Final Arrangements (16 page)

Christa ran out onto the decking, obviously
having come to sneak a peak at The Pool Guy. "Where's the
fire?"

"Help!" Shannon yelled. "He's drowning. I
can't pull him out!"

Christa responded, grabbing the pole, and
with a huge effort, both women managed to tow the thrashing man to
the shallow end of the pool, whereupon, as soon as his feet came
into contact with the solid bottom surface, he began to sort of run
underwater, pushing the pole forward, until he came rising up like
a human whale breaching the surface, with a loud screech, blowing
and snorting. Shannon managed to lift the noose as he made his way
shakily up the steps before laying out flat at the edge of the
pool, head turned to one side, coughing out and wheezing in like a
large human bellows.

"I'm going to get the house doctor," Christa
said. "Or should I call the Fire Department?"

"This is no time to be funny," Shannon
said.

"No," Stretch gasped. "Don't call
anybody."

"It's your choice," Christa answered. "Wow, I
can't believe this. Can't believe I just saved The Pool Guy from
drowning. Wait'll my mother hears about this!"

"Christa!" Shannon surprised herself with the
shout. The force behind it seemed to shrink the younger woman a
couple of sizes. "You will tell no one what happened here. Do you
understand!"

"I'll be going now," Christa responded, a
slight frown forming.

This is ridiculous, Shannon thought. A turf
battle at a time like this. One female lion chasing away another
female lion.

"No wait," Shannon said. "I'm sorry I
snapped. You saved his life. If you hadn't come along, I would have
lost him."

"Not likely," Christa said, still frowning.
"He would have passed out and then you could have dragged him to
the shallow end and done mouth-to-mouth. You would have saved your
man without my help." Without another word, Christa turned and
walked with firm purpose through the doors.

Your man
. The words began in her mind,
echoing down through her soul.
Yes
, she thought.
I would
have saved him. Would have found a way
.

After a time, Stretch moved into sort of a
sitting position and looked at her.

"Shannon," he said hoarsely. "At first I
wasn't sure it was you. I looked up from the bottom of the pool and
saw a figure in white and a figure in black. I thought perhaps it
hadn't been decided which angel was going to take me where."

"Stretch. You nearly drowned..."

He rose up slowly, towering over her, before
walking to a lounge chair and wrapping himself in his hotel robe.
"I was being stupid," he said. "Going backwards without looking.
Doing a backstroke. I rammed my head straight into the coping.
After that everything went blank. I had no idea where I was. Look,
do you mind if I go back to my room? I think I need to lie
down."

"Do you want me to call a doctor?"

"No," he said. "But I am going to call my
pastor. Shannon ... this is going to sound very strange, but I saw
something after I rammed my head."

"Let me see. She tenderly fingered his scalp,
parting the golden blond hairs. Yes, you've got a pretty good knot
there."

"Ouch. Don't touch it. Anyway, I saw
something."

"Saw something?"

"Yes. I saw something."

"Tell me about it. What did you see?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet. I have to talk to
my pastor first."

"Stretch ... did you see Jesus? Was it
something like that?"

He looked at her, his bottom lip pushed out
in concentration. "I saw your dad," he said.

"Dad?"

He nodded.

"It's understandable," Shannon said. "You
thought you were dying, and we just came from the funeral home and
everything. We're both under a lot of stress."

"Shannon," he said, placing his hands on her
shoulders. "This was different. I thought I was going to drown. Had
accepted it and given in. I guess I passed out. Then I saw your
dad, but he was changed. He was my age. His hair was jet black and
shiny. He was wearing a plaid wool shirt rolled up at the sleeves.
We were walking along a pier. I think it was the Santa Monica pier,
but we were the only two people there. And he was so happy and
strong."

"That's great, Stretch. Perhaps for a minute
you traveled to heaven. Or maybe he was allowed to appear to you in
your hour of need. I just saw a show last week on PAX about people
who have seen heaven when they almost died. One guy went to hell
and Jesus plucked him from--"

"--Shannon! There's more."

"What?"

"He spoke to me."

"What did he say?"

