with nothing but the clothes on your back and a black eye and throw yourself at me without preamble. After all these years of keeping me at arm’s length?” She leaned on her elbow and scrutinized me. “Saying it’s pretty odd would be an understatement.” Sandy placed the joint in a glass ashtray then stroked her hand along my face. “What’s going on? Why now?”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  As I once did a long, long time ago, in a Mexican restaurant far, far away, I ‘puked’ my guts out. Sandy’s face was a slideshow of emotion as I bared my soul. By the time I was done, her mouth was slack, her eyes shocked. It was surreal. Sandy, next to me in bed, sexy as hell and smelling of pot, staring with her mouth resembling the Holland Tunnel.

  “You can’t make this shit up, Sandy,” I said.

  “I can’t … Jesus Christ. What are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea. It’s not like I had a plan when I came over here Friday night.”

  “Are you going home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sandy sat up, took a deep breath, let it out. “You can stay here if you like.”

  “I can’t impose on you like that. A few days is one thing, but indefinitely while I get my shit straight? That’s an entirely different kind of flying—”

  “Altogether,” she said, finishing the joke for me. “It’s not an imposition. And I don’t want any arguments, Rick. Where else would you go anyway?”

  “I could always go to my mom’s house for a while.”

  Sandy stared at me. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty one.”

  “And you want to go to your mother’s house?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  “Definitely not. You can crash here with me.”

  “I don’t want to use you, Sandy.” Oh the irony. If showing up like a thief in the night with nothing but sex on the brain wasn’t using her, I don’t know the meaning of the phrase.

  “Rick.” Placing a soft hand under my chin, she forced me to face her. “I’m not stupid. I k
now what this is all about. I realize it and I accept it. Believe me, I’m not judging you. I do not feel used. Not at all. You’re doing what you have to do, what you think is best. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I really am sorry for dumping all this on you.”

  Her finger found my lips. “Shhh. I’m okay with it, Rick. It is what it is. If this is what you want, if this is what you need, I’m okay with that, for however long it lasts.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Sandy. For everything.”

  Her lips curled. “What are friend-bosses for?”

  I laughed. It felt good, amazing even, to let go and forget the betrayal, the heartache, the bullshit.

  “Now,” she said, getting up off the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I watched her taught ass sway toward the master bathroom.

  “You’ll have to pick up some things,” she said as she ran the water. “What you came with was more than enough for what we did all weekend, but we’re going to have to go back to work eventually. And as much as I would appreciate you showing up at the office naked, I’m not sure the rest of the office would feel the same way.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  ~~~

  I entered my house early the next morning, hoping to swiftly pack a bag while Catherine and Celeste weren’t home and get out of there. Sandy was right. I couldn’t stay at her place without clothes.

  I shut the door behind me. Everything was still, quiet.

  “Rick? Is that you?”

  Catherine walked out of the kitchen, startling me. She was dressed in an old, black Bon Jovi T-shirt I bought for her at a concert I didn’t even want to go to but did because she adored the band so much, and faded jean shorts riddled with holes. Her light hair hung loose on her shoulders. Her feet were bare. God, she was beautiful, so beautiful it almost tore through my anger. I made a good show of nonchalance, and kept my racing heart from putting my lungs on overdrive. Years ago I may have had the compulsion to chew my finger nails in the midst of such an uncomfortable situation. The man whose feet were firmly planted on the tile didn’t do that. Not anymore.

  “Catherine,” I said, voice flat.

  “My God. Your eye.” She reached out, and I ducked to the side.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing. What happened?”

  “I ran into an old friend … and their fist.”

  “Bill?” she said incredulously.

  “Who else, Cat? I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it already.”

  She ignored my snipe. “Here, let me take a look at it.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Don’t be so stubborn, Rick. Let me at least get you an ice pack.”

  “I don’t need an ice pack, Cat. I’m. Fine.”

  She nodded, no more than a slight dip of the head. “If you say so. So, are you okay? I mean, other than the shiner?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. I’m … I’m glad.”

  “Uh huh.”

  It was by far the most awkward conversation we’d ever had. We spoke at each other, not to each other. Emotions were high, dander was up, hackles were raised. Catherine and I stood our ground in the chilly atmosphere of a life once shared now torn to pieces. A silence that dragged on and on took over, stretching into infinity.

  “What are you doing home?” she eventually asked, with a slight touch of hope.

  “I needed to pick up a few things.” My desire to extricate myself from the person who had hurt me so profoundly roused me out of my temporary paralysis. I headed for the staircase. She grabbed my wrist, and I saw the C&R charms dangling from her wrist. I looked away quickly, not wanting to dwell on their significance. Reflecting on the past would have only stifled my resolve to accomplish what I came to do.

  “I’ve been worried sick.”

  “I know. I got your texts. I texted you back. I told you I was fine.”

  “Rick,” her voice trembled, “where have you been staying all weekend?”

  “With a friend,” I said plainly.

