Until Next Time (9 page)

Piper’s throat felt suddenly constricted.

“I…uh, hope that’s okay.”

Jessica’s young baby blues were staring right at Piper. She waved the comment off. “Oh, sure, no problem. The date wasn’t that big of a deal anyway.”

“Oh, good. Okay. Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good night, Jessica.”

Piper flipped through the messages until she found Quinn’s. He wanted to discuss the VA foundation thing he was doing for Mr. Ryan. Hmm…hadn’t they already covered that? The paperwork was done, and the funeral for Mr. Ryan’s wife was the next day.

Not worrying about it, she bid her goodnights to Margo and bustled out the door.

The thick evening air gave her slight pause as she stepped of the porch and made her way to her car. She would be thankful when fall arrived. Even though Wisconsin was far north, it still had smoldering summers.

With calculated efficiency, Piper stopped at the flower shop to order a duplicate casket arrangement for the Mastersons. She could have done it over the phone, but she was going to be out anyway. While there, she double-checked her impending orders for funerals over the next few days. She stopped at the post office to pick up the new office stationery and condolence cards. Next was the hardware store. Piper had to order some new sculpting tools, which oddly were no more than random mechanic tools. Sure, there were expensive
official
sculpting tools for preparing a body, reconstructing a face, applying makeup, etc., but her father had taught her the importance of not going overboard. It was the very reason she had a nice nest egg tucked away.

Once at Butcher’s Market, she rolled her cart through the aisles quickly, tossing in pasta and finger foods, things that were easy to fix and eat later. After snagging her essential peanut butter and chocolate bars, she made a beeline for the checkout. Her cart slammed into another as she dashed out of aisle ten.

“Whoa!” Quinn’s voice rolled through the air. “Look like someone’s in a hurry.”

Piper shook off the alarm and straightened her jacket. “Oh, squished peas, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

His grin was fast and devastating. “You squished your peas? That’s a shame.”

She felt her face grow red. “No. Of course not.”

Those impossibly light eyes searched Piper’s face. “Should we ask Mr. Butcher to post speed limits signs?” he said, humor lighting his features. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you crushed my eggs on impact.” To prove his point, Quinn hoisted a crate of eggs up and popped open the lid. Sure enough, two eggs on the corner were cracked along the sides and spilling out clear liquid. He shot Piper a wide grin.

She wanted to hide behind the huge stack of toilet paper to her right. “Holy smoly. Sorry. I didn’t mean to plow you over. I’m sorry.”

“You already said ‘sorry’ once.” His eyes twinkled. Three times, actually.”

“I know. I was in a hurry.”

“Seems that way.” He dislodged his cart from hers and swung around beside her. “Are you always in a hurry, Ms. Downing?”

Her bottom lip curled. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Oh! Piper!” Mr. Butcher ran through the front checkouts, straight toward them. His belly bounced with each thunderous step. “I’m so glad I found you here.”

Piper scrunched her face before putting on a smile. “Well, you got me. What can I do for you, Mr. Butcher?”

He was out of breath by the time he came up next to her, and his face was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. He took a few moments to catch his breath.

“Mr. Butcher? Are you okay?” she asked, very aware that while he was a little overweight and on the older side, a run from the front office to the checkouts should not have been that laboring.

“No. No, I’ve been trying to call you for the last five minutes.”

Piper’s hand flew to her cell phone. Jerking it out, she realized she had no missed calls, but she also had no signal. “Oh, dear.” Her face went hot. “It’s the store. All the steel beams and stuff screw up my service. I’m so sorry.” She cast a glance at Quinn. “See? I was in a hurry for a reason.”

He nodded, studying her. She focused back on Mr. Butcher. “Now, what did you need?”

“It’s my brother. His wife called. There was an accident at the lake. I was getting ready to leave the store as I was trying to call when I spotted you, thank God. I don’t know what do. My sister-in-law wants to have Chuck brought back here, and God, they live two hundred miles away. I haven’t called anyone. I don’t—”

Piper laid a hand on his shaking arm. “Mr. Butcher,” she said softly, “did your sister give you the number to the hospital or other facility that has Chuck?”

He nodded, tears swimming in his darkened blue eyes. She pulled out a pen and small notebook. “Give me the number, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll call you when Chuck comes in. In the meantime, you can stop by the funeral home anytime, and we can discuss everything.” She plucked a sentiment card from her wallet and handed it to him.

Mr. Butcher glanced at it. The corner of his lip twitched. “Thank, Piper. I don’t what I would have done…”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Butcher. We’ll take good care of you, and of Chuck. I’m sorry for your loss. Call me if you need to talk.”

Mr. Butcher huffed and loped away, his head hanging low. Piper jammed her phone and notebook back into her purse.

Glancing again at Quinn, she said, “Gotta run—”

“Work calls,” he answered for her.

“Exactly.”

She went to push her cart to the checkout. His hand shot out. “Wait, what was on that card you gave him?”

“An inspirational quote. I like to use them when in a public place, or when the living seemed to be barely holding on or in shock. Like Mr. Butcher, I could tell that the news hasn’t really set in yet. The card puts it all into perspective for him, for however briefly, so he can keep going.”

His brow rose. “Do they all say the same thing?”

“No. There are twenty different versions.”

“What did his say?”

Piper inched her cart forward. “My, aren’t you full of questions?”

He shrugged, allowing her to move closer to the checkout, but staying close. “Just curious. Your job fascinates me.”

“That sounds morbid, Quinn.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant—”

“Don’t worry about it.” She plunked her items down on the conveyor belt.

Quinn pulled items from her cart and helped. “So what did it say?”