"Three words," Stretch replied, looking past
her to something she couldn't see. "But they seemed to carry all
the love in the universe within them. It was like in those words I
felt God, felt the truth of everything we profess to believe in our
Christian faith. Three words. The number three. Which represents
the Trinity. Oh, I see it now."

"What words? Stretch? What words? What did my
dad say?"

"He said,
Grab a gear
."

"That's all?
Grab a gear
?"

"It confirmed everything," Stretch said.
"Everything. After he said it, I became conscious again, and was
able to grab on to the pole, you know, like a gearshift. It
confirmed every ... cough, cough, ... thing."

"Everything about what?"

"Shannon, don't you see? Everything about us.
About the Trinity. About Jesus and the Bible. About us being
together. You and me. Husband and wife. He was telling me to grab a
gear--that's what he meant--it's about us moving forward with his
plan." A racking cough hit Stretch hard, doubling him over.

"Stretch, I'm calling the hotel doctor. You
took in a lot of water."

"I'll be okay," he said. His hands were on
his knees. He straightened up. "I'm going to my room now."

"You need a doctor. What if you get
pneumonia?"

"I won't. I just need to rest for awhile. But
we're still on for dinner."

"Yes. You need to rest. I'm going back to my
room and do the same. Call me when you feel ready. Even if you
don't feel like going out for dinner later, call me."

"Shannon, if only I hadn't been--"

"--Shhhh. You don't need to talk." She took
his hand and they boarded the elevator in silence. It took but a
moment to drop Stretch off on the 12th floor. By the time she got
to her suite on the 21st floor, she felt the trembling in her
knees. The adrenaline was wearing off, and in its aftermath there
was a wobbly sensation, a hollowness throughout her, accompanied by
a throat as dry as the Sahara. From the honor bar, she grabbed a
Coke and took a huge swallow, glad for all the people who had made
it possible for her to have it. The late afternoon sun was pouring
in. She closed the curtains, muting the force of the rays, and sat
down on the bed.

Dad was here
, she thought.

Joe Ireland had met Stretch in his hour of
need and strengthened him with a word. It was not impossible. She
believed in the communion of saints. We could all help each other
whether in heaven or on earth. She'd heard of similar occurrences
before. Why, even the Apostle Paul had been caught up to the third
heaven after being stoned to death. And St. John had personally
witnessed the going's on in God's throne room, a glorious affair of
choirs, peals of thunder, candlesticks, the mixing of chalices, and
the serving of a great supper to a mighty throng under the altar
presided over by the Lamb of God. In keeping with them, but on a
smaller scale, Dad had somehow found a way to appear to Stretch and
help him, at the same time delivering a message through Stretch to
her. Or was it? There was something familiar about the phrase, but
she couldn't recall why. She was too tired to ponder any of it
now.

With a sigh, she stretched out on top of the
covers and closed her eyes. She had saved her first life. She and
another woman had joined forces to do it. It was, she thought,
perhaps the first truly selfless act she had ever performed. For a
minute or two, she thought only for the welfare of another human
being. It had been a fulfilling instant, had shown her something
deep inside herself she had not known existed. She knew now she
would have died in the rescue attempt if necessary, and understood
why. Because God had been with her, filling her with a noble
charity for the drowning man.

There was a serene feeling of peace within
her, and for an instant she felt a connection with the millions of
souls living their lives around her. Souls depending on God when
the going got rough. Souls who prayed daily for the well-being of
others. She had a desire to thank them all for their prayers, for
their faithfulness. Then sleep closed upon her with a rush of
darkness. After that, there was nothing. She fell into a dream.

She was fifteen and a half, in the old
Lincoln Town car she hated so much. Dad had continued driving it,
long after the racier Japanese cars had come out. Now she would
have to drive it, while her friends all drove racy-looking Celicas
and Accords. Her first driving lesson with her father. The engine
was running, but the car wasn't moving and she couldn't figure out
why. Because it was still in Park.

"Grab a gear," Dad said.

