Until Next Time

by Dell, Justine

  “Everyone’s entitled to a bad day. I’ve had my share of them. It’s hard to not have a bad day in this line of work.”

  His solemn stone made Piper take a step back. Why did everything Gavin say have to make such a poignant point to her?

  “The storage area?” she mumbled. “Shall I show you?”

  He took her by the elbow and led her back to the area they’d just come from.

  “Here.” She fumbled with a key she snatched from the doorway. Surprisingly, the padlock opened without a fight, and the large steel door slid to the left, showcasing a walk-in type closet stacked with old boxes, cans of God-knows-what, and ancient embalming equipment.

  Gavin eyed her. “When’s the last time you inventoried this place?”

  She shrugged. “Never.” Stepping in, she ran a hand over the boxes to the left. “Everything over here is from before Dad passed away.” She lifted her hand, blew off the dust accumulated on her fingertips. “Obviously.” Twisting, she eyed the newer boxes and can on the right. “This is the stuff I’ve ordered and never used. It took me a while to realize I didn’t need everything the old rep said I needed.”

  Gavin’s laugh was full of humor. “So then, where should we start? Do you even want to inventory it? I mean, even some of the new stuff looks old.”

  She twisted a clutch of her dress in her fingers. “I’d rather go through it, if that’s all right with you.”

  His expression was expectant. “I thought you’d say that. You’re pretty attached to the old stuff, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes flicked to the right, where the stuff she’d bought sat. “Uh, yeah. A little. Let’s go through this stuff first.” She hauled a box down to the floor and sent dust flying.

  Gavin coughed.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She looked down at her now dirty dress. “I probably should have worn old jeans or something.”

  He smiled easily. “You look fine, and the dust will wash off.”

  “Are you an expert in linen and laundry?”

  Another laugh, this time with a hint of something Piper couldn’t sense. “I’m an expert in many things, Piper.”

  Piper shuffled backwards, quickly yanking another box off the shelf and dropping it at his feet. “You do this one,” she said quickly.

  Together they worked in tandem, throwing away pretty much everything they came across. Thankfully Gavin remained quiet most of the time unless he had a question about a product. An hour later, they had all the boxes Piper had ordered shifted through, thrown away, and reorganized.

  Piper jumped up from her squatted position on the floor. “Whew.” She brushed her hands over her now really dusty dress. “I think I’ll need another shower after this.”

  “Do you have plans tonight?” he asked, totally out of the blue.

  “Uh, yes, actually I do.”

  “That’s too bad.” He gazed at the boxes on the left. “Shall we tackle the next stack?”

  “If you insist.”

  A wolfish grin lit his face. “Oh, I insist. You can’t move forward until you get rid of all that’s holding you back, Piper.”

  Her stomach tightened.

  “You look like I ran over your cat, Piper.” He stepped closer, studying her. “Do you want to go through the more personal things one box at a time? Together?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t make you throw out anything you can’t live without.” Again he took another step, this time bringing his hand up to sweep back the hair that had fallen from her bun.

  It reminded her of Quinn sweeping a hair of her face during their date. She shivered from the memory.

  “I can see that your father’s old stuff is important to you,” he added, dropping his hand to her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Promise me this, though…you will throw out anything expired?”

  “Of course.” She skittered back, unsure of the tingle erupting at the base of her neck. Was it because she was thinking of Quinn? Or because Gavin was so close?

  As if sensing Piper’s unease, Gavin eased back and hauled down the first box and unceremoniously ripped open the lid. Age old sealers and waxes were stacked to the top.

  He looked up at her. “Toss?”

  “Sure.”

  The next box came down, full of putties and gels and powders. Piper quickly agreed to toss it, too.

  Box after box they did this, saving only a few of her father’s old tools she hadn’t seen in a while. Surprisingly she found that she was able to throw away the old products with only a slight discomfort twisting her belly. It was nice to be surrounded by his old things. Even if they were outdated things. He had touched them, used them, and shown her how to do her job with them. She had practically grown up in this place, bouncing about and watching with wide eyes as her father taught her the ropes. She’d seen each of the tools and supplies used in their glory days. She’d watched her father’s agile hands prepare a body as if it were a loved one of his own.

  There were memories in each of these boxes, and while Gavin didn’t know the story behind them, Piper could tell that he was being extra sensitive with her when it came time to ask what should be kept and what should be thrown away. She appreciated that. He was kind, and she had a feeling that he understood death in the same way she did, which, for some reason, made her that much more comfortably around him.

  “This is the last one.” Gavin scooted a final box from the far back of the shelf. It was different than the others, and Piper didn’t recall seeing it before. Instead of haphazardly being folded shut and crammed in the tight place, this one was neatly taped with writing on the side.

  Piper ushered Gavin forward. “Bring it here. I can’t read what it says.”

  He used a cloth from a roll on the wall and dusted it quickly before sitting it on the floor in front of her.

  “It’s says ‘Piper’,” she said, suddenly losing her breath.

