Final Arrangements (24 page)

"Oh great," she said. "I can't even take a
walk. Now we'll have to bury Dad in the rain. What, will they have
to put the whole thing under a tarp or something? Do they have
enough spare umbrellas? Could it possibly get any more depressing?"
Before she was finished saying it, her cell rang.

"Shannon?"

"Minda? Where are you?"

"We're at the entrance gate, near the big
fountain with the flying angels, heading your way. But there's some
bad news. Phil was arrested in a bar on Sepulveda and Vanowen. He
attacked a man with a bar stool. It was a cop bar. He used his
phone call to call me. He said they beat him up pretty good."

"What did he expect? Why in the world did he
go into a cop bar? Where is he now?"

"The Van Nuys PD have him. Shannon, he's
going to prison for violating his parole. The officer I talked to
said he might have to serve three years more."

"Oh Minda. I'm so sorry."

"I'll see you in a few minutes. But I thought
you should know."

She ended the call. "My brother is on his way
to prison," she said.

"God is working in his life," Stretch
replied.

"How can you say that?"

"There's lots of Christians in prison. We'll
visit him every couple of months. Phil knows the Lord. In prison,
he'll get to know Him even better."

"I'm going to have a meltdown," she said. "An
absolute meltdown, all the way to China."

"No. The Lord is with you. He'll give you the
grace you need."

"He has," she said. "You're right."

"He has?"

"He's given me you. I see it clearly now,
Stretch. You've been sent from God just for me. Stretch, I've
decided to trust you completely. I'm putting all my faith in God,
that He has brought us together."

"I'm not entering the seminary," he said.

"What?"

"God spoke to me when I was beside your Dad's
coffin. When I put the note containing the chess move in his
pocket."

"What did He say?"

"He said I have to stay where I am. To stay
with you and support you in whatever it is you decide to do. And be
there for our children."

"You mean you're putting your life in my
hands?"

He nodded. "God showed me who you are--you're
the capable wife of Proverbs 31. Her husband puts his confidence in
her and he will never be poor."

"I'm stunned."

"It's all up to you, Shannon. Make of it what
you will."

At this point, a group of about 15 men
appeared at the end of the walkway, all spotting Stretch and at
once raising their hands in salute. As they drew closer, Shannon
realized what was wrong with the picture. All the men were short
and stocky, with the distinct facial characteristics of those
afflicted with Down syndrome.

"Who are they?" she asked. "Stretch? Why are
they waving? They seem to know you. Does everyone in this city
recognize you from that stupid hippo commercial?"

"Those are some of my pool guys," he said. "I
invited a few to the funeral so we wouldn't feel so lonely."

"Those are your pool guys? You hire the
developmentally disabled?"

"Yeh. Only I don't call them that."

"What do you call them?"

"My pool guys."

"You clean about how many pools a month?"

"Maybe 6,000. Give or take."

"And all of them are cleaned by these kind of
people?"

"Yes. But don't ever let them hear you say
these kind of people
. They might slip a regressive gene into
your food and turn you into one of them. It'll take you five years
to figure out how to work the phone."

"What a horrible joke."

"Sorry. I learned it from one of my pool
guys."

"And I'm sorry, too. I'm just ...
overwhelmed. I don't see how you do it."

"I don't do anything. They're managed in
groups of eight by area managers. I have six area managers with
vans who deliver everybody to the job sites. But that's only in the
Valley. We're just starting to go into the Hollywood. It's a
completely Christian operation."

"How did you meet them?"

"It started out small. I just needed a couple
of guys to help me clean pools. I knew these two guys from the
youth group at church, and I took a chance. Things just sort of
mushroomed from there. Last year the State got involved in helping
me train them."

"How many people do you have?"

"Around 100."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"Stretch, don't you get it? How can I ask you
to sell your business now? Knowing that if you do, all these
people's jobs are at risk? You're practically a saint for the work
you're doing."

"No. I'm just the guy who wrestles the hippo
on TV and signs up a few accounts. These guys do all the work, not
me. Divinity school, here I come."

