Final Arrangements (18 page)

"What's he doing proposing to you? The man
doesn't even know you!" His words were slurred.

"It's a long story. He took me to dinner with
two phonies he claimed were his parents and ... Phil, are you still
drinking?"

"And what if I am! His phony parents? What
kind of garbage is this I'm hearing? Does the man not realize that
we are in the process of burying our father? And our mother? I
think the guy's a psycho. Shannon, you better stay at my place
tonight. We'll watch a couple of old Bogart films and pop some
Reddenbacker's with real butter jalapeno sauce. Why don't you join
me?"

"No. You don't need the aggravation of adding
my problems to your fallen serenity."

"Hey, I slipped one time. I'll make it back.
I'm starting fresh tomorrow is all."

"You slipped one time. You hit Minda and made
her leave you."

"She's coming back."

"When?"

"Six months. As long as I stay sober the
entire time. Which I will. I'm starting tomorrow."

"You never called your sponsor."

"So what? What good would he do me now? He
can't even remember what the stuff tastes like. I'll call him
tomorrow."

"I'll be out of touch until tomorrow," she
said. "I need a strong night's sleep, and I need to think about
what's happening to me. Phil, when Stretch proposed, a part of me
wanted to say yes. But apparently, an even stronger part of me
decided to say no."

"When I find Stretch Murphy," Phil said, "I'm
going to take him apart."

"You'll do no such thing. Phil, I ran away
because I'm scared, not because I dislike the guy."

"I love you, Sis. But your problem, if I may
say it, is you've spent too much of your life chasing money and
position and too little learning about love and life."

"Thanks for the appraisal. Coming from an
expert with a broken marriage. I love you too. Besides, aren't you
AA'ers supposed to refrain from taking somebody else's
inventory?"

"I'm not an AA'er. At least not until
tomorrow. No. I didn't mean that in an unkind way. Look, I'm here
if you need me."

"Okay," she said. "Look, I shouldn't even be
talking to you because you've been drinking, but today, I went to
Forest Lawn. I'll tell you about it later. But the bad thing is,
the coroner took Dad's body and won't release it."

"Say again?"

"We'll talk about it more later. But tomorrow
we need to go see Dad's lawyer and see about having the will read
and all that stuff. Are you up for it?"

"One day at a time. Starting tomorrow.
Tomorrow is the today you feared yesterday, and all that. Heh,
heh."

"I hate you when you're drinking. But I love
you anyway. Tomorrow, then. I'll call you."

"Good-night, Shannon."

She made her way back to her room, thought
better of being isolated, and decided instead on the hotel lounge,
an affair open onto the huge lobby, which gave her a much-needed
feeling of space. Hors d'oeuvres were out of the question, she
being stuffed to the gills with ribs. A double latte with extra
whipped cream and cinnamon did not feel out of the question. For
some reason, there were few patrons, and the place had a lonely
feel to it, but the loneliness did not oppress her, it was instead
a sort of psychic blanket she found comforting.

Dear Lord
, she prayed,
I don't know
what's happening or why, but something's not right. It seems
everything has gone wrong with everything, even though on the
surface, life is proceeding abysmally normally, such as it
is.

At which point, everything suddenly seemed
clear. Life was in flux because she needed to make some decisions.
Not decisions normally made, but large ones, of the kind which
affected the course of one's life. Decisions such as where she
truly stood on the subject of marriage, and children, and career,
and where to live and whom to please, or whom not to please, as the
case might be.

The process was unfamiliar to her. She, an
expert in deciding things financial for others, realized suddenly
she did not know how to make a decision for herself. Extracting a
ball-point from her purse, and locating a convenient dry cocktail
napkin, she penciled a few key words ... DECISION ... PROBLEM ...
CHRONIC ... EASY.

First, she knew, she had to make a decision
to make a decision--this seemed the obvious first step. Second, she
would have to state the problem, if she could, if she could even
think about what the problem was, and third, she had to decide if
the problem was chronic, that is, a reoccurring problem with no
easy solution, or was it a temporary problem with an easy
solution?

