Until Next Time

by Dell, Justine

  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 ok
ay. 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.”

  “No doubt. Grandpa will love it. Nice work.”

  KC rose and snatched the folder back. “Meet me Saturday at the airfield at two. We’ll do a test run, make sure everything’s copasetic. Then when we get together with the rest of the fam that night, we can tell them how amazing we are.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  KC stopped with his hand on the knob. “Didn’t you have a date last weekend with that funeral lady?”

  Quinn rose, stretched his suddenly tight neck muscles. “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, you haven’t mentioned it, and that isn’t like you.”

  “This is different.”

  KC lowered his head, his eyes narrowing. “Different?” A slow grin spread across his face. “She hasn’t called you back, has she?”

  Quinn chucked a banana at his brother.

  KC caught it. “Thanks, I was needing a snack.”

  “Bug off.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  He rubbed his eyes, willing the throbbing to go away. “She’s different, KC. I mean, death knocks on her door twenty-four/seven. It’s pretty easy to see she doesn’t get that close to people.”

  KC leaned against the doorframe, studying Quinn.

  “And I think, even though we had a great time, that she’s…I dunno…afraid of death, or getting hurt or something. I haven’t quite put my finger on it yet.”

  KC’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me, did you say the girl you’re dating—a funeral director—is afraid of death?”

  “Christ. No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “You really like her, don’t you?”

  “I barely know her.”

  KC rubbed his chin. “Sometimes that doesn’t matter.”

  Quinn dropped back into the chair. The act of standing suddenly became too difficult as he realized that in the short time he’d known Piper, he’d discovered there was something very special about her. And he had—had—to get to know her better.

  “You’re right,” he muttered. “And the fact that she hasn’t returned any of my calls is getting a little frustrating.”

  “How many calls we talking?”

  “Two. One on Monday morning and one today.”

  “Jesus, it’s Thursday, and she still hasn’t called you back?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe she’s been busy.”

  Or maybe she didn’t have as good a time on their date as Quinn had thought. No, that can’t be it. He’d seen the way her cheeks had flushed when he’d touched her. He’d watched her sharp intake of breath as he’d stood next to her at the grocery store. She felt something. Only Quinn couldn’t figure out why in the hell she was trying to hide it so bad.

  He rubbed his eyes again. Throbbing had turned into pounding. “Again, you’re probably right. Her outfit is small, but busy. And she handles all the after-hours business.”

  “All of it? God, how does she find time to sleep? Grandpa told me they had seven funerals the week we buried Grandma. How does one woman handle that?”

  Quinn kept his eyes closed. Piper really was a busy woman. And as far as he knew, she only had two other staff members. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you should find out. I’m sure that’s what’s keeping her away from you, Quinn.”

  “Yeah.” He hoped. His eyes slid open, only to find his brother staring at him expectantly. “Go, I know you have better things to do than talk to me about girls.”

  “That’s right. I can go home and snuggle up with mine.’” He held up the banana. “Can I have this?”

  “Tell Sarah I said hey. The banana’s yours. Don’t choke on it.”

  KC laughed as he slid outside. As the door clicked shut behind him, Quinn picked up his phone to call Piper. Maybe she would enjoy watching the air show. He would definitely enjoy sharing that part of his life with her. Frowning, he closed his phone and remembered she’d be busy right this moment dealing with the Mr. Butcher thing. Then again, she hadn’t returned any of his calls yet, why would this one be any different?

  Quinn realized he needed face time. And since her business was open during the day for walk-ins, well, he’d walk right in. He needed to discuss some business with her anyway. He could kill two birds with one stone.

  Chapter Eight

  Piper sat hunched over her desk, crunching numbers and paying invoices. Caskets, flowers, announcements, and every supply a person could think of for an embalming room. The business had really taken off in the last year. But with more business came more headaches. She rubbed a hand over her tense head. Grumbling, she glanced at the clock. It was noon and she’d been fiddling with funeral paperwork all morning.

  Jessica bolted into her office. Piper’s head snapped up.

  “Piper, oh my God, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go. Lenny’s school called…” A shaky hand raked through her pixie hair. “He fell on the playground, and they think…they think…he broke his arm, or leg, or God.” Her hand flew to her stomach. “Something. I think I blanked out when they said broken.”

  Piper pushed away from her desk and gave Jessica the same comforting touch on the shoulder she gave all of her clients. “Calm down. Margo came in early to help transfer a body to a casket, so I can move myself to the front for a while. I’m sure Lenny will be okay. He’s a tough kid. Go.”

  Jessica’s eyes bubbled with tears. “Okay. Okay.”

  “Are you okay to drive?”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, I think. Uh, yeah, I’m good. I’ll make it there in record time.” She spun about, rushing through the door.

  Piper called out behind her, “Be careful!”

  Jessica nodded and vanished down the hall. Piper’s breath rushed out as she eyed the mound of crap on her desk. She picked up a labeled stack and shuffled to the front reception area. Once seated, she realized very quickly that she wasn’t going to get anything done. The phone kept ringing off the hook with general inquires and a few intakes. In less than ten minutes, she’d scheduled five business meetings for the next week alone. Her email icon kept flashing wildly every time one of her vendors sent her a question, a requisition, or random request.

  Piper closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. When was the last time Jessica had left on a half-day? For the life of her, Piper couldn’t remember. And she would certainly remember having to field all of the stuff she was dealing with right now. Doing two jobs at once for only twenty minutes had her wanting to yank her hair out.

  “Uh, excuse me, miss?”

  The deep sound of a man’s voice made Piper sit at attention and plaster a friendly smile on her face. Rising, she automatically stretched out her hand. “Hello, what can I do for you?”

  The man’s
eyes widened slightly, showcasing his gray irises. He wore a gray suit, perfectly complementing his eyes. “I’m Gavin Morgan.”

  His hand slid into hers. The grip was loose, soft.

  “Morgan?” Piper’s brain went into remembrance phase. “Oh! Mr. Morgan, our new products rep?”

  He nodded, his brown wavy hair bouncing slightly. “One and the same. Good to meet you…”

  She dropped her hand and shuffled around the desk, straightening her clothes as she went. “Sorry, I’m Piper Downing, proprietor here.”

  His grin was fast and cute. “Miss Downing.”

  “No, please call me Piper.”

  “Gavin, then.” Taking a step back, he tilted his head and peered around the foyer area. His gaze stopped at the viewing room on the left and the arrangement room on the right. He whistled. “Nice place. Big, old, classic.”

  She smiled at his approving tone. “Comfortable.”

  “Exactly. I find too many funeral homes nowadays have settled for the stark arrangement rooms and sterile viewing areas that can be twisted into a million different themes if needed. The floral patterns here, the dark wood, and the subdued lighting—this feels like a home. Even the casket wall in your arrangement room is done in such a way that it’s not jarring. You angled them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” Heat swam in her cheeks from the compliment. “The standard layout looked too formal and off-putting to me. If I had lost a loved one, I wouldn’t want to see huge chunks of twelve casket designs. So instead…” She stepped across the sprawling foyer into the arrangement room. He followed. “We had them put in the corners only, and all of them are gathered in sort of geometrical angle, so it looks more like art instead of caskets.” She cast a glance at Gavin, who was admiring the wall.

  “I’ve never seen it done like this. And you’ve even color coordinated them, light to dark, so it looks like the wall is changing color. This setting is the first I’ve seen.”

  “Thank you. We aim for intimacy during the difficult times. For the living, it’s personal, and the place they pick should have a personal touch. I like to think we do.”