Until Next Time (3 page)

“Sure you don’t want something? Ma’s a great cook. Haven’t been able to get her out of the kitchen all day practically…even though people have brought a truckload of food over already.”

Did his thumb stroke her elbow? Or was she imagining things? She stepped to the side, putting a good two feet between them. He released her like it was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t to him. That was a relief.

“Quinn!” He spun around at the sound of his name. A man about his height, build, and age, with a striking resemblance stood in the doorframe down the hall. “Two minutes!”

He waved the man off. “We’re coming, Del.” His gaze caught hers again. “You sure you don’t want anything? Water even?”

“No.” She eyed the front doorway behind her. “I won’t be staying long.”

His expression was gentle. “I understand.”

What did he understand? Because she sure hadn’t understood anything since agreeing to this little get-together.

“Come on.” He held out his hand. “You can sit next to me. When you’re ready to go, I can help you leave without being noticed.”

His long fingers wiggled, waiting for a response. Tentatively, Piper slid her hand into his. He rewarded her with a warm squeeze and led her through the suddenly empty hallways and into a room twice the size of her largest viewing room at the funeral home. Dark oak shelves lined every wall. Mountains of books were stacked neatly in every possible space. Rows of chairs had been placed in the center, all facing a podium and large white screen at the front of the room. Almost every chair was full. Piper closed her eyes and took a settling breath.

Quinn’s thumb rubbed the back of her hand. She
did not
imagine that.

“Right by the door.” He led her to an open seat in the back. “Like I promised.”

“Thank you.”

Quinn settled in next to her, their knees brushing. He didn’t flinch or blush or pull away. It looked like he was being normal. She could do normal. She scanned the faces she could still see, settling her gaze on the man by the podium, standing next to Mr. Oliver, well, George. Seeing as how she was apparently in a room full of Mr. Olivers, she’d really better start referring to them by first name.

The man by the podium stood proudly, grimacing a bit as he went to straighten his shoulders even more. He looked like Quinn, only much older.

“That’s my father, Marcus,” Quinn whispered, a little too close to her ear. She immediately shifted, tilting her torso away from his voice.

The lights dimmed. The people hushed. The screen behind Marcus lit up. And then he spoke.

“Family is a blessing. As a family, we honor each and every one of you with us today…and those who have passed onto greater things.” His voice was clipped with military precision. “Today we gather to celebrate the loving life of Doris Oliver, my mother.”

A picture flashed on the screen. Piper assumed it to be Doris when she was much younger. The similarities to Doris, Quinn, and the rest of the family were obvious.

“When loved ones die,” he continued, “we will mourn the loss of their physical body. We will no longer feel their embraces, see their smiles or hear their magical voices.”

Piper’s throat went tight. She pictured her mother, how she looked twenty-one long years ago. Twenty-one years since Piper had heard her mother’s effortless and infectious laugh. Twenty-one years since she’d felt the warmth of her mother’s arms wrapped around her. Twenty-one years since she’d heard the adoring whispers of “I love you, Little Pip.”
Piper’s throat constricted further.

The pictures behind Marcus changed, showing Doris’s life. She cast a glance at George, who was smiling proudly, but with a misty look on his face.

“But we know they are in a greater place, a happier place,” Marcus continued. “And they are waiting for us to join them. Be it days, months, or even years, we look forward to future, and cherish the past.”

Piper’s own father flashed through her mind. His features had once been young and soft, but losing his wife had aged him in more ways than one. He’d given Piper twenty-five years of love, of guidance, of care. Then he’d perished, as swiftly and unexpectedly as her mother. With great effort, she focused back on the man at the podium.

“So today, we will celebrate all that Doris gave us during her ninety-four years and cherish those memories, knowing that when our time comes, we will see her again and create new memories. While sadness is common in death, one must remember what comes after it. It’s only then that we see the true purpose of life. Of love.”

Love.
Piper looked down, shaking her head. She’d only loved three people her entire life. Her mother, her father, and Steven. And she’d lost them all, one by painful one. Love was overrated. Death was painful. And life, if you choose to share it with others, was ridiculously selfish. Love was selfish. That was why she didn’t do any of those things. When Piper felt the warmth of tears cresting in her eyes, she shot to her feet, almost tipping over her chair. Thank God she was in the back row. Hopefully she didn’t look too much like a spaz.

Quinn stood next to her.

“I…uh…have to go.”

He stepped to the side, allowing her to pass. She slipped as quietly from the room as possible, Quinn’s heat hot on her back. When she got to the threshold of the door, his arm caught her in that comfortable grip. She didn’t dare look at him.

“Piper? Are you all right?”

“Fine. I’ll be fine.”

His hand fell away, and he took a step back. “You sure?”

