Final Arrangements by Nia Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

disappear at the first frown of the
Regional loan manager for whatever private bank Murphy's pool
business was attached to? Assuming he even had a pool business.
Doubtful, but possible. The man said he cleaned swimming pools. Of
which there were beaucoup in L.A. Which needed cleaning all year
round, even in the winter.
    Murphy appeared to be well off, if one judged
solely by demeanor. He looked relaxed. Cool and unpretentious. Very
L.A. cool, toodling around in a huge Mercedes while wearing a
baseball hat and Hawaiian shirt with green parrots. A man with
other things on his mind besides toys. Who had met the basic
requirements of life. Attained the basic needs and had moved on to
the search for the dream, moved into the area where faith in
something as yet only partially understood and far greater than
himself was key to future accomplishments.
    Which led to one other possibility, one she
didn't want to entertain. That he was for real. Was exactly who he
said he was. A man her very own father had chosen for her and with
the consent of his parents, made a formal arrangement for them to
marry. The fly in the ointment being that her father hadn't said
one word about it to her. It was absurd, and even a little obscene.
Her father had been gone from this earth less than a day, and she
was suddenly having the prickly sensation something big was about
to happen. Something huge. With a shiver, she understood the
feeling. At this time in her life, a time when she was most
vulnerable, at her absolute weakest point, at this very time, a man
was entering her life.
    Dear Lord , she said. Of all things
to be happening. I've met someone. Who I find very attractive in
spite his fantasizing. Of all the confusing things to come my way.
And at a time when I'm least able to handle it. Why did he have to
tell me he wrestled a hippopotamus? I could have worked with
everything but that!
    She avoided the San Diego Freeway and instead
chose to creep northward up Sepulveda, taking her time, sitting at
signal after signal, staying to the rightmost of the four
northbound lanes, moving slower than the brutish pack of native
drivers, delaying the moment when she'd find herself back at the
house. And at this moment, a third possibility came to her. Maybe
he was some sort of con man. Los Angeles was full of smooth talkers
who only wanted your money. The intuition made a lot of the pieces
fit together. Too many for comfort.
    The urge to flee came upon her. A right turn
at Vanowen would take her all the way to the Burbank Airport. From
there--after the now typical arduous security check whereby they
satisfied themselves she was not armed with tactical nuclear
devices, toenail clippers, or other dangerous objects--a one-hour
flight back to SF International. She'd cab back to her flat and
collapse on her own couch, the one in front of the window facing
Fillmore. At which point it would be a simple matter to collect
herself, and make a few phone calls to the right people, who,
though they be perfect strangers, would cremate Dad's earthly
remains and ship them in an attractive urn to anywhere in the world
she chose. The thought of her father's bones, sailing through the
ether at 500 miles per hour in the airless baggage bin of a cargo
plane made her cringe. She remembered reading somewhere they mixed
the remains with sand so the loose pieces wouldn't rattle inside
the urn.
    Which was when she suddenly remembered
something else very upsetting. She didn't turn right for the
airport. And found herself a minute or so later pulling into the
driveway of the Van Nuys house, waiting for the garage door to come
up, watching Stretch park on the street and get out, realizing
again just how big the man was, it constantly surprising her. He
came alongside her as she shut off the Suburban and opened her
door. A gentleman.
    "Stretch, I need to tell you something kind
of strange. Two years ago, when my mother died, Dad brought her
cremated remains home. He was going to scatter