Final Arrangements (21 page)

"Stretch, I'm going to hang up now and cry my
eyes out. If I ever stop crying, I'll see you at breakfast."

Chapter 13

He had the marmalade waiting for her. Along
with pound cake, a few slabs of which were liberally slathered with
the glistening jelly.

"I ordered for you," he said. "I've already
broken my first vow."

In spite of herself, she laughed, a short
bark at least, if not the full throated laugh she was known for in
better times. After Stretch prayed, and she'd taken the first bite
of cake and a sip of decent coffee, she realized she was going to
live.

"Dad's body has been released from the
coroner," she said. "The funeral is set for late this
afternoon."

"Wow."

"Yes. It is moving fast. But it puts us in
line for the Saturday wedding you mentioned yesterday."

"For real?"

"For real. So you better call your pastor and
reserve the chapel at Church on the Way."

"Can't," Stretch said. "The church is booked
for the next year. Plus they make you take classes for 8 weeks
first. Which is why we're getting married on Ike's boat."

"You're kidding? We're getting married in a
back yard on Blucher Street?"

"You haven't seen the boat. Ike has spent
years on the woodwork. It's a work of art. We'll cover the deck
with flowers."

"I just can't see myself on the deck of a
boat in somebody's backyard."

"I have been thinking," he said. "I don't
think you really love me. I think you need more time. Why don't we
simply date each other for awhile and see how it goes?"

She could see he'd wrestled through the night
to come up with this compromise. And she could see it would never
work.

"For what purpose?" she demanded. "What good
has dating ever done anybody? And what does love have to do with
anything? Most of the world bases physical attraction and emotional
magnetism as the reason for getting married. And where has that
left us? The divorce rate in California is about 75% at last count.
Maybe my Dad was right. He was a very smart man. Very logical. He
emphasized that we ought to submit ourselves to the wisdom of our
parents."

"But what about love?"

"Love is an emotion of the body and mind. It
has nothing to do with the soul. Unless it's the unselfish kind of
love in Corinthians 13. Stretch, I've been thinking. The only thing
that matters in a marriage is trust. Trust and a commitment to
stick it out to the very end, no matter what. What difference does
it make if we're attracted to each other today? Tomorrow things may
change. One of us could become paralyzed in an accident, or maybe
get hit by a bio terror attack and be brain dead for life. Even if
we remain healthy, perhaps we'll go through 5 or 10 years of
disliking each other. What's the difference? God's plan is for two
people to stay together during good times and bad. It's a
relationship which mirrors God's love for the world. It's a
relationship to help us prepare for being with God. Do you realize
that, if we do it correctly, that one of us will most likely have
to bury the other?"

He took an enormous bite of pound cake and
swallowed. "You have been thinking, I'll give you credit."

"We'll have love, don't you worry. I find you
incredibly attractive. And never again tell me whether or not I
love you."

"Sorry."

"There's just one thing," she said. "I'm
going to stay on at Brunstetter and Griffen. So after we're
married, we'll have to move at my place in Pacific Heights. Or
maybe we'll buy a home."

He said nothing, merely widened his eyes for
a few seconds. "Pacific Heights? But that's in San Francisco. My
business is here."

"Not anymore. I've just made a decision for
you. Based upon a vision I had in the bathtub. You're going to
seminary while I work."

"I was planning on Pepperdine."

"No. You're not going to school in Malibu.
You'd flunk because you'd spend all your time at the beach instead
of studying. You're through in the pool business. Besides, the
business is a bust anyways. I just saw your financial reports. The
whole pool thing is air."

"The gross profit of $16,000 a month isn't
air."

"Yes it is. None of the standard liquidity
ratios are even remotely in-line. You're barely making it month to
month. It's practically a charity operation. If you ask me, you're
way too heavy on the payroll side. Your employees are pool
cleaners, not neurosurgeons."

"You even got my payroll information? From
where? That rat fink Paul Tobin at my bank?"

"Never mind where. The point is, you're
running things right at the edge."