She sniffled and fiddled around with her purse to keep from looking at him. “Yes, really. Sorry I interrupted your father’s sermon…I mean, speech. Whatever.” She huffed out a ragged breath. “I’ll see my way to my car.”

She swiveled about and bolted down the stairs, aching to get away from the pain of lost love. Within seconds she was in her car, air conditioning on full blast, hoping to cool herself down. That was why she didn’t get close to people. People you loved died, leaving a void that could never be replaced. They might go to a better place, but the survivor was left with the tragedy. They were left to remember how selfish the departed had been for loving in the first place.

<<<<>>>>>

Quinn leaned against the doorframe and watched Piper practically run to her car. He eyed her with curiosity as the modest two-door roared to life. Then she only sat there, staring aimlessly out the window. Had he done something wrong? Had his father said something to upset her?

Shaking his head, he continued to keep a keen eye on her. After several minutes and what looked to be many deep breaths, Piper jerked the car into gear and pulled off. He waved, but she didn’t notice. He wanted to call her and ask her—again—if she was, indeed, all right. He didn’t believe she was. Not really.

Even though he hadn’t seen her eyes as she’d scurried from the house, he knew a haunted stance when he saw one. But what, exactly, was she afraid of? He couldn’t imagine her being afraid of death. She was a funeral director. She saw death every day. Piper, of all people, should be able to cope with it. Understand it. Embrace it. But that didn’t look like the case at all.

It wasn’t like his family had done anything wrong, or even sad. They had been embracing his grandmother’s life, her love
and
theirs. They mourned, yes. But death didn’t cripple them. The sting of loss was there, but shadowing that was the love they’d had and the knowledge that that love would blossom even further when they saw them again. Death wasn’t an end for them. It was a new beginning.

Quinn loosened his tie as her car sped off in the distance. If dealing with death was Piper’s problem, he’d like to help her understand that it didn’t mean destruction. There were ways to cope. With love. Because even though death was the greatest unknown, love was stronger than anything.

As a man who had faced death himself, lost his color vision in one eye, had to give up the career he’d always dreamed of, and had lost his own wife, he knew what it took to press forward. To not let life get the best of you. His family had been his rock, teaching him that life, while painful, was a journey more than anything. He knew he could embrace what he’d been given and trudge forward to make it better, or he could crumble and be nothing. Feel nothing. That wasn’t him. So no matter what he was dealt, no matter what pain or roadblock was dropped in his path, he shoved it all aside. To love. To live.

Chapter Three

Piper looked across her glistening desk in her private office at Mr. Ryan. He was looking down at his clasped hands. “I’ve got some bad news,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid that all the National Cemeteries in our state are closed to new internments.”

His gaze rolled up slowly. “But that means…”

“That she’ll need to be laid to rest in a private cemetery.”

He looked past Piper, out the window behind her. “My VA benefits don’t cover a private cemetery.”

“That’s correct. The plot and opening and closing of the grave, along with all the other cost will be your responsibility if she’s put in a private cemetery.”

Mr. Ryan’s eyes slid closed. “How much will it cost?”

Piper held her breath, hating this moment for him, hating that she had to give him this terrible news. She blew the breath out carefully and gave him the total.

His eyes began to leak sprinkles of tears. But they didn’t open, and he didn’t say a word. The sprinkles became a flood, and he covered his face with his hands. Losing someone was hard enough, Piper knew that firsthand. And after her night of dreaming about her mother and father, their love and how it had been taken from them so young, she felt Mr. Ryan’s pain in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to in a very long time. But more than the emotional toll, there was a financial cost that some people couldn’t handle.

“Mr. Ryan?” she said carefully. Getting up, she walked around the desk and put her hand on his shoulder. She gave it a squeeze and reached for the tissues with her free hand. He sagged in his chair and dropped his hands. She handed him the tissue.

He blinked, a waterfall still streaking down his wrinkled cheeks. “What about cremation?”

A knot formed in her throat. “The cost is significantly less.” She did the math quickly in her head, giving Mr. Ryan another estimate.

“Yes,” he sighed. “That’s quite different.”

Piper knew Mr. Ryan didn’t simply want his wife to be cremated in order to be by his side even in death, he couldn’t afford it any other way. That gave another sting to her hardened heart.

“Can I think about it?” he asked, his hands trembling.

“Of course.” Clamping down on her emotions, she gave him a soft smile and took his hand. It was a simple gesture, one that made clients feel more at ease. Piper herself didn’t usually allow the contact to affect her. But today—today, somehow it did. And she didn’t like it. Again she shook off the feeling.

After a quick squeeze, she released his hand. “In the meantime, your wife will be in good hands here.”

