Christian Holmes: Just Say “No”

by Shannon McDermott

The clock on the wall gave the time as five-o-one, and I was noting the end of another workday by collecting my paperwork and cramming it into my briefcase.

I was hurrying through the task because, in the first place, I had to pick my cousin up from the airport and I didn’t want to be late. In the second, I was surprised to be getting out on time and I wanted nothing to spoil it.

I snapped my briefcase shut and looked up—

To see another agent standing in my doorway, holding a file in his hand. That looked ominous. “Well, Holmes,” Lugito began, “I’m glad I caught you.” I wasn’t. “The Supervisor wants an analysis on this.”

And that was why. I reached out and accepted the file. “When does he want it?”

“Tomorrow. Don’t worry, it’s not much.”

“No, but it accumulates.”

“I know what you mean. So, you’re getting married Sunday?”

I nodded, recognizing the beginning of a scenario I had been through with at least half a dozen of my coworkers during the last few weeks. The first time it had happened—the first time a coworker not on the already made-up guest list had asked if he were invited to my impending wedding—I had ended up giving a startled yes. And after that, what could I do? From there on in, to anyone who asked, the answer was yes.

“Well,” Lugito pronounced, “congratulations and good luck.”

I could barely stammer out a thank-you as he left, but I shrugged off my surprise and hurried to the airport.

When I arrived, Henry was waiting. We loaded his luggage into my car’s trunk and then got into the car. “Did you have a good flight from England?” I asked as I steered out of the airport’s parking lot.

“As good a flight as can be had. I wanted to ask you something, Christian. While I’m in America I want to do some touring, preferably guided by a native. I was wondering if you…?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I’m getting married in five days and I won’t have the time. Tonight we’re spending with my parents, I work tomorrow and then I’m going to have dinner at Shannon’s house with her parents and some of her other relatives. Friday I won’t have any free time because I’m working an extra shift—”

“Why?”

“There’s been a personnel shortage at the CBI lately. Until they can hire some new people, we all have to work more.”

“I see. Christian, I understand Sunday is out of the question, but what about Saturday?”

“Well, Saturday we have the rehearsal dinner at seven, and I was planning to take Shannon out to lunch.”

Henry brightened. “Good. Then you’ll have the whole afternoon free.”

I tried not to sigh. “No, no, Henry, I won’t have time.”

“Then how will you be spending that afternoon?”

I suddenly wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel. “I don’t want to spend the day before I get married touring Philadelphia!” My voice rose as I spoke. Henry only looked at me.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not fitting!”

“Why not?”

I groped for an answer, found none, then threw out, “Because!”

There was a short silence. I began to worry I’d offended Henry, and then he said, “You are too uptight, Christian. At any rate the place I want to see is not in Philadelphia. It’s about an hour outside.”

This puzzled me a little. “What place is that?”

“The Memorial to the Loyalists of the American Insurrection.”

It took me a minute to figure that out. “I’ve never heard of that.” Privately I wondered, What Brit came over here and started building museums on American soil?

“I read about it in a magazine. I have the address.”

I didn’t answer. We had just cruised into the neighborhood, and now…. I pulled my car alongside the house. “Come on in,” I said to Henry. I had spotted Shannon’s car parked by the curb. “Meet my fiancée.”

The evening went pleasantly. After dinner, the five of us were settled in the living room and my father lit in, “Do the two of you remember that mysterious outing we promised you?” Shannon and I affirmed that we did. “Let’s be off before it gets too late. Henry, will you be all right here while we go out?”

Henry stirred his tea. “Of course.”

As we headed out, Henry accompanied us to the door. He stopped me as the others went out. “You will be thinking about it, Christian?”

“I already gave you my answer.”

“Just think about it. You may change your mind.”

I nodded and went out. My father gestured me to his car. “Your mother and I will give you and Shannon a ride.”

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Shannon asked me as I climbed into the backseat by her.

“None,” I answered. It didn’t take us long to find out. The drive was short, and ended at what I believed, as I stood in the parking lot craning my neck to look at it, was an apartment building. I shared an apprehensive look with Shannon as my father hustled us into and through the building. On the second floor, he led us into an apartment. “It’s available,” he announced as we stood looking around in fairly large, tastefully decorated living room. “One bath, two bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, living room. What do you think?”