  Bending one on knee, he pulled a folding knife from his back pocket and sliced through the old, brown tape. When the box flipped open, Piper fell to her knees.

  Gavin said nothing as Piper picked up the gray bunny with flattened fur from the top of the box. She clutched it to her chest, memories of story time with her parents flooding her. Mr. Hoppers had always been with her, sitting on her lap, reading along with Mom and Dad. She’d thought he’d been lost when she was ten. Tears bubbled to the surface, but she bit them back.

  Still holding Mr. Hoppers in one hand, Piper shakily picked up a clear plastic person, the kind that had organs and veins like in real anatomy. Mr. Visible Man had been a gift for her tenth birthday. As she’d aged, she’d grown more and more curious as to the human body, and more importantly, what happened to it once a person passed away. Dad had given her this as gift, to show her what happened when someone died, and to show Piper what he did in the basement all day. A year after getting this plastic person, Piper had finally been allowed to go into the bowels of the funeral home and see for herself. Some people might have found that morbid, a child so interested in death, but Piper was different. This was going to be her business, she’d known that from a very young age, and she hadn’t been scared of death, she’d been intrigued by it. The inner workings of the home and the care that went into the dead, and those still living. She’d embraced it.

  That was until…

  “Piper?” Gavin touched her shoulder, shocking her back to the now. “What is this stuff?”

  The tears were back, and this time Piper couldn’t stop them. They crested over her eyes and flooded down her cheeks. “It’s my stuff,” she mumbled. “Dad kept my stuff…”

  “Maybe your dad wanted to keep a box of stuff of yours close to him, like you did for him.” Gavin’s words were a dim echo inside her head as she tossed Mr. Visible Man and Mr. Hoppers to the side and dug in the box with both hands.

  With tears streaking her vision, she pulled out her very first “embalming kit” her father had bou
ght her at sixteen, a notebook where she’d journaled everything she’d learned while watching her father, a few college pamphlets, pictures of her and Dad working side by side when she’d finally turned eighteen. Her mother had been dead for nine years at that time. Piper had still been so angry about it, her mother getting ripped from her life at such a young age, yet as she gazed at her dad in some of the pictures, she saw how much she’d relied on him in her mom’s absence. She’d needed him.

  She stopped, jumped up, and kicked the now half-empty box across the room.

  Her sobs came faster, nearly choking her. He’d left her. Dad had left her, just like her mom. Just like Steven had. Like every person did. They died. People died. They grew up, created loving families, only to make those families suffer when they passed away. Death was inevitable…the pain was not.

  She gripped at her heart, not wanting to remember those good times. Not wanting to remember how selfish her parents had been for loving her endlessly, only to then die on her.

  “Piper.” Gavin had his hands around her shoulders, shaking her. “Piper!”

  Piper shook her head violently, swiping away the tears as best she could. “Throw that box out.”

  Gavin’s grip loosened, his eyes combed her face. “I don’t think you should do that.”

  “Throw it out!”

  She twisted away from him and stomped up the stairs. She ignored his calls as she bounded up the steps, her dress swishing from her speed. She slammed the stair door behind her and rushed through the foyer, to the other set of stairs that led up to her apartment. She bolted inside and threw herself down on her couch, still sobbing.

  Flopping over, she gazed out the window and up to the blue sky. The sky was beautiful, untouchable. Her parents had told her long ago that everyone met their loved ones again in the vast space called heaven. It was a happy place, a cherished place that people dreamed about in death. The place where people didn’t hurt or suffer. The place where you could wrap your arms around those you love and keep them there…forever.

  It was a lie.

  Piper blinked, shedding more moisture from her now reddened eyes.

  “Can you see me?” she whispered. “Can you see what you did to me?”

  And with that thought, Piper allowed her eyes to close, and she drifted off.

  <<<<>>>>>

  A constant tapping on her door roused Piper from her slumber. She lumbered up and hobbled to the door, a little shaky on her feet. She cracked the door.

  Gavin stood on the other side, his expression laced with concern. “Piper? Are you all right?”

  She rubbed over her face. “Yes, thank you. How long have you been here?”

  “About an hour. I took all the boxes out to the dumpster and swept and cleaned up the storage room for you.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Because you looked like you weren’t up for it.”

  She slid the door open a smidge further. “Thank you.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Uh, oh, sure.” She swung the door open all the way, waving him inside. He crossed the threshold hesitantly, glancing around at her bold colors and furnishing.

  Then he whistled a low sound. “You are such a surprise, Piper Downing.”

  She shuffled away from the door and made a beeline for the kitchen. Dragging a cup from the cabinet—make that two—she flicked on the coffee pot. “You don’t even know me, Gavin.”

  His footsteps echoed behind her, and the shuffling of a chair announced he was sitting. What did he want, anyway?

  “That’s true,” he murmured. “But I think you and I have a great deal in common.”

  She rolled her eyes. They were in the business of death; of course they had a lot in common. “It’s pretty easy to see why, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled lightly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She poured two cups of coffee, not bothering to ask if Gavin liked his black. She didn’t have cream or sugar anyway. Handing him a steaming cup, she sat opposite him at the table.

