Funeral with a View (19 page)

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
42
^nd
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 Hercules 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.

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 down 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.