“It looks nice,” Shannon said. I tried to formulate a similar response, something nice and noncommittal. But I had been assuming Shannon and I would live in my apartment, and that my parents assumed otherwise threw me off.

Dad continued, “Certainly spacious enough too. There’s a linen closet down that hall, near the bedrooms, and you should see the kitchen…” He gave us the grand tour, and at the end—the second bedroom—he asked again, “What do you think?”

Neither of us answered that time. Dad, unfazed, said, “And for all this, the price is only…” When Dad completed his presentation, Mother said, “Of course, there are other options…”

“Of course,” Dad agreed. “We checked out other apartments, and there are two we thought really good. Let’s have a look.” Dad led the way, Mother with him. As Shannon and I followed behind, I slowed until we were out of earshot. “Well?” I whispered.

“They’ve certainly put a lot of effort into this,” Shannon answered, her eyes tracking my parents.

“That’s what I thought, too.” Between that, their enthusiasm and obvious belief that they were doing what was best for us, I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents what I had been planning, and I pledged myself to consider it.

After my parents had finished their tour through Philadelphia’s best, affordable apartments, I said goodnight and went home to get down to writing that analysis.

I turned it in on time the next morning. That workday passed like any other did these days—hurried activity ending in a late day. I arrived at my soon-to-be in-laws’ house a little after six-thirty. Light streamed out of the windows into the darkening evening, and as I walked up the porch steps I could hear voices coming from the house. I hardly cared, though, because Shannon was waiting for me on the porch.

I sat by her on the porch swing and asked, “How was your day?”

“Fine. Yours?”

“So-so. Is everyone else here?”

“Yes. Caleb, Patti, my parents, Aunt Agatha—”

I sighed. “I still can’t believe I let her talk me into wearing that ruffled shirt.”

“Well, if you weren’t going to wear the flamingo tuxedo, the very least you could do was wear the ruffled shirt.”

“I’ll feel ridiculous.”

“And you don’t want to feel ridiculous at the only wedding you’ll ever have.”

I considered that and shook my head. “No. I’ll feel ridiculous before the wedding, I may feel ridiculous during the reception, but during the wedding ridiculous is the farthest thing from what I’ll be feeling.” Shannon glanced up at me and our eyes met.

And it was at this precise moment that Caleb threw the door open and bounded out onto the porch. “Dinner’s waiting,” he announced. “And Aunt Agatha wants to see your ‘nice young man’.”

“Four months after we told her we were engaged, why does she still call me that?”

Shannon shrugged as she stood up. “That’s Aunt Agatha.”

I experienced more of Aunt Agatha soon after entering the house. At the dinner table I sat between Shannon and Aunt Agatha. After Mr. McCoy said grace, Aunt Agatha turned to me and asked, “What do you do, Christian?”

She had asked and I had answered this question several times, but I, too, was growing used to Aunt Agatha. “I’m a detective for the CBI.”

“That’s nice.” Aunt Agatha was such a kindly old lady. “My uncle was a private eye.”

“That’s interesting.”

“He was the black sheep of the family. But my other uncle was a dentist. It’s a good profession. Maybe you would like to be a dentist.”

This suggestion conjured up an image in my head of spending the rest of my life reaching into other people’s mouths, cleaning their teeth, filling in their cavities, smelling their breath. “That’s impossible. I don’t have the training.”

“You could get it. Maybe hold off the wedding for a year or two.”

This idea was worse than the first. “No, we’re getting married Sunday.”

Aunt Agatha nodded. “After all the preparations, I suppose so…”

Mrs. McCoy’s voice broke through from across the table, “But this is a problem.”

“What is, dear?” asked Aunt Agatha.

Mrs. McCoy looked over at us. “The restaurant we had hired to cater the reception was closed down.”

“Too little business?” I asked.

“Health regulations. So now we have to find another restaurant to cater.”

“I’d go with KFC,” said Caleb.

“I suggest Red Lobster.”