The pool guys filed past them, mostly hatless
in the rain, offering condolences and respect. Their group was
immediately followed by another group of men, of whom numbered at
least a dozen, who were characterized by an odd assortment of
umbrellas, ill-fitting sports coats and baggy slacks, their
loose-jointed strides, intelligent faces and awkward demeanors
suggesting they were best fit for the university cloister rather
than the pool side.

"My father's friends from work," Shannon
said. "The nerds who design all our nuclear weaponry. The ones who
figured out how to make that new thermobaric bomb that heated up
Ben Laden's cave to a very uncomfortable 4,000 degrees. After
blowing the doors off every room in the cave."

The men filed past, expressing sympathies and
sharing a few comforting anecdotes about their days with her father
in the various labs for which they all worked.

"Hey look," Stretch said, looking down and
away from them at a man dressed in black, standing at the edge of
the parking lot. The man was approximately the size of a
refrigerator, a good six inches over six feet tall, weighing easily
three hundred pounds. His massive shoulders were slung with a heavy
strap attached to a big leather bag. Despite his bulk, he moved
toward them with the grace of a panther.

"That's Nasty John, General Kremsky's
bodyguard," Shannon said. "It means the General is coming to the
funeral."

"I can see why they call him Nasty John,"
Stretch said.

"Don't ever call him that," Shannon warned.
"Only the General is allowed to call him that."

"What's in his bag?"

"I've been told he carries a bag of knives
and grenades. But I'm sure that's just a rumor."

"I'm not," Stretch said. "That guy looks
incredibly dangerous."

Behind the bodyguard appeared a thin, frail
man wrapped in a black raincoat, holding an umbrella.

"Let me guess," Stretch said. "The
General?"

"One and the same."

The General drew apace. His bodyguard,
hatless in the rain, stood a scant distance away, cold eyes missing
nothing. "My heartfelt condolences," Kremsky said, giving her a
brief hug and kiss on each cheek. "We bury one of the great men of
our times today."

"Thank you General. But I don't think you can
call my Dad one of the great men. He was just a simple, quiet man
who loved his family and did his job."

"The last shall be first," the General said.
"Those who do not seek the head of the table will find themselves
being asked to sit there in the end. I'm afraid it will not go so
well with myself on the day of judgment."

"The Lord knows your heart, General," Shannon
replied. "You won't be overlooked at His table."

"If I make it in," he said, "I'll save a
place for you."

"With Christ you have assurance of
salvation," Stretch said.

He looked Stretch over carefully, his
experienced eyes taking the measure of the tall young man,
recording every strength, every weakness.

"I'm 82 old," he said. "Never presume to know
more than your elders. I'm well aware of the first letter of
John."

"Sorry."

"Is this him?" the General asked her.

"Yes. This is Stretch Murphy. He's the man I
decided to trust after talking to you last night."

"You." he said to Stretch.

"Yes?"

"In Joe Ireland's absence from his body on
this earth, this is my adopted granddaughter. Do you
understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand?" It seemed as though the
General was shouting, and yet he'd not raised his voice above the
merest of hoarse whispers.

"Yes ... General."

"There will be no turning back. Do you
understand?"

"I'm willing to die for her if necessary,"
Stretch replied.

"Everybody says that starting out," he said.
"It's easy to die for someone. But it's not so easy to live every
day for someone. Can you do that? Give up your life every day for
her? Say no to yourself everyday to render her the respect and
service she deserves?"

"Yes. I'm willing to leave everything for
her. To be with her."

"And you," Kremsky said to Shannon. "Will you
go with this man?"

"I ... General, I--"

"--Will you go with this man?"

She could feel his hazel Russian eyes boring
straight into her own, and felt the power of his spirit. His was a
power born to command others, to comprehend their totalities and
render judgments.

His words might as well been straight from
the mouth of God. And she knew the answer to his question.
Understood that she'd known the answer from the minute she'd first
laid eyes on Stretch Murphy. It was the response of a child, based
upon that which delighted and attracted and felt right, no matter
the awkwardness, the external circumstances.

