Final Arrangements (17 page)

Ike, appearing comically chastened, extended
a leathery, blackened paw, which Shannon took, finding it to be the
sort of hand one often found on those employed in the mechanic
profession, hands toughened by years of contact with steel, the
contact rendering them tough as the steel itself.

"Pleased to meet you, Ike."

"Call me Dad," he said. "And may I extend my
deepest sympathy on the passing of your father."

"Thank you." Call him Dad? Could this be any
more awkward? Stretch Murphy, the son of an Irish national and an
American citizen? He looked nothing like his parents. Somebody
wasn't telling the truth. Call him Dad? More awkward? No. It
couldn't be.

"Let's get real," Shannon said. "We all know
you two aren't Stretch's natural parents. You're too short."

The couple looked uneasily at each other,
then at Stretch.

"I hired them," he said. "They're a couple of
actors."

A dark expression passed over the elderly
couple. "Son, you apologize to your mother," Ike said. "Now. This
minute."

Stretch bent down and kissed Cece. "Sorry,
Mom."

"I'm sorry, too," Shannon said. "I feel like
a complete idiot. I had no right."

"We don't know why he turned out like he
did," Ike said. "We did our best to raise him proper. And now,
John," he continued, changing the subject, "What about this feast
you promised us?"

The formalities thus dispensed, Stretch led
them all outside, where a white Lincoln limo waited at the
curb.

"Nice car," she said.

"I thought a limo might be appropriate," he
said to her.

"Of course," Shannon said. "A limo is always
the right choice. Especially when going out to a rib joint in the
Valley. Oh darn, I forgot to wear that huge blue diamond Liz Taylor
loaned me."

"I'm not trying to be a snob, I only meant
that it would allow us the ambiance to get to know each other
without worrying about the traffic."

"You're showing off for the lady, Johnny,"
Ike said. "And I can't say as I blame you. But it's a mistake going
to a rib joint. You should be taking her someplace classy, like
Ireland 32."

"Mother, is he going to be like this all
night?"

"I know the place," Shannon said.
A
dump
, she thought.
An Irish pub on Oxnard street, out near
the junior college. The sort of place which served green beer on
St. Patty's day
.

"He's been that way for 67 years," Cece
stated. "Tonight will be no different."

"Okay," Ike said. "We'll go for the
ribs."

"I tried to convince our son to have you over
to our place," Cece said. "I was going to make his favorite--Irish
dumplings."

"She makes the best Irish dumplings this side
of Heaven," Stretch said. "But I wanted us to be free to talk."

They piled in and the limo pulled away from
the curb, gliding down the hill and onto the freeway for the trip
northward out to the city of Sepulveda, leaving behind the rich
promise of the money-soaked foothills for the infinitely more
noxious flatlands of ancient tract homes, cheap motels,
transmission shops, and the best ribs on the planet. From the
limousine bar, Stretch pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and
began pouring the stuff into long stemmed glasses.

"Normally one would serve champagne, but none
of us drink," Stretch explained.

"The closest we'll be getting to champagne,"
Ike said. "Is when we christen my boat for it's maiden sail this
fall."

"You have a boat?" Shannon said.
Dear
Lord, are these people for real? Who are they, really?

In spite of her suspicions, she liked the
couple. Perhaps they were Stretch's parents. She had a choice.
Remain suspicious, or believe them. Raised as she was to always
give people the benefit of the doubt, she decided to believe them.
This decision brought with it, immediate peace, as though the Lord
was blessing her for it.

"He's been building a boat in his back yard
for the past 15 years," Stretch explained. "It's his retirement
present to himself. We've been waiting for the family boat ride for
the past five years or so. Every year he says the boat is just
about ready. Then another year goes by. But if and when the thing
is ever finally finished, Ike's taking Mom and sailing for Ireland
as soon as it's done."

"He's sailing no such place," Cece said. "Or
if he does, he's going alone."

"I'd like to see the boat," Shannon said.

"The problem is," Stretch said, "that the
boat is bigger than Ike's house. He'll have to tear his house down
to get the boat out of the back yard. Or better yet, tear the house
down and move into the boat."