“The Olive Garden is nice,” said Aunt Agatha. The whole table broke out in discussion. In all the talk Shannon turned to me and asked, “What do you think, Christian?”

At this, the cacophony of voices stilled. I gathered myself to speak—

And with these two seconds of silence, everyone lapsed to conversation again. Later that evening, Mr. McCoy asked Shannon and I into his study. He sat behind his desk, gestured to me to take the seat opposite, and produced a paper, a pen and handed them both to me. “What is it?” I asked.

“A lease. You can’t live a married life in a bachelor’s apartment. So, here, we’ve found you a good place to live. It’s perfect for a newly married couple. Of course, you’ll have to move into a real house eventually, but this will hold you for a few years. And it’s very reasonably priced.”

“Certainly. I’m just…not, ah…ready to sign. We were considering other things…”

My future father-in-law folded his arms as he leaned back in his office chair. “We considered all apartments that were tenable. This one is the best. But perhaps you’d like to see for yourselves. Keep the lease, Christian.”

“Yes, I will.” I started to rise. “It’s getting late, I should be leaving now…” I took my leave and went out to my car. Shannon walked with me, and as we stepped down the porch I held up the lease and said, “Now even your parents are telling us where we want to live. I appreciate the help, and I hate to disappoint them, but…”

“But what? Do you think our parents would be upset if you rejected one’s advice to accept the other’s?”

“Either that, or reject the advice of both. We could just live in my apartment.”

“That’s an option.”

But not a popular one, even with Shannon, judging by the tone of her voice. When I returned to my much-maligned apartment, the phone was ringing. I answered, hoping (no offense against him) that it wasn’t Mr. McCoy with more to say about the lease. “Hello… Yes, sir, I finished it—Another one? I’ve had a lot of work lately… Yes, I know we have a shortage of personnel…. Yes, I know we all have to buckle down and work harder… Yes, I’ll get it done. Good-bye, sir.” I hung up the phone, reflecting that maybe a discussion about the lease might have been preferable. The phone rang again. I reluctantly picked it up. “Hello?”

I recognized the cheery voice with its distinct British inflection, “Good evening, Christian. I was wondering about visiting the Memorial….”

“We’ve been through this, Henry. I have no time.”

“You have a whole afternoon.”

“Not for touring.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That is no explanation.”

“It’s late.”

“Do you mean to say the late hour is clouding your wits?”

“Yes. Hang up, Henry.”

“I’ll talk to you Saturday.”

“You won’t drive with me Saturday.”

“You will think different when your mind is clear.” A click concluded this prophecy.

Friday came and went, holding little aside from work. Saturday morning I spent on the paperwork. During those hours I fielded residence inquiries from both fathers and a question from Aunt Agatha about whether it was true that Chinese chefs spit in the dishes they make for good luck (Mrs. McCoy was hiring a Chinese restaurant to cater). I set Aunt Agatha’s mind at ease, and I knew better than to inquire where she had come across such an idea. Also, Shannon called to ask when we were going to have lunch. We ended up talking nearly two hours, but with diligence I still managed to finish my paperwork before noon. After my lunch-date with Shannon, I dropped my completed work off at the CBI.

I returned to my apartment, had my usual fight with the lock and walked in. I closed the door behind me, turned around—and saw Henry sitting in my easy chair. For some reason I failed to be surprised. “How did you get in?”

“Your door was unlocked. Most careless. I locked it again after I entered. Shall we go?”

I actually considered it. The whole trip could take no more than four hours, I’d still have plenty of time before the rehearsal, maybe it would be good to have something to do other than wait for tomorrow to come…and, of course, there was Henry. I looked at him. “Sure.”

“I can’t believe this. Nearly two hours! Where is that Memorial?” My question was purely rhetorical; I knew Henry didn’t know.

“Stop and ask for directions,” Henry said placidly. “There—a gas station.”

I threw Henry a hostile look, but I stopped by the little gas station and the two of us went inside. I walked up to the counter and asked the old man standing behind it, “Have you ever heard of a place called the Memorial for the Loyalists of the American Insurrection?”