  “I’m fine, really,” she said. “You didn’t have to come and check up on me.”

  He drew the cup away from his lips. “I don’t mind.” Again, he glanced around the space, taking in surroundings with sort of a wonder. “Did you know that most people who own a funeral home have the same decorating taste at home?”

  Piper frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I’m a supplier. I’ve been to a lot of people’s homes.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She took a swig of coffee, not minding the burn down her throat.

  “Your home, though…I wasn’t expecting it to be so alive.”

  “Alive?”

  “Yes, alive. You surround yourself with death every day, yet when you come home, you do so to a home that bursting with life. You’ve got plants all along your far window sill, a colorful fish tank in the corner, and not to mention the choice of colors on all your walls.”

  She shrugged. “I like to decorate. So?”

  “I think it’s more than that.” He considered something for a moment over another slow drink of coffee, and then he spoke again. “My house is the same way. It’s the way I escape from all that I see during the day. From all the talk of death, embalming, needles, waxes, blah, blah, blah.” He eyed her cabinets. “My kitchen is this exact shade of red, Piper.”

  Her brow furrowed. “No way.”

  He did a mock crossing of his heart. “I swear it.”

  She allowed herself a laugh. “So maybe you’re right. It still doesn’t change the way I feel inside.”

  “I don’t know what you feel inside. I imagine, after what I saw today, that whatever it is, it’s quite discomforting to you.”

  Her head dipped. “I’m sorry. I’m normally better at holding my stuff together. And to let another professional see that? Cheese and crackers, what a mess.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You couldn’t help it, and I could tell you weren’t expecting to find anything like that down there.”

  “Yes.” Her voice drifted off.

  “Listen, Piper, I get it. If anyone on this earth gets it, I do.”

  Her eyes lifted up to meet his. His voice was so sincere, his face ridiculously genuine.

  “Everyone has a story about death, though most people fill it with abundances of cheeriness and talk about love and heaven. They might really believe all that, and then again, they might only be saying it to get through difficult times. But you and me, Piper, we know what death does to the living. We know what it feels like to be left behind.”

  Piper gripped her coffee mug. “You’ve lost people important to you, haven’t you?”

  His eyes sobered. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  He cocked his head. “I don’t think I need to. I think you already know how it feels, how I feel. And the reason I’m still here, right now, is because I saw that same thing in you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Oh.”

  His cup clanked on the table as he reached across for her hand. She flinched, but allowed his hands to curl over hers, which were still clenched around her cup.

  “It’s not very often that you meet someone who’s gone through the same things you have,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on hers. “And it’s even rarer to meet someone who feels the same away about death as you do.”

  She forced words out of her mouth. “You don’t know how I feel about death.”

  “Oh, I don’t?” He released her hands and leaned back comfortably in his seat. “Would it be fair to say that you think people who die are selfish?”

  A lump formed in her throat.

  “That’s what I thought. And I imagine that you don’t get very close to people, do you?”

  She still couldn’t speak.

  “I’m the exact same way, Piper. We were born into a life of death, therefore we don’t really know how to live. We don’t get close to people, and for God’s sake, we don’t love anyone. We go on, doing
what we do, because it’s the only thing we know how to do.”

  His words slammed around inside her head. He was so right. So terribly right.

  He leaned toward her again, but kept his hands to himself. “Now forgive me for being so blunt here, but I think, with two people who have so much in common—two people who expect nothing from each other, love especially—should have a chance of dating.”

  She jerked back in her seat. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. Sure, she found Gavin interesting, attractive, and more importantly, in-tune with the whole death and destruction thing. He understood her life, their lives. How she was different. And probably what she needed. But what about Quinn? In true Piper fashion, she pulled her thoughts together and gave him the perfect funeral home director smile. “You’re right, you know. Two people, no love, no strings.” No heartache upon death. No room for selfishness.

  “Exactly.” A slow grin split his face. “What do you say?”

  She rose, and he followed. “Would you, uh, mind if I thought about it? I mean, in all fairness I have to tell you that I went on a date two Fridays ago with this guy, and I’m not really sure if we’re officially dating.”

  Gavin nodded. “I appreciate the heads-up. Do you mind if I ask what this man is like?”

  Heat rushed to Piper’s cheeks. “He’s a lot different than us, that’s for sure.”

  “So then maybe my chances are better than I think?”

  “I’m not sure, really. He’s…different.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Oh. Well, then it is what it is.” She shuffled around the table, picking up both mugs and dumping them into the kitchen sink.

  “I’ll let you get back to work, then,” Gavin said.

  She turned to him. “Thank you, Gavin. I really mean that. There aren’t many people I can talk to who really understand the bones of what I do.”

  “Anytime.” He grinned and walked to the door. “Thanks for the coffee, and let me know about my offer.”

  Piper shook her suddenly throbbing head and gave him a smile. “I will.”

  Chapter Eleven