"I'll deal with that when the time comes,"
Ike said. "Shannon, after dinner we'll stop by the house and I'll
show it to you."

"And we've got Titanic on DVD," Cece said
hopefully.

"I bought them a big screen TV last year,"
Stretch said.

"Titanic?" Ike said. "Who wants to watch a
movie where it starts out with everybody eating lobsters and ends
up with lobsters eating everybody?"

"Dad, must you?" Stretch said.

"Sorry."

"Listen you two," Stretch continued. "You're
on your own after dinner, because we're dumping you guys and going
out alone."

"Stretch, that's no way to talk to your
parents," Shannon said. "Ike, we'll come over and see your boat
right after we eat. And then we'll watch Titanic. Where do you
live?"

"They live in Van Nuys," Stretch said,
answering for them. "But not in as good a neighborhood as your Dad.
They live in a cracker box over off Blucher Street. The same gray
stucco house I grew up in. I tried to buy them a better place, but
they refused. They still have our original furniture covered in
plastic. Can you imagine?"

"We're not like our fancy pants son," Ike
said. "Who has to live in the Hollywood Hills with all the
thieves."

"The thieves live in the Holmby Hills,"
Stretch said. "My neighborhood is a bit more pedestrian. My next
door neighbors are a lady bank manager and her retired cop husband
with his police dog named Heinz."

"So how do you feel about having children?"
Cece said.

"What?" Shannon replied. The question had
flown from Cece's mouth like a rocket, without warning.

"Children. How do you feel about having
them?"

"I ... uh ... well, I suppose--"

"Because you know our son will be wanting
them."

"Mother! What a question!" This from Stretch,
who wore an expression of extreme chagrin.

"It's an honest question," Cece retorted. "If
you're going to build a house, it's best to start with the
foundation."

"We're just going out for ribs," Stretch
said.

"Not hardly," Cece said. "We all know why
we're here."

A thick silence settled over the group as
they made their way up the freeway, past the enormous brewery to
the Roscoe exit and swooped east again towards the best ribs on the
planet.

"I want them," Shannon said.

"What's that?" Ike said.

"Children. I want children. Lots of them. As
many as I can produce. One after another, year in and year out,
until my body simply gives out and won't supply another single
living child no matter what. I want boys, girls, twins, you name
it, I want them."

"Shannon--" Stretch, looking confused.
"You're a professional. A yuppie. I had you figured for one or two
kids tops. I was hoping to change your views over time. I--"

"--Not anymore," Shannon said. "I'm bailing
out from all the money chasing. I've decided to listen to my dad's
advice for once. We're going to get married and have a million
kids. Ike and Cece are going to have grandkids crawling all over
the place. Ike will take them sailing in his boat, and Cece will
spend all her time picking out cute little outfits and toys for
them. Every Christmas, there will be a mound of presents higher
than the tree. We're going to do that because life is short.
Because nobody knows just how much time they have. Because ...
because ..."

Her tears fell hot and fast as the emptiness
inside her rose up, expanding until there was nothing left but the
bitter loneliness vibrating through her as she realized the central
fact of her life--her father was dead and she was alone. Utterly,
completely alone, in the place where loneliness hurt the most--in
her soul. They pulled up to Dr. Hoggly Woggly's Tyler Texas
Barbecue. The driver opened their door and immediately the air was
strong with the scent of hickory and burning meat.

Chapter 11

There was sawdust on the floor, and a juke
box serenading everybody with old George Jones and Ferlin Husky
classics, and they sat at a huge, well-polished redwood picnic
table inside, wearing bibs, piles of extra napkins everywhere,
working their way through the massive platters of baby back ribs,
accompanied by beans submerged in a tangy brown sugary sauce, piles
of chilled, sweet cole slaw, and steaming buttered corn bread
served with pitchers of iced tea.