"The bank doesn't think so. They loaned me
the money for the Mercedes without batting an eye."

"Because they took a UCC filing on everything
in your warehouse. And because they have a 25 percent hold on your
business account as additional security, and they own the paper on
your house in the Hollywood Hills, which to your credit has a
little equity."

"My house in the hills is worth two million,"
he said.

"Not anymore. Not since the recession hit the
industry as hard as it has. It's worth maybe three quarters of a
mil."

"My business is growing. Soon we'll pay off
all our debts and turn the corner."

"No. You're tapped out. You add a hundred
more pool contracts to the equation and you'll be, excuse the
expression, dead in the water. Because a hundred more pools will
increase your labor and supplies cost to an unhealthy level. You
could pay your cleaners less, though. That would keep you afloat
maybe a year or more longer before the inevitable."

"You are a money guru, aren't you? But I
can't pay my cleaners less. My men work very hard for their daily
bread. Wait. You're dead serious about my giving up the business
aren't you?"

"Yes I am. I think you should sell the
business and your house outright. By the time you payoff the bank,
and with a goodwill clause not to compete for three years, I think
you can walk away with maybe a hundred grand. Which will pay for
your tuition to seminary. In Berkeley."

"Hold on, lady."

"Going too fast for you, Stretch?"

"Yes. Even if I sell my business, it will
take time to find just the right person. I don't want to put my
employees in jeopardy. And we're not going to live off your money
while I go to school. I always pay my own way."

"Not anymore. Stretch, let's settle this now.
I manage the money. You manage the spirituality."

He spluttered, finding no words at this side
of his intended bride which, until now, he had not seen. Bowing his
head, he was silent for the space of several minutes. Shannon could
almost see the wheels turning. She sipped her coffee and
waited.

"So you're rich, huh?" he said.

She nodded.

"I'm marrying a rich woman," he said. "I'm
going to be a kept man. Somehow that wasn't exactly the way I had
it planned."

"There's worse things," she said. "The
important thing is for you to pursue your calling to work with
youth. It makes no difference where the money comes from."

"Okay," he said. "But it'll take some time to
sell the business."

"Okay? You're giving in that easily?"

"In the end, everything belongs to God," he
replied. "Even my pool cleaning enterprise."

"And you'll have to sell the Mercedes," she
said.

His features flattened, his lips pressing
tight against his teeth.

"Stop it. You look like an orangutan. The
convertible is ostentatious," she answered. "Not fitting for a
youth pastor. You should get something more down to earth, like a
van or something."

"I already own 10 vans," he said. "Of course,
according to you, it's all on paper. Suddenly I'm not hungry
anymore." He set down his fork. "What's next on your agenda for
us?"

"We have to go to my Dad's house and go
through his stuff," she said. "I'm going to have Phil meet us
there. Which might be a mistake because he's still drinking and he
happens to hate you."

"He doesn't hate me."

"We'll see. Then we're going to open the safe
deposit box, stop by and see the lawyer for a brief probate
consultation and then we're going to the funeral. After that, we
start planning the wedding. I guess this means we're skipping
church tonight."

He pulled out his cell phone. "We don't start
planning the wedding until tomorrow. Because after the funeral,
you're coming over to parents for a proper Irish wake. After which,
you'll be so full of Irish dumplings you won't be able to move or
speak for at least twelve hours."

"Stretch, I can't."

"Can't what? Impose? Don't be ridiculous. I'm
calling Mom," he said. "Besides, she has the wedding plans almost
finished. But she put them on hold after last night. I'll tell her
we're back on."

"No. I'm planning the wedding. I've come into
some extra money. I'll hire the best wedding planner in L.A. and
pay her a huge bonus to get us set for Saturday. And we won't be
married on a boat in your dad's back yard. We'll have it at the
Bonaventure. Maybe in a tent on the roof."

"Not negotiable," he said. "Mom's worked like
a dog. Dad's been cleaning up the deck for days. And you should see
the gown Mom picked out."