Mr. Ryan stood. His old voice wavered as he spoke. “You know, I would have loved for Mary to meet you. She loved people who had a knack for kindness.”

Piper gave another warm smile. Kindness was required of her profession. People had feelings and emotions. Just because Piper had turned off her inner ones didn’t mean she couldn’t portray the person people needed her to be. “Thank you. I’m sure your wife was a wonderful woman.”

Mr. Ryan’s dark eyes crinkled with a grin. “She was.”

Piper held open the door. “Jessica will see you out.” She touched a hand on his forearm. “Take care of yourself. Let me know when you’ve made your decision. And please, call if you need anything or have any further questions.”

“Thank you.” He took the hand Jessica held out. “I will.”

After watching Jessica escort Mr. Ryan around the corner to the front hallway, Piper glanced down at her watch. The Oliver funeral was set to begin in less than an hour. She scurried out of her office and over to the viewing room. She wanted to check on the final arrangements one last time—as she always did. Before the hoard of people descended to the room. And she’d wanted to do the Olivers’ check several hours beforehand. One, because so many of them had showed up so early for the viewing the day before. And two, because she really,
really
, did not want to see Quinn. Piper had made a fool of herself the day before by not being able to the control the emotions she’d locked away. But something about Quinn’s father’s speech had touched a soft spot in her heart, a spot she’d thought she’d hardened long ago.

After the death of her mother when Piper was only nine, she had looked at people in a whole new light. And because her father had had such a difficult time dealing with the loss of his beloved wife, she had learned a hard lesson at a very young age: Get close to people, but not too close. And don’t love.
If you love, you can lose everything,
her father had told her after her mother’s death. Over the years, Piper had equated that lesson to “love was selfish”, and that’s what she lived by today.

The fact that her father had owned a funeral home only strengthened those types of thoughts. During her thirty years, Piper had seen countless people grieve and struggle with death. Old, young, and everything in between. It was a terrible thing to have to witness, and Piper knew it was even more difficult to understand and deal with firsthand. So she kept herself safe the only way she knew how. By not getting close to people. By not loving.

Piper tucked a loose hair behind her ear and smoothed a hand over her black silk jacket before stepping into the Olivers’ viewing room. To her surprise, it was empty. Making her way around the space, she made sure all the flower arrangements could be seen. She adjusted the lighting to give the space a sense of peace. Orchestral music played lightly, waiting for listening ears. The chairs, twice as many as the day before, were neatly lined up in perfect rows. Piper glanced over the edge of the coffin to be sure Mrs. Oliver looked as lovely as she had the day before. Perfect.

Stepping back, Piper took in the picture as a whole one more time. Everything looked as it should. Her eyes slid to an arrangement on the floor by the head of the casket. Frowning, she cocked her head and studied it carefully. Not that there were actually any
flowers
to look at. At her feet sat only a satin covered pot filled with dirt and stems with thorns. Not a single rose. Not a single petal. Nothing but thorns. She bent and stroked a hesitant finger over the spikes sticking out of the green twigs.

Who on earth would send a pot of prickly barbs to a funeral? And why in the world would her staff actually put in the room? It was terribly distasteful, unattractive, and borderline disrespectful. Piper grabbed the pot, intent on putting it where it belonged—the trash.

She spun and crashed right into Quinn. The pot spiraled to the floor in slow motion. Piper’s mouth hung open, knowing the spray of dirt across the plushy pile of carpet would leave a stain.

Quinn bent and snatched the pot from certain death before it smashed to the floor.

“Oh, thank God,” she muttered.

Quinn huffed as he rose. He held the pot of twigs out and examined it. Then his crystal eyes locked on her.

“Thank you.” She reached to take the pot from him. He cradled it against his chest, continuing to study her. “That would have been a terrible mess to clean up. I’ll take it now.”

“Take it where?”

“To the garbage, of course.” She tried to grab it again. He pivoted his body, twisting enough so it was out of her reach. She cocked her hip. “What are you doing?”

Humor lit his eyes. “You were going to throw this away?”

“Yes. Who wants something atrocious like that at a funeral? That’s not beautiful, it’s sad. Whoever sent it must have been trying to upset the family. I’m sorry that my staff put it on display. If you’ll…” Her hand came out once more.

“No. You can’t throw this away. Grandpa bought it specifically for Grandma.”

Piper dropped her hand. She made an effort to not show her shock. Her mouth still opened and closed like a fish. And she was pretty sure her eyebrows were several inches higher than they normally were.

Quinn’s face broke into a wide, open smile. “Something wrong?”

“No.” She bit the inside of her lip to keep her face from contorting further. “Nothing at all. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“That someone would send beheaded roses to a funeral?”

