Free Funeral with a View by Matt Schiariti Page B

fireplace. No stuffed animal heads tacked on the walls. I took that as
a good sign. Nearly every square inch of wall space was covered in awards,
degrees, military decorations, and above all, family photos.
    The Colonel walked over
to a portable bar and pulled out a bottle. “Bourbon, Rick?”
    “Sure.”
    I browsed the multitude
of pictures while he fixed our drinks. Many were of him decked out in full
military uniform, taken both in various states and abroad. The mantle above the
fireplace held what seemed to be his favorites; they were the first you noticed
when setting foot in the room. Shots of his girls crowded the surface, and
there was one of a much younger Mary Jo in an extravagant gown, crown on her
head, a sash over her shoulder.
    The Colonel handed me a
glass. “That’s my Mary Jo. Miss Texas back in the day. She sure was a looker.”
    “Still is.”
    He pulled a frame from
the mantle and handed it to me. It was discolored with age. Three people sat
atop a tank: The Colonel, smiling like he was the king of everything, with two
of the world’s cutest little girls on either side of him.
    “That was taken when I
was stationed in Fort Hood, Texas. It’s my favorite.”
    “I can see why. It’s a
fantastic picture, sir … Colonel.”
    Moustache tilted at an
angle (his version of a smile), he returned the picture to its rightful place,
then sat behind his desk, carefully placing his drink on a coaster. “Have a
seat, Rick.”
    “No, thanks. I think I’ll
stand. You’re not going to pull a Cocktail and offer me money to stay
away from your daughter, are you, Mr. Maddox?” I skipped The Colonel bit on
purpose. Stormy eyes bored into me, but I stood my ground. “Because if that’s
what this is about, you can forget it. You don’t like me. That’s obvious.”
    “Rick—”
    I help up a hand.
“Please. Let me get this out in the open.”
    He sat back and gave a
small nod.
    “Let’s face it. This is a
shitty situation. You know it, I know it. You’re pissed. Rightfully so. I’d be,
too, if I were you. If I had a daughter, and some punk guy got her in the same
fix, wringing his neck would be my top priority. But I’m not some punk guy. I
may not have a Princeton pedigree, I may not come from money, I may not have
served my country, but I’m nuts about your daughter.”
    Having gotten that off my
chest, I swelled with pride. I was also scared shitless. My hands shook
slightly while I downed the bourbon and set the empty glass on an end table.
    “Is that all, Rick? You
done?”
    “No, I’m not.” I took a
deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “I won’t let you intimidate me. I plan
on sticking with Cat for as long as she’ll have me. Although I’d like it more
than just about anything else, you and I getting along isn’t necessary. What is necessary is that we at least act like it in front of your daughter.”
    Heart thundering in my
chest, I did an about face and left.
     
    ~~~
     
    Three sets of eyes locked
onto me, four counting Butch’s.
    I wiped sweat out of my
eyes, hoping they’d assume it was the heat, and sat down at the picnic table.
    “You okay, Ricky? You’re
so sweaty.”
    “Peachy, Cat.” So much
for blaming the heat. “We’ll talk about it later.”
    The patio door opened
then crashed shut. Cat, Jude, and Mary Jo looked up at the same time. Butch
cocked his head to one side, tail between his legs.
    The Colonel started in
before he was even fully in his seat.
    “Now, you listen to me, son,”
he growled, pointing a sturdy finger at me. “We’re not done yet. You don’t back
down and I respect that, but if you think you’re just going to waltz into my
house and talk to me like that, you’ve got another thing coming. I will not be
disrespected in my own home.”
    Catherine and Jude asked
The Colonel to calm down. Mary Jo remained silent.
    “I am calm. What
did you expect, Rick? You come in here for the first time after being with my
daughter for over six goddamn