Funeral with a View (24 page)

Time flies when you’re
having fun, or when you have a kid. Next time someone tells you to savor every
moment because they grow up so fast? You’d damned well better pay attention. There
are a few irrefutable truths in this world: you’re born, you die, water’s wet,
the sky is blue, the Eagles will never win a Super Bowl, and kids grow up much
too quickly

The years ticked off
faster than I could keep track. One minute I’m bringing my wife and daughter
home from the hospital then next thing I know Celeste is crawling. I blink my
eyes and my infant magically transmogrified into a walking, talking toddler.

Over those early
years—the only years I really had—our house turned from the neat and orderly
place Catherine and I called home into a storage area for all things child.
First it was the playpen and the bouncer seat. Then it was the rocking horsey.
Then it was the big red wagon. But that was only the tip of the iceberg.

My mother took it upon
herself to shower Celeste in presents. Books, stuffed animals, clothes,
shoes—you name it, Mom bought it. She saw it as her duty and God-given right to
buy Celeste whatever she felt like, whenever she felt like it.

The Maddoxes weren’t much
better. If it wasn’t some little toy or knick-knack from Mary Jo and The
Colonel it was something from Aunt Jude and Uncle Rob. Celeste wanted for
nothing.

Not one to be left out,
Bill had eventually gotten in on the act, too. It took some time. At first he
was distant, but it wasn’t long before he warmed up to his goddaughter. With no
nieces or nephews of his own, he grew to take immense pride in buying Celeste
the biggest and coolest presents he could get his hands on. Between the
flamboyant gift giving and his innate ability to bring himself to a child’s
level, it was no wonder Celeste started calling him Uncle Bill.

The first time Celeste
said it was the on her third Christmas. Bill was bouncing her on his knee,
making her giggle and throw a fit as her pigtails bounced wildly like two
honeyed Slinkies, her brown eyes wide with the excitement of the season.

“Faster, Unca Bill,
Faster!” Faster sounded like ‘fasther’. What’s cuter than a little girl’s lisp?
Not much if you ask me. Not even puppies.

“I’ve never been called
Uncle before.”

“There’s a first time for
everything,” Catherine said.

When Celeste was first
born, my wife was naturally overprotective of her, especially where Bill was
concerned. It was almost as if she thought he’d break her. Bill was many things,
but gentle wasn’t one of them. Over time he’d gotten used to handling a small
child, and Catherine loosened up. There was no point in ignoring Celeste’s
adoration of her Uncle Bill, or that the feeling was mutual.