She awoke with a start. Remembering that Dad,
being an Engineer, and more comfortable with machines than people,
had always spoke of life obliquely, in mechanical terms. Even when
Mother was dying, Dad never spoke of it. But once, when Mother had
about a week left to live, he had confided to Shannon he was
worried about Mother's car. Worried that it was worn out. Now he
was telling Stretch and herself both to grab a gear!

She looked at the bedside clock radio. A
little after 7 p.m. She felt thick and heavy, which a call to room
service for coffee post haste and a stinging hot shower followed by
a brutally cold rinse alleviated enough for her to experience
ravenousness. Which triggered a call to room 1225. Stretch answered
softly.

"Been sleeping?" she said.

"Yes."

"Well get up. I'm hungry."

"Meet me in the lobby in 15 minutes," he
said.

She called her brother's cell phone but there
was no answer. Not a good sign.

The jeans selected by the personal shopper
fit superbly well, snug but not too tight, but the beige T-shirt
was floppy to the point where she found it necessary to tie off the
bottom edge in a knot. Her hair, blown dry and slicked back with a
touch of mousse, would have to do; she was too hungry to spend any
more time on her appearance. She pulled on the straw hat and
grabbed the straw purse, removing her laptop case and leaving it
under the bed. As an afterthought, she stuffed Tedricka into the
purse.

"Might as well take a friend," she said to
the furry thing.

On the elevator ride down she remembered
she'd forgotten to apply any lipstick and decided it was just as
well. When one went for barbecue, lipstick was wasted anyways.

Stretch was standing in the lobby next to two
people, the first being a short, barrel chested, blue-eyed older
man with the lantern-jawed face and upturned nose of a leprechaun,
wearing tan slacks and a white shirt open at the neck and rolled up
at the sleeves. The second person, doubtless the man's wife, was a
somewhat buxom lady with a good-natured expression, her long red
hair wound up in a bun. She was likewise imbued with features
heavily favoring things Irish, including the ski-jump nose and
cat-like green eyes, wearing lipstick a shade of vermilion not in
vogue since the 50's, the woman of equally stern bearing as the
man, but a good six inches taller, dressed entirely wrong for
summer in an ill-fitting Kelly green suit reminiscent of the
Kennedy era, complete with a pearl necklace.

With a start she thought perhaps they were
his parents, rejecting the thought. There was no way these two
could have produced the likes of Stretch Murphy. By virtue of the
fact they were both a couple of feet shorter. But for all her
surmising, she had to admit to herself as she approached them, she
didn't like the way the couple stared at her, with eyes wide and
unblinking.

"Shannon," Stretch said. "I want you to meet
my parents."

Dear Lord
, Shannon thought.
They
look nothing like him
. As 500,000 questions began to bubble to
the surface of her mind, she, with a mighty effort, quelled most,
if not all of them.

There was only one way to play the thing.
Play along. So she swept past the odd couple, grabbed Stretch by
the collar, pulled him down, and pecked him on the cheek, noting
that had she slapped him hard on both cheeks, the blush could have
been no greater through his terrific, even, tan. Her lips felt a
smoothness, and the scent of his aftershave flooded her nostrils.
Old Spice regular. As square as could be had in this day and age.
And yet powerful.

"I'm Shannon Ireland," she said to the
supposed parents. And was unsure of the protocol. Did she shake the
father's hand? Or offer her cheek to be kissed? Bow? Curtsy? What?
Or wait?

"Johnny, she's more beautiful than any of her
pictures," the woman said, turning to her, extending a hand. "I'm
Cece," she said. "This ugly lug is Ike, my husband."

"Dad's from Ireland," Stretch said, "but Mom
isn't." As though that explained something about the two of
them.

"Yes," Ike said. "I'm from Ireland. County
Armagh."

"Where all the violence was?" Shannon
asked.

Ike nodded. "Not an easy place to live, with
the unemployment and all, but fortunately I had my work as a tail
gunner on a bread truck. It seems so long ago, now. Like something
out of a dream. I've been here in America for nearly 30 years
now."

"Dad!" Stretch said. "I'm sick of that tail
gunner joke. It's totally unfunny! You promised me you'd be civil
tonight!"