Dear God
, she thought.
The problem
isn't whether to marry Stretch Murphy or not. The real problem is
me. I have no idea who I am or where I'm going. Or how to get
there, even if I did know. The problem is, I don't know how to live
life.

At the end of the prayer, she remembered a
verse.
In a multitude of counselors is much wisdom
. She
needed to reach out to somebody. But who? Who among all she knew
was wise? Could be trusted? The answer came to her almost
immediately.

She whipped out her cell phone and called
General Kremsky. His bodyguard answered and put her through without
much trouble.

"Shannon?" The voice sounded dry, tired, yet
with a calm power.

"General, are you in San Diego?"

"I am."

"General, I need someone to give me some
personal advice. I'm sitting here eating too much and smothering
all the bad feelings with whipped cream, trying to solve a problem
and I was praying, and your face just sort of popped into my
head."

"Go ahead."

"I hope you don't mind me calling so
late."

"Not at all. It doesn't matter what time it
is. I give advice all day long, but it's the dry, boring kind one
doles out to subordinates. It's refreshing to offer my favorite
grandchild some fatherly words."

Grandchild
. Somehow it fit. "I need
you to tell me what to do. First of all, the County coroner
hijacked my Dad's body and won't release him for at least a week.
And that's driving everybody nuts."

"I'll make a phone call."

"You can do that?"

"It's done."

"Second, I think I just fell in love with a
complete stranger. I almost said I'd marry him tonight. Until I
realized I was probably making a huge mistake. I don't know
anything about the man. Everything he's been telling me could be a
lie. I'm having him checked out, but what I mean is, everything
he's showing me about his true self could be a lie. All of a
sudden, I got very paranoid. I even found myself thinking he had
hired two actors to pretend to be his parents. The guy could be
Charles Manson for all I know. I don't know what's happening
here."

"Slow down."

"Okay."

"Is he Charles Manson? If so, I can take care
of the matter for you. I'll send my bodyguard."

"No. He's not a psycho. He cleans swimming
pools. He even has a commercial on TV."

"Then you just need help making a decision
about love and life."

"Yes."

"Okay, first decide how big the decision is
you have to make."

"It's big. It's huge."

"Why is it big?"

"Because I could wind up married, and that
would change my entire life."

"Shannon," the General said, "You must have
the courage to take your time even if you're getting a lot of
pressure. Don't let your emotions make the decision."

"I've been thinking totally with my heart,"
she said.

"It's not a matter of the head or the heart,
but of values. Core values must lie at the heart of your decision.
Will your decision change those values? If it does, you will be
unhappy forever."

"Okay. I don't know why I didn't think of all
this before. I guess I'm not even sure what my core values
are."

"Core values in marriage begin with a
commitment to God, then to one another, then to the issue of
children."

"General ... I ... I think this is all too
much for me. To tell you the truth, I think my heart wants to go
with marrying this guy. But for no good reason. I just like
him."

"Liking somebody has nothing to do with
marriage. You can't decide to marry somebody simply because you
like them."

"Everybody does. Why shouldn't I?"

"Because marriage is for the long haul. It's
a commitment to stand by somebody else no matter what cards you are
dealt from that time on. Shannon, you've got to come down off the
mountain first--don't make your big decision when you're at the
height of some kind of emotional ecstasy, such as when an
attractive man is courting you, not to mention mourning your
father's recent passing."

"General, what's the most important thing you
can tell me? Give me one thing to hold on to."

"Shannon, sooner or later, you've got to
trust somebody."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"But what if I'm wrong?"

"What if you are? You go on."

"General, I'm so tired...everything you're
saying--I was just about to bypass all of that. I guess I'm tired
of trying to hold the world on my shoulders."