“To be sure, I have. Not too far from here. Why? You need directions?” At my affirmative, he said, “All right, continue up this road for a spell, until you come to a dirt road that branches off to the right. Go on that for a while, and then there’s a road going to the left, take it. You’ll see three roads going off from that one, you take the second one on the right, drive straight, keep on the road when it turns and you’ll be there.”

“The Memorial doesn’t sound very popular, being so far out,” I said.

The man looked reflective. “No, I don’t reckon it is. It was started long time ago, by Erwin Hurley, who sided with King George and was always kinda sorry to see the States leave the glorious British Empire. Yes, sir,” he sighed, “he was a queer one.”

“If he wanted to be part of the British Empire, why didn’t he move to England?”

“Oh, ol’ Erwin considered it. And it woulda been a shame, cause Erwin wasn’t a bad sort, just possessed of some strange ideas. And he always was good at the dances; he could do the Virginia reel like nobody’s business. But he still decided against it. He didn’t like the taxes over there.”

“Yes, I…see. Thanks for the directions.”

And I did think, leaving that little station, that I had them down. Forty-five minutes later, Henry and I were thoroughly lost on a network of dirt roads. And I wasn’t trying to get to the Memorial anymore; I was trying to get out of this web we were trapped in and get back to Philadelphia. In the midst of my mounting frustration, Henry said, “I do believe we’re lost.”

For a moment the sheer brilliance of this stunned me into silence. Then I began, somewhat desperately, “Henry…” I don’t know what I was going to say, though I think I would regret it now if I had said it. At any rate I was interrupted by the engine suddenly sputtering. I checked the gas, twisted the key in harder, and the engine only continued its revolt. I had just enough time to pull over to the side—as much as I could on that hiking trail of a road—before it died altogether. I gripped the wheel, panicky thoughts filling my head of being stranded with my insane British cousin for weeks on a Machiavellian road that captured hapless strangers in its twisted byways and caused them to miss their rehearsal dinners and even their weddings. As I thought these things, and began to hyperventilate, Henry said, “We’ll have to wait for a kind passerby. Since we have nothing to do…” Henry stretched out in the passenger seat and fell asleep.

I did not sleep. I stared into the distance, thinking over the past stressful days, and trying to figure out why I had ever agreed to this ridiculous expedition. Why had I given in to Henry? As I gazed out at the sun setting over a horizon thick with tall, wild trees, and heard Henry snoring beside me, I wondered if I hadn’t been giving in too much lately…

I broke away from these thoughts as I saw a pair of headlights glaring in the near-darkness, and an old pickup slowed to a stop in front of us.

Henry and I returned to Philadelphia late that night. The rehearsal dinner had gone on without me. (“Since we were all there, and ready,” Shannon explained. “Because the groom doesn’t do anything but stand in the corner until he’s needed,” her little brother, Caleb, said.) I took my only recourse and explained what happened and then cast myself on the mercy of the court, which was unequivocally given. “Only don’t act tomorrow as rehearsed tonight,” Mr. McCoy joked, but I was not in a mood for humor. I only thought, as I went to bed that night, that if the wedding itself went fine, nothing else mattered. What did extra work or apartments or missed rehearsal dinners or crazy relatives matter against finally marrying Shannon?

To this day I consider that a true assessment, but then I had to remind myself of it. The ceremony that made us man and wife went flawlessly. The problems came afterward, during the reception.

An outdoor reception had been planned, and it would have worked beautifully, if only it hadn’t rained. More than a hundred and fifty people, caught in a sudden downpour wearing their best, most expensive, and occasionally rented clothes, can make a quick if chaotic run to the nearest shelter. In this case that shelter was the McCoy house, and I was one of the last in getting in. Somehow, in the said chaotic run, Shannon and I got separated, and now my only thought was to find her. The kitchen was crowded, but before I could dive in, I felt a hand grab my shoulder. “Hey, Christian—”

I whirled around to see Caleb, phone in hand. “Oh, Caleb. Have you seen Shannon?”

“Yep. Mom’s talking to her in the other room. Weirdly, she’s been wondering where you are, too. But Mom is certain we have problems—”

“Like what?”