“God’s fingers touched him, and so he slept.”

“Why did you pick that one?”

Piper lifted a shoulder as she paid the cashier. “Mr. Butcher is a religious man. He would understand the philosophy of his brother’s death being God’s way of calling him back home.”

“The cards depend on the person, then?”

“Something like that.”

Quinn laced his finger around hers. “You know, Piper, I’ve seen you working a few times now and I highly doubt you know what a big impact you make on people.” A slow grin spread across his face. “I thought you should know that.” His hand fell away. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Uh…thanks.” She ran a hand over her pinned back hair.

“Oh, Piper?” he said as she threw her bags into her cart and readied to take off.

Knowing she’d regret it, she stopped. But only because something in the sound of his voice vibrated along her skin. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favor? Call me back. Please.”

And there it was again, that light-catching, breathtaking smile. She pursed her lips as she spun away from him as fast as she could.

<<<<>>>>>

Quinn watched Piper walk away, felt the slow burn in the pit of his stomach fade as her silhouette did. God, if the woman wasn’t fascinating. Complicated and fascinating. And he wanted nothing more than for her to call him back. He paid for his stash of food and headed home. He found KC lounging on his front porch.

“Forget your key?” Quinn dug his out and jammed it in the lock of the hundred-year-old door.

“Nope.” KC hauled himself to his feet, tapping away at his phone. “Del has my keys because he has my car.”

“You let
Del
borrow your car?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” He took the bag clenched in Quinn’s hand as Quinn struggled with the front door. “Del’s broke down this morning, and he had some important meeting up at the Fighter Wing. Sarah’s doing some sort of volunteer gig this afternoon for the hospital, so she’s got the other car.”

With a final kick, the rickety door swung open.

“You should really get that fixed,” KC commented.

Quinn hurried in, grateful that the a/c still worked in the old place. “It’s got character. I like character.”

“It’s falling apart at the seams.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Quinn reminded him as he led the way down a super-short hallway to the kitchen.

KC dropped the bag on the retro red peeling countertop. “Then why don’t you fix it? It’s not like you don’t have the means.”

Shrugging, Quinn put away the groceries. “Time.” Not to mention that every corner, and every blemish in the place had a memory. This was his grandpa’s old home, after all.

“Ah.” KC snatched a beer from the fridge and plopped down in a chair surrounding a fifties style table. The old plastic seat creaked as he sat. “Man’s worst friend.”

Quinn cracked open a beer of his own. “I took some time off this fall to help Grandpa with some of the foundation stuff. Maybe I’ll have time to spruce up then.” He would be up for maybe a coat of paint here, fixing a broken door there. But he wouldn’t change the structure.

“Oh yes, Grandpa’s idea to broaden the scope of the foundation. How’s that going?”

Quinn took a long drink, considered. “Not sure. He hasn’t filled me in on all the details yet. What we’ve got going so far is working out well here. We’ve only officially helped one person so far, though. Someone from Piper’s funeral home. The idea is to get more word out. A lot of people don’t know what we can offer now. And the more people who know, the more can be helped.”

“Oh, I know,” KC griped as he dashed off another message on his phone. “Grandpa has me crunching the numbers.”

Quinn laughed. “He’ll have you doing more than that if you let him.”

“Let’s say I should be on the payroll.”

“Shouldn’t we all?”

At that, KC chuckled. “Sarah made the mistake of offering her help, too.”

“The whole family is wrapped up in this like a tight little knot.”

“Not that we mind.”

“No.” Quinn folded himself in a seat beside KC’s. “What’s Del doing back up at the base? I didn’t think he had to go back for a few weeks yet.”

“He didn’t, technically.” KC arched a knowing brow.

Quinn leaned back, took another swig of beer. “What’d he do this time?”

“Won’t say.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“With Del, is it ever good?”

“Got me there. Does Dad know?”

“Not that I’ve heard. And you know we would’ve heard.”

“True. He’s got, what, six years left before he can retire?”

“Well, his current service is up in two. I’m betting he doesn’t sign up for the last four.”

“After fourteen years in the service, you’d think he’d grow up a little and stop getting in trouble.” Quinn rose and tossed his empty can in the recycle bin by the back door.

“Not my problem,” KC muttered as he tapped yet another message out on his phone. “I did my full-time eight and then got a real job. Christ, with Del, I’m not sure he could handle a real job. If anything, he should probably stay in the reserves when he’s done, like the rest of us.” KC set his phone down carefully and gazed at Quinn. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Quinn waved him off. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault I couldn’t stay in the Air Force or join the reserves.”

“Sorry. Christ. Sorry. Dad is driving me up the damn wall today. He won’t leave me alone about the details for the memorial flight.”

“Logistics is your thing. Glad to say it’s not me.” An easy smile crossed his face.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. To go over the details. It’s this Sunday, remember?”

Quinn plopped back down. “Yes, I remember.”

“Oh, I left the folder on the porch. Be right back.” KC ran out and jogged back a few seconds later. A manila folder landed in the middle of the faded glossy table. “We’ve done this bit before, but since Del is MIA, we’ll have to tweak it.”

Opening the folder, Quinn studied the schematics of the air show. “So Chandelle, Cuban eight, erect spin, outside loops,
blah, blah, the norm. Got it. But, Dad wanted something big, special for Grandpa.”

“Got it covered.” KC reached over, flipped the pages over to showcase the last one.

Quinn read the page, squinted, and read it again. “A dogfight double tailslide dive?” He clucked his tongue. “I like it.”

“Thought you would.” KC gave him a confident grin. “With the white and red smoke intertwining during the last bit, I think it makes a statement.”