"Rest and pray, dear," the General said.
"Remember, life is short--but it is also eternal. It's a mystery.
Nothing matters and everything matters intensely. Perhaps for now,
your best decision will be to wait upon God. And now I must say
good-night to you, for tomorrow I have work to do."

"Good-night, General."

She signed her check and went up to her room.
Sooner or later I've got to trust somebody. But who? Stretch
Murphy? Lord, it will have to come from you. Because I can't create
that kind of overnight trust.
She made a decision. To wait. To
sleep like the dead until her body was refreshed enough to continue
her journey through her father's funeral. To see if the Lord would
instill in her the trust she'd need. The General's soothing wisdom
had lifted the burden. Knowing there was order in the world, and
both a Father in heaven and an earthly father simultaneously
watching over her, she smiled sadly but hopefully upwards before
drifting off into a dark, dreamless sleep.

The phone beside the bed rang, jolting her
awake. The glowing numbers on the clock radio told her she'd been
asleep about a half hour.

"It's me," Stretch said.

"What?"

"I called to apologize about my parents. They
came on way too strong. It was too much too soon. I don't blame you
for running out. Ike and Cece don't get it. They wanted to chase
you and have some sort of encounter. I told them to forget it. I
dumped them at their place. He's probably in the backyard fuming
and polishing the wood in his boat."

"I don't want to hear it. You woke me from a
dead sleep. I was having a really great flying dream. If you knew
me better, you'd know that's the one thing I really, really hate.
To be awakened in the night by the phone. If you hang up now, I
might be able to go back to my dream."

"Sorry, but I--"

Shannon cut the connection.
Blast you,
Stretch Murphy
, she thought. She felt mean and horrible cutting
him off like that. But also took a cruel pleasure in the
selfishness of the act, enjoying feeling angry and wounded and
insular, as though she was the only person that mattered. It was
better than feeling grief over the loss of her father, or confusion
over the feelings she was having towards Stretch, and the
ridiculous scenario of them getting married on Saturday and having
a reception in the back room of Ireland 32. She lay back, but her
heart was pounding. Sleep was out of the question. She dragged
herself out of bed and into the living room of the suite. True to
form as regarded the media industry, of the over 50 channels on
cable, there wasn't a morally acceptably watchable show on, except
for an old Bonanza rerun. Little Joe, sporting an outrageously oily
pompadour, barking a dinner request at Hop Sing. She turned it off,
picked up the phone and punched in 1225.

"Shannon?"

"I can't sleep and there's nothing on TV. I
need to use someone. It might as well be you. You got your chess
board with you? You have your little paper bag?"

"I ... yes, I did bring it to the room with
me."

"Bring it. And get up here." She terminated
the connection and dialed room service. "Coffee for two. Extra
strong. A big pot. And make it snappy." Barking at the kitchen
help, just like Little Joe. She changed back into her jeans and
t-shirt, noticing with some dismay the t-shirt had a large barbecue
stain right at the collarbone. Not that it mattered. There was a
knock and she opened the door.

"Who's your new friend?" Stretch said,
looking past her.

"Tedricka. And don't touch her. She's very
shy."

"I'll bet."

He'd showed up, looking somewhat the worse
for wear himself in the green Hawaiian shirt with the parrots she'd
first met him in. The chess pieces were dumped unceremoniously onto
the table from their brown paper bag.

"Your shirt is damp."

"I washed it out in the shower. I guess it's
because it's my favorite shirt."

The game lasted about an hour, Shannon
playing the black. Stretch had a few good moves, but nothing which
surprised her, the strategies mostly basic ones she recognized from
her early days learning the game from Dad.

She led him to believe he was doing great,
but in the end Stretch failed to allow for her bishop in the far
corner, absorbed as he was in his own attack on her Queen, and he
suddenly found himself checkmated by her bishop in tandem with her
King's knight. The entire game, they'd spoken only a few words,
surprisingly, since each had enjoyed several cups of the extra
strength coffee, brewed for maximum chatability.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. You're good. Well out
of my league."