  “A friend. What friend?” Her warm fingers clasped more tightly, as if holding on to me would solve everything, as if she could make it all go away with a simple touch and force of will.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Prying myself loose of her grip, I went to the bedroom, where I retrieved my suitcase and began packing.

  “What are you doing?” Catherine watched me, the pain on her face palpable. I fought the instinct to comfort her, an internal war made easier by the hurt coursing through my veins.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I inhaled and collected myself. “I don’t want to fight, Cat. Let’s not do that. I’ll grab what I need to, pack up, and I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Can you let me do that? Please?”

  “Okay,” she conceded in a tiny voice, nodding slowly.

  “Thank you. I didn’t even think you’d be here today. I wanted to avoid all of this.”

  “Called out. I wasn’t feeling up for work.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Fifteen minutes of near silence later I zipped my suitcase, as ready as I’d ever be.

  “Going back to your friend’s?” Catherine was no dummy. She knew exactly where I’d been and where I was going.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Celeste misses you, you know. She’s confused and upset. Asks about you constantly. I’m running out of excuses.”

  I paused at the front door, my black and blue hand gripping the knob. Words eluded me. In their place I nodded.

  “What am I supposed to tell her, Ricky?”

  “Tell her whatever you want.”

  Catherine’s presence was a static electricity that tickled my skin and coaxed goose bumps on my arms. I felt her behind me. I couldn’t see it, yet I knew her hand hovered in the air, wanting to touch me, to connect.

  The contact never came. It both saddened and relieved me.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered.

  “Me either. Maybe you should ask her father for parenting advice from here on out. I’ll call ahead of time if I need to come back for anything else.”

  “You don’t have to do that. This is your house, too.”

  I paused. “It used to be.”

  Tears blurred the clouds and sun as I walked to my car.

  CHAPTER 68

  I spent the next week stoned on pot and drunk on misery, trying to come to terms with everything. I even managed to get to work a few times. Sandy was more than understanding.

  There were no ‘I love yous,’ no attachment issues. As she said, it was what it was: two people, one lonely, the other heartbroken beyond measure, finding solace in each other’s company.

  During that time I spoke to no one outside of work. Catherine had stopped texting me, a welcomed change.

  That’s not to say things were all drugs, slapstick movie marathons, and fuzzy bunnies. Try as I might to avoid thoughts of my situation, glimpses of Celeste flickered unbidden in my mind’s eye. It was as unpredictable as it was gut wrenching. The triggers ran the gamut: a certain smell, a phrase, a particular image on TV. There was no telling when memories of the sweet, adorable angel would burrow their way into my brain.

  Whether Celeste was mine or not didn’t change the fact that I missed her beyond words, which lead to a vicious cycle, as dwelling on her absence sparked the anger of her true paternity. My emotions were a rollercoaster. It made me crazy.

  One night toward the end of the week, I was alone at Sandy’s house. She’d gone for a run, leaving me to my own devices. Lying on her bed and flipping through the channels, my phone buzzed.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Richard? Where in the name of Christ’s underwear are you?”

  “Nice to hear from you, too. I’m fine. You?”

  “Don’t be a wiseass. I just called your house.”

  Oh, great.

  It was a matter of inevitability. Sooner
or later I knew she’d talk to Catherine and the cat would be let out of the proverbial bag. Time to face the music.

  “I assume Cat told you I wasn’t home,” I said.

  “You could say that. You could also say she told me you haven’t been there in a week. You could also say that she’s worried sick about you. You could also say your mother is more than mildly curious as to why her son hasn’t been sleeping in his own bed.”

  Yes. Time to face the music. I didn’t look forward to dancing to this particular tune with my two emotional left feet.

  “Richard, if you’re not home, where have you been staying?”

  After a short pause, I said, “At a friend’s.”

  “William’s?”

  Hearing that one word sent a fresh wave of anger through me. “No.”

  “Why aren’t you home with your family?” Not pleased. Not pleased at all.

  “Well, that’s kind of a long story, Mom.”

  “I have time.” I knew that tone. That tone said, in no uncertain terms, I’m not dealing with your bullshit, young man. I’d heard it many times and knew from experience it wasn’t worth putting up a fight. That didn’t stop me from trying.

  “I’m not up to talking about it.”

  “Tough.”

  “If I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t have to,” I said indignantly. “You can’t force me to. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Richard, you’ll never stop being my son, and I’ll never stop being your mother. It’s a job that never, ever ends, no matter how old you get. Please, I want to know what’s going on in your life. I’m very concerned. Can’t you understand that?”

  I turned off the television and massaged the bridge of my nose. “What did Cat say when you spoke?”

  “Not that much. Just that you weren’t home and hadn’t been in some time.”

  “That’s it? Nothing else?”

  “No, nothing else.”

  That didn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t have wanted to tell my mother-in-law what had happened. Mary Jo would have lassoed, hogtied, and tossed me over an open fire with an apple in my mouth if I’d confessed to her I’d been the cause of such havoc. Still, better if Mom heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.