Sometimes, though, a faraway
expression would fall over Catherine’s face like a shadow when he and my
daughter were together. As time passed, the look decreased in frequency, but not
completely.

~~~

The look reared its head
the day after an spur-of-the-moment date night.

Celeste had just turned
four, and in a fit of cabin fever Catherine and I decided we needed to get out
for a night. We opted for the American standard: dinner and a movie.

As it turned out,
everyone was unavailable to babysit. The stars had aligned perfectly against
us, and Mom, Glen, The Colonel, Mary Jo, Jude, and Rob were scattered to the
four winds. Not to be deterred, I came up with a solution. All by myself!

“Why don’t we call Bill
and Angela?”

Yes, they were still
together. Sort of. Theirs was a rocky, on again-off again, relationship, although
it seemed they were more off than on. It wasn’t healthy for them, or us. Being
forced into the middle of their relationship troubles had become the ambient
state. But friends are friends, and family is family … even if they are a pain
in the ass.

Bill was family, now more
than ever, and I vowed never to go back to that place I found myself in the
year before Celeste was born, that place where my selfishness nearly alienated
two of the people I most cared about. When Bill needed an ear, he had mine. When
he needed to get out, I did what I could to accompany him. No judging, no
bowing out, no excuses.

Catherine, who was
removing dried toothpaste from the sink (courtesy of Celeste), bit her lip.

“I don’t know, Ricky. Do
you think it’s a good idea?”

I wrapped my arms around
her from behind and kissed the top of her head. “A good idea? No. It’s a
great
idea. I came up with it, didn’t I? Celeste is four now. She’s potty trained,
the whole nine yards. I know you’d rather leave her with someone more
experienced, but Bill’s responsible. Somewhat.” Her reflection smiled at me.
“And he’s back together with Angela. Again. If anybody’ll keep him in line,
it’s her.”

Catherine laughed. “No
doubt about that.”

“It’ll be good for them.”
I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. “What those two keep doing … the
breaking up and the getting back together,” I shook my head, “It’s not healthy.
Maybe if they get a little taste of family life it’ll help them realize that
they don’t have to be so scared about moving forward?”

I watched Cat in the
mirror as she continued to tidy up the dirty sink, her thinking face firmly in
place. She adjusted the C&R charms on her bracelet and turned around.

“Maybe you’re right. That
little bugaboo sure does love her Unca Bill and Auntie Angie.”

“Of course she does. Celeste’s
enthralled by Angela’s fairytales and Unca Bill is on the same emotional
level.”

A hand over her mouth
silenced the bubbling laugh. It was nearly eight o’clock. After much fussing
and fighting, it seemed as if Celeste was finally down for the count.

“Fine,” she said. “You
win. But you’re making the call and asking, got it?”

“Got it.” I leaned in and
nibbled on her ear. “You know, since she’s asleep …”

“Ricky,” she whispered.
“Our daughter’s right in the next room.”

“So?” My next kiss moved
to her neck; her Achilles’ Heel.

“Mmmm. I love when you’re
convincing.”

A tiny, lisping voice
doused the embers of our would-be dirty time.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

Celeste stood just
outside the bathroom, a stuffed Pooh Bear crushed against her chest. She rubbed
her eyes with a chubby hand.

“You,” Catherine said,
quickly collecting herself, “should be in bed, Pookie Bear.” She hoisted
Celeste onto her hip, much to the little girl’s delight.

“I wanna drinka water, Mommy.”

“If my little princess
would like a glass of water, then a glass of water she shall have.”

“Daddy?” Celeste turned
her tired browns to me as Catherine managed to fill a glass one handed.

“Yes, light of my life?”

“What were you doing to Mommy’s
neck?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Catherine said
over her shoulder. I saw her eyeing me in the mirror. “What
were
you
doing to Mommy’s neck?” Her grin was the equivalent of throwing down the
gauntlet; a challenge to see how I’d get out of the current tight spot.

I cleared my throat. “I
was checking her heartbeat, obviously.”

Celeste’s face scrunched
up. “Really really?”

“Really really.” I
smiled. “So,” I clapped my hands together, “you wouldn’t happen to know a
little girl who’d like to have her Uncle Bill and Auntie Angie babysit her
tomorrow night, would you?”

Celeste’s hand shot into
the air. “Oh! I do I do!”

“You do?” Catherine said.
“I dunno, Daddy. I don’t see any little girls around here who would want that.”

“Mommy, I’m right
here
.
Cantcha see me raising my hand?”

“Okay, okay,” Cat
laughed. “We’ll see what Uncle Bill says. No promises though. Now, you have
your glass of water. Let’s get you back in bed before I change my mind.”

Celeste’s feet were a
blur as soon as they hit the floor. A loud flumping sound confirmed she’d
jumped into bed. Catherine pressed her lips to my ear.

“To be continued?”

“To be continued,” I said,
and smacked her on the butt as she walked away.

“Thanks again for
everything, guys,” Catherine said. “Sorry about the short notice. She wasn’t
too bad, was she?”

It was late and we’d just
gotten back from our date. The house was quiet when we walked in, proof that
Celeste hadn’t browbeat her sitters into letting her stay up past her bedtime.

“Not at all. She’s a
little angel,” said Angela in her high-pitched voice.

Bill draped an arm over Angela’s
shoulders and smirked. “We didn’t let her put any forks in the electrical
outlets. We narrowed it down to steak knives and steak knives only.” He let out
an exaggerated grunt when Angela elbowed him in the ribs.

“He’s joking, as if you
couldn’t tell. We’d be happy to do it again anytime you need us. She’s too
precious.”

“I do believe we’ll take
you up on that,” I said.

On the way out, Bill
stopped short of the doorway and turned around.

“Oh, Rick? Celeste may
have a question to ask you. Try not to freak out.” His face was home to a
lopsided grin.

“Bill, stop giving Rick
such a hard time,” Angela said. “Night, guys.” She waved and drug Bill off with
her.

“That seemed to go pretty
well,” Catherine said, relieved that we hadn’t come home to a crime scene.

“Sure did. See? You were
worried about nothing.”

“It would seem so. What
do you think Bill was talking about? What question?”

“No idea. Knowing Bill,
probably nothing.”