They ate without speaking for the better part
of 20 minutes, at the end of which all looked up at each other, as
though awakening from a communal dream in which they'd all had a
part in the sacrifice of some holy animal, after which they'd
shared the beast with each other as a token of faith that the
sacrifice would someday elevate them beyond this present
sphere.

"Oink," Stretch said.

"Somebody had to say that," Shannon replied.
"In honor of the poor little pig who gave his life for this
incredible meal. Wow, I don't know why it is, but when one is
grieving, a meal like this is just the thing."

"It's a lot of work laying the dead to rest,"
Ike said. "The smallest arrangement requires massive energy. Even
though we know we have the blessed hope. I think it's because death
is such a spiritual event. When one encounters it, we feel the
awful weight of this earthly perishable body. Eating a good meal is
a way to reassure our bodies that they aren't going to die
themselves just yet. That's why Jesus fed the disciples on the
beach after His resurrection. To reassure them that bodies would
still be in fashion in the world to come. That meal on the beach
was the first Irish wake. Of course, we've improved on it
since."

Everybody laughed at Ike's tag line.

"That's right ... Dad," Shannon said.
Everyone looked at her in surprise. She smiled. "Well, why not? Why
shouldn't I call you Dad? Perhaps we should get it all on the table
This is all about my father's cockeyed idea of an arranged
marriage. Well, I've decided I'm up for it. I'm consenting." She
looked at Stretch. "I'm yours," she said. "All yours. Completely,
deeply. Forever."

He gulped, eyes wide. "You are?"

"Yes. Do you want me?"

"I ... yes. Yes."

"Okay then," she said, rising. "I'm going to
let you seal it with a kiss now." She stood waiting, eyes closed,
her hand on the edge of the table to steady herself. It seemed to
take him forever to stand up and come around the table to her. In
the background, George Jones crooned.
Just because I told a
friend about her
. She felt his warmth and presence a split
second before the touch of his lips. A mere brush.

"Too polite," she whispered. The next kiss
was the real thing, sacramental in it's profundity, with an embrace
to match, a comfort as solid as the meal they'd shared, but with a
promise to the soul of greater things to come. When it was over,
they stood back and surveyed each other. It was there, in his eyes.
In that moment, she knew it was going to work. There was a fire,
and a certainty.

"My man," she said simply.
Dear God
,
she thought. It's true.
I've found my man. And it's changed
everything.
Something was happening to the man before her. He
was shrinking, somehow. No. Was he doing what she thought he was
doing? Yes, he was. In seconds, he was down on one knee.

"Shannon," he croaked, taking her by the
hand. "Will you marry me?"

The restaurant exploded with good natured
clapping and not a few whistles. Which was when she felt the
emotional rip tide of doubt flooding through everything inside her,
sweeping away the forward momentum, leaving in it's aftermath a
vast emptiness, and sense of dread, of fear, even, that she should
be so completely carried away by the events of the past 48
hours.

Why didn't his parents look anything like
him?

"Shannon? Will you?"

"I ... no ... Stretch. I can't play this game
anymore. So you can tell your two friends here it didn't work. I
know you're making all this up and I know they're not your parents.
It didn't fool me. It didn't--"

She ran, as though running would extricate
her from the currents, would take her to a place above it all,
where she could regain her reason, where no such madness existed as
arranged marriages and body-snatching coroners. A place where she
was once again in control of life.

The sidewalk was noisy with traffic, the sun
replaced by a thousand headlights. But the limo was still there,
and she jumped in the back, sliding open the partition, ordering
the driver to leave at once, which he did, pulling away from the
curb, although not without some uncertainty of expression.

"Where to?"

"The Sheraton Universal. After you drop me
off, you can return here for the rest of the party."

"Didn't work out with the big guy, huh?"

"That's none of your business."

He nodded. She slid the partition shut and
settled back, staring out the window at everything, seeing nothing,
wondering what had just happened. Pulling out her cell phone, she
dialed Phil. Surprised to get an answer on the first ring.

"Shannon?"

"Phil, where've you been all day? You missed
dinner. I just left Stretch Murphy in a restaurant. He'd been down
on one knee, proposing. Phil ... I ran."