Her eyes darted to the door, wondering how quickly she could make an escape without looking stupid. Her eyes swung back to Quinn. Too late. Shrugging uncomfortably, she answered, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. That’s a little strange. And believe me, I’ve seen strange. I think that might take the cake, though. So, I’m sorry again. Please let me…” She took the pot from his hands. Their fingers brushed, and Piper swore that his eyes actually got lighter, brighter. She swallowed, turning around and putting the hideous pot back in its spot on the floor. “Everything is set for the funeral.”

He inclined his head in a small gesture of thanks, allowing a slow grin to curl only one side of his lips. Devastating. “Thank you.”

Tugging on her jacket, she sidestepped him, nodded, and dashed for the door. His hand caught her.

“To a stranger, I can see why it would look odd. Don’t you want to know what they’re for?”

She shook her head. “It’s none of my business.”

His thumb caressed the thumping pulse at her wrist. “The thorns are a gift.”

That stopped her from ripping her wrist from his warm grip and bolting out the door. Slowly, she turned. His grasp didn’t falter from her wrist. Instead, he led her to the nearest empty seat, locking her down with those impossibly light eyes. Sweet chocolate, how did a man have such a fascinating face? One that she could stare at for hours. She wouldn’t even need to speak. Only stare. And stare some more.

“What did you do the last time something good happened to you? Or for you?” he asked.

Her attention snapped from his face as his eyes traveled to the casket of his grandmother. Her mind raced, trying to think of something good that had happened to her recently. The casket wall? No, that was creepy to most people. The insurance check that paid for the new plumbing so that blood wouldn’t seep back into the basement?
Definitely no.

When she spent too much time thinking, he asked again. “When was the last time you had something to be thankful for?”

She frowned. Had it been that long since she was thankful for something? “Oh!” She lightly smacked her hand on her knee. “I got it. The new queso dip at Qdoba. It’s to die for.” She snapped her mouth shut. Her face went hot. “Sorry. That probably wasn’t the best use of words.”

He laughed richly. The sound called the hair on her arms to stand at attention. “Queso dip? That’s the best thing that happened to you recently?”

What was wrong with queso dip? It was one of her favorite foods. Along with chocolate and peanut butter. Maybe he was asking a question she truly did not have an answer for. She waved her hand absently in the air. It was then she noticed he
still
had a slight grip around one of her wrists. Was her arm tingling from lack of circulation or something else? No, his grip wasn’t that strong. It was snug, but tender. Comfortable.

“I like food,” she said after several awkward moments of silence. She politely twisted her hand from his. “Ignore me.”

His responding grin was effortless, making her wonder what was going on behind those eyes of his.

“Everyone’s different,” he responded in a light tone. One that told her he wasn’t judging her. “You see, when my grandpa and grandmother were very young—just married—they decided to have a large family.”

That explained a lot.
Piper didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and she often wondered how different her life would be if she had.

“But they lost their first child early in the pregnancy. The second was stillborn after a long labor which almost killed my grandmother.”

“That must have been heartbreaking.” She imagined the pain of losing a child would be unbearable. After all, she’d seen the earth-shattering pain etched on the face of some of her clients.

“It was.” His eyes slid to the pot on the floor. “It was Grandpa who was the most torn up over it. He’d lost two children and almost his wife. It broke him.”

Piper’s heart clenched. She’d seen the pain in her own father’s eyes when they’d lost her mother. She knew how precariously a spouse teetered on the edge of sanity after something so devastating.

“But my grandmother was a fighter. Ever the optimist. And stubborn.” He chuckled and glanced toward the ceiling. Piper assumed he was recalling some unspoken memory.

“You miss her,” she said quietly.

“I do.” He twisted to face her. Their knees brushed. “But death isn’t about missing people, Piper. Like my father said in his speech yesterday. It’s about something greater.”

She held up her hand. “Please, I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Okay. Back to the trash-can-bound pot.” He gave her a quick-witted grin. She couldn’t help but return the smile. “Grandma wouldn’t let Grandpa mope. She asked him one question and said it would be the basis for their long life together.”

“What was the question?” Piper whispered.

“She asked him what was the thing he was most thankful for.”

Piper’s eyes went wide. “What did he say?”

“Her.”

A strange warmth settled in Piper’s chest.

“Then she asked him if he had given thanks for her. He said yes. She went on to ask him about all the things that had happened—good and bad—that had brought them together. When she was done recalling their courting, she asked him how many of the bad things he’d been thankful for. Grandpa said none. ‘The bad things don’t matter. Curses to them,
’
he’d said
.
” Again Quinn’s voice gave way to a soft laugh. “That was the first—and only—time my grandmother smacked him for being an idiot.”