"What!"

"You should see the gown she picked out."

"Nobody is ordering my wedding gown for me,
sight unseen."

Stretch laughed. "You don't know my mother
very well. She's already picked it out, and that's that. But I
should tell you, she cheated. The gown belonged to your mother. Mom
got it from Joe had it completely repaired and refurbished."

"I'm getting married in my own mother's
wedding gown?"

Stretch nodded.

Shannon retreated to a part of her deep
inside, to the place where she usually found Jesus waiting for her,
a special corner of her soul. But the place was empty.
Lord,
where are you?
She received no answer. And understood what it
meant. This was marriage they were discussing. There would have to
be give and take. Sacrifice.

"Whatever Cece has done will be okay,"
Shannon said.

Stretch looked relieved. "You just avoided
all out war. The world is safe again for children and other living
things."

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"And I can't believe I'm doing this." He
pulled a ring out of his pocket, the one she'd refused the night
before. A rock the size of a Volkswagen.

"I meant to give you this at Hoggly Woggly's,
but you pulled your disappearing act before I could."

"You'll have to take it back," she said. "A
youth pastor's wife can't wear anything that gaudy."

"Put it on," he said. And by his tone she
knew he would brook no further demands. She accepted the ring,
hardly daring to breathe. It fit perfectly. From what she knew of
clarity, color, and cut, the thing must have cost a fortune.

Their eyes met. In his, a light of compassion
and desire shone brightly, brighter than the diamond on her finger.
Somewhere behind them a small boy, orphaned and alone, stood
waiting to be rescued and loved. Somewhere behind her own eyes
stood a little country girl hiding behind the woman ready to take
that boy's hand. And somewhere between them, a single person, the
sum total of them both, was about to be born under the sign and
sacrament of Christian marriage.

"It's going to work," she said. "It's really
going to work." He took her hand and the contact was electric. They
were about to embark on a journey of soul and body, a work of
worry, passion, love, and sacrifice. A life of heavenly prayers and
baby's cries, one of long nights and fleeting days.

"I'm selling my Dad's house," she said.
"Cutting my ties to Los Angeles completely. You'll have to do the
same. Can you stand living in the Bay Area?"

"No biggie. But Ike and Cece will probably
move north with us," he said. "And since I'm now a kept man, I'll
expect you to buy us a place in San Francisco."

"You sure you can handle the cold and
damp?"

"Yes. I want to live in the city. I think I
can handle Seminary in Berkeley. There's a few good ones over
there. But I want to live someplace romantic, where we can hear the
fog horns at night and walk to some little shop where we can eat
French pastry and drink strong espressos on Saturday mornings. If
we can't afford to buy, then we'll rent. Or maybe I'll just put up
a tent on top of the Griffen and Brunstetter building. How would
you feel coming to live in my tent?"

"Our tent," she said.

He smiled. "At least it won't hurt when I
bump my head."

They got in the car and took off for her
father's house. The morning had broken clean and clear, without the
usual low overcast, and it promised to be warm. They pulled in the
driveway and Stretch busied himself emptying the mailbox and
gathering up the dozen or so flyers stuck into various cracks in
the door frame. Dad's house, as she and Stretch entered, had a
hollow sound.

"The house feels like it's shrunk," she
said.

"A house shrinks when its owner dies," he
said. "It's like a body bereft of soul and spirit."

She opened the fridge. A mason jar of
powdered milk, a stick of margarine and a half package of Fig
Newtons. And of course, the marmalade. "Dad didn't eat much in his
final days."

"Maybe he ate out. I know that's what I'm
going to do when I'm a Senior. I'll be hitting every early bird
dinner in town."

"I'm going to hate to sell it outright," she
said. "We'll take a bath because it's a probate sale. Everybody
expects the dead to give everything away at the end."

"Don't sell it."

"And do what? I'm not going to rent it out.
There's nothing worse than being an absentee landlord."

"Give it to Phil. He's got three kids. Maybe
it'll encourage him."