"I will," Shannon said. "It's sudden and
unexpected, but I will. I even want to have his children."

"Shannon?" Stretch said.

She smiled and took his hand, the tears
starting to run.

"General, we want you to be the godfather of
our first child," she said.

"You have my blessing, the both of you,"
General Kremsky said, turning, and making his way to the
chapel.

"General?" Shannon called. "My brother Phil
is in a little trouble. He violated his parole and the police want
to send him to prison. He didn't kill anybody or anything. Just got
in a fight."

"I'll take care of it," the General said.

"General ... my brother is a violent
man."

The General nodded at Nasty John and smiled
back at her. "I've heard enough about this brother of yours. It's
time he got his life straightened out. I'm going to hire him as a
... security consultant. Then we'll work on him and his temper.
Bring him under the authority of myself, Nasty John, and God. Not
necessarily in that order, of course."

"Thank you, General."

"Shannon," the General said.

"Yes?"

"You're fired."

"General?"

"Our business is complete. I trust your bonus
sufficient. Now go and get yourself a life. We will, of course
remain friends. I still hope for the occasional game of chess."

The General turned and walked away.

"Oh man," Stretch said. "Oh man. I had no
idea. No idea at all. That guy has a lot of power. A lot of power.
I felt like a little kid, like if I tried to get away, he'd simply
snatch me by the collar and drag me back."

"Will it bother you if he's the godfather to
our first child?"

"I guess not. If it's what you want. I'm not
sure what Ike or Cece will think. But it's not their decision to
make."

"Another thing," Shannon said. "You can
forget divinity school."

"Come again?"

"You already have your ministry. It's
cleaning pools. And I need a new job. I'm going to be your manager
and put the business in the black."

Stretch opened his mouth and closed it. Then
opened and closed it again, his mind unable to compute the
explosion of the dream as a new reality roared into his life.

"You're right," he said. "I guess I knew it
myself, way down deep."

"The rain is stopping," she said, observing a
ray of sun poking through in the north valley. An old couple was
coming up the walk, sharing an umbrella. "Here comes Ike and
Cece."

"God bless you both," Ike said. Cece was
crying, and said nothing. Behind them were Minda, Phil's children,
and Minda's two brothers, one of whom walked with a cane, even
though he looked healthy enough.

"Minda, I'm giving you dad's house," Shannon
said. "You can move in anytime you're ready. It's completely paid
for. And I'm setting up a trust fund for taxes, utilities and
maintenance. I think we should rip the carpets out and bring back
the wood floors."

Minda's eyes widened and her mouth opened
wide, but she said nothing, too shocked for speech. She and her
family were followed lastly by the diminutive, aged form of Pastor
Coughlan and his assistant who drove him everywhere. The old
pastor, using a cane, shaking with Parkinson's and moving slowly,
Tam O'Shanter firmly on his white-haired crown, shuffled towards
them, smiling at them from the distance. Inside, some music began,
and the sounds of a woman singing, Amazing Graze.

"That must be the singer we hired," Shannon
said. "Dad's favorite hymn. Pastor is here. I guess it's time to
get started. We won't have to bury my father in the rain after
all."

"God is good," Stretch said.

"Yes."

"C'mon," he said. "It's time to complete the
final arrangements."

"Wait," she said, opening her cell and
hitting the speed dial. "I want to tie up a few loose ends before
we lay my father to rest."

"Brunstetter and Griffen," David Bergstrom,
her intern, said.

"David, make a note. There's a woman who
works at the Sheraton Universal City named Christa. She's a
personal shopper for their concierge. I want you to track her down
and have the firm offer her your old intern position. Then I want
you to call Ronald Griffen and tell him you're my choice for
running the Kremsky account. Because I'm not coming back. I'm
staying in Los Angeles and getting married. I'll stay on for a
couple of months in a consulting capacity only until your feet are
on the ground."