“Well, food, for instance. And space. Does this look like the one hundred-fifty they said they invited?” I suddenly thought of all my colleagues I had invited—many of whom had not been on the guest list. Caleb continued, “This place is crammed. People are everywhere, downstairs, upstairs, in bedrooms, closets, the den, the living room, the holidays-and-guests-only dining room. But Dad locked his study. Then, of course, there’s a food problem. Which brings me to what I was going to ask you in the first place: What toppings do you like?”

I looked at the phone in Caleb’s hand. “Pepperoni.”

“I’m already ordering that one. Give me another.”

“I don’t know, green olives and anchovies. I need to find Shannon.” I dashed away, as much as dashing was possible in such close quarters, and made my way out of the kitchen and into the hallway beyond. It was clearer there, and I was just beginning to pick up speed when one of the doors opened, and a hand shot out, collared me and dragged me in.

“What—“

My loud protest was cut short, “Shh.” It was the voice, not the word, that stopped me short. Suddenly the whole thing was intelligible, even logical.

The hand released me, shut the door, turned on the light, and I was facing Henry in my mother-in-law’s walk-in pantry. “What are you doing in here, Henry?”

“Getting a little peace.”

I noticed a whole tray of my mother-in-law’s famous spinach hors d’oeuvres balanced on top of several cases of soda. “And some hors d’oeuvres too, I see.”

“That also.” And Henry brazenly plucked up another hors d’oeuvre and ate it. “Now listen to me, Christian. I came in here for some peace, and that’s exactly what you need. You’ve been harried and hurried and frazzled ever since I arrived.”

“I don’t want to discuss my emotional state, I want to find my wife.” I paused, and repeated the words because of how sweet they were to me, “—my wife.”

Henry held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

I folded my arms. “You have one minute. Then I leave.”

Henry startled me by clapping his hands together loudly. “That is the way to take. You should act like that more often. Instead of allowing everyone to yank you in every direction, you must take a stand. My dear cousin, you must learn to just say no.”

I sighed. “Henry, I’ve only been trying to…” I trailed off. Something dawned on me. “Trying…” I frowned. “I need to go. Leave the pantry, Henry. You might see something you like.” I threw open the door with such vigor Henry had to duck back to avoid getting elbowed. I soon found Shannon talking with her mother. Shannon looked glad to see me, and her mother said, “See, dear, I told you he would come to you. Christian, we are thinking, about the food and room—”

“I think, Mother,” I said, smiling, “that I have good news on both counts. For the food, Caleb has ordered out pizza. For the room, you shall have more in just a moment. Come into the living room. I’d like to say something to the guests.”

Of all the rooms, that was the fullest and the noisiest. People quieted a little when they saw the bride and groom enter. They quieted even more when they saw the groom stand on top of the coffee table. I achieved near-silence by shouting, “I have something to tell you!” As I spoke, I noticed Henry standing by the piano, on which he had rested a small plate stacked with twenty hors d’oeuvres—a minor engineering feat. “Now,” I continued, “I’ve had a lot of decisions to make lately, and quite a few choices. You, my friends and relatives, have given me advice generously. I’ve been trying hard to please you all, and now I realize that I was dead wrong.

“I shouldn’t be making decisions for my family to please anybody except God. As head of my household, I make decisions based on what’s best for my family. Which brings me to my last announcement. First, Shannon and I will be living in my apartment. We thank everyone who has worked on finding us an apartment, but right now, my apartment works well for us. Secondly, Shannon and I are leaving now to go on our honeymoon. Don’t try to get in touch with us, we won’t be available. Now thank you for coming to our wedding, please enjoy the party, and good-bye.”

My answer was silence, and I gave them no chance to give me any other. I took Shannon’s hand and we left the house. The rain had stopped, but we hardly noticed.

Inside there was dead silence after our exit, broken suddenly by Henry clapping loudly and calling, “Bravo! Good show, jolly good show!”

The silence turned on him, and then Caleb said, “I agree with the hors d’oeuvre guy. Now, I’m calling out for Chinese food. How many of you like egg rolls?”