~~~

“Mr. Wiggles? Where is
that furry little bastard?”

Mr. Wiggles was Celeste’s
pet hamster. Either magic, or the result of some type of genetic experiment
that imparted super intelligence upon rodents, the little shit kept slipping
out of his cage. We never knew where we’d find him. All Bill’s fault. He’d
gotten the brown and white escape artist for Celeste’s fourth birthday, and I,
as was always the case, had my arm stretched under the bed in search of the
little guy.

Seeing a pair of
frightened, glistening eyes huddled in a dark corner under Celeste’s bed, I knew
I’d found my prey.

“Gotcha. Get over here,
you little bugger.” I scooped him up and cupped him in my hand. “You’re not
long for this world if you keep getting out of your hamster pad like that.” He
merely twitched his whiskers. Once. I took that as agreement. Once for yes,
twice for no, right?

“Did you find him, Daddy?”
Celeste, dressed in her
My Little Pony
footie jammies, had poked her
head in the doorway.

“Sure did.” I set Mr.
Wiggles back in his domestic habitat. “And you stay in there, mister.” As if
saying that would make it so. Life should be so easy.

“Celeste?” Catherine
said, appearing behind our daughter. “Why don’t you ask Daddy what you asked me
downstairs a few minutes ago?”

“What’s up, Pookie Bear?”
I knelt down so we were face to face.

“Well, I asked Unca Bill
and he told me I should ask you,” she said shyly, big brown eyes darting
around.

“Okay.” Time to unravel
the mystery of Bill’s cryptic remark from the previous evening. “What’s the
question, sweetie?”

“Where do babies come
from?”

Catherine snorted.

I glared at her and
mouthed, “You suck.”

Cat stuck out her tongue.

So much for a show of
support.

After mentally cursing
Bill, whose ears were surely ringing loud enough to drown out his evil laughter,
I sat Indian style on the floor and patted my lap. Celeste, eager to resolve
the mystery of the birds and the bees, hopped right in.

“Well …”
This isn’t so
bad. I can do this
. “When two people love each other … they … well ... you
see …” All right, maybe not so easy. I thought of chewing on my finger nails
but stopped my hand midway to my mouth. “When a man and a woman—”

“Like you and Mommy?”

“Yes, like me and Mommy.”
I gave Catherine a glance. No smile, but instead, that far off expression. She
caught me looking and forced up the corners of her mouth.

I stammered on.

“When two people—like me
and Mommy—really,
really
love each other they get together and make some
magic. And when that magic comes at the right time and when it’s strong enough,
a baby’s made.”

Egad. Weak. Very weak.
But I was talking to a four-year-old, so I cut myself some slack. I could have
gone about it like my mother had. Not much older than Celeste when we had ‘The
Talk,’ my mom used everything in her arsenal short of pictograms and charts.
Sleep was impossible for days. It’s amazing I’d avoided therapy my entire life.

Celeste frowned, deep in
thought, and focused on a point somewhere on the ceiling, then brought her big
browns to meet mine. “Get together? Like when you and Mommy’re wrestling?”

Catherine disguised a
snort with a cough. Celeste, stealthy ninja that she was, had a habit of
walking in on our nocturnal mating rituals when she was supposed to be
sleeping. I made a mental note to fix the lock on our damn door.

“Um, yeah. Like when Mommy
and Daddy are wrestling.”

“Okay,” she said simply. I
thanked God, who I’d secretly been praying to. “Can I watch cartoons now, Daddy?”

“Sure. Say hello to Dora
for me.” Ruffling Celeste’s sleep-tousled hair, I lifted her up and patted her
on the behind. She padded excitedly down the stairs where, moments later, a
young Spanish speaking girl talking to her pink monkey friend blared from the
TV.

“Crisis averted.” I stood
up and stretched. “First I spearheaded a rodent rescue effort—a rousing success
I might add—and then I explained the birds and the bees to a four-year-old. Not
bad for eight in the morning.”

Catherine pressed her
lips to my forehead. “You did good.” The distant look lingered in her eyes,
then receded as a smile formed. “You’re a good father, Rick.”

“Preaching to the
converted, baby. But thanks.” I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand.
“You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she
said, eyes closed. “She’s just growing up so quick.”

“Too quick.”