Until Next Time

by Dell, Justine

  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.”

  “Why? I don’t like saying a blessing for my problems, either.” That was the dumbest thing Piper had ever heard.

  Quinn cocked his head, and his eyes went soft. “What do you think brought them together?”

  “Themselves. Their liking of each other. Isn’t that how all people get together? They share an attraction?”

  His eyes closed. “Not exactly. People share an attraction, yes. But you see, my grandmother would have never had met my grandpa had it not been for a fire that destroyed her home.”

  “Was your grandpa a firefighter?”

  “No. He was merely a young man, in the right place at the wrong time. He’d just joined the Air Force and was walking home from celebrating with his friends. He’d been originally accused of setting fire to the house that night, after passing out on her back stoop.”

  Piper’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness.”

  “But it all worked out, you see. Bad things happen, but buried deep in those bad things, good things arise, showing the true colors of what is supposed to happen. You have to fight for what you want. Their struggles were a part of that. And without those hard and dark times, they wouldn�
��t have found each other.”

  “That sounds like a Hallmark card.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I guess it sort of does. Believe it or not, Piper, sometimes life is as simple—as happy—as one of those cards.”

  She twisted her hands in her lap. “That’s a nice thought, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “Okay, we’ll agree to disagree on that point for now. The point is they wouldn’t have been blessed if not for the thorns. You have to earn the things you’re given in this life. The thorns are what you have to overcome to get to the roses. So Grandma taught him to be thankful for the thorns, too. She made him see that the struggles—how they met, the lost lives of their babies—were only more thorns. And after those thorns, there would be something worth having fought for.”

  Piper’s throat constricted. “That was beautiful.”

  “They’ve given each other thorns every year on their anniversary. To remember to appreciate the good and the hard times. Because without one, you can’t have the other.”

  When had she gotten so close to him she could feel his breath on her face? See the little specks of gold floating in his eyes? Smell the devastating scent of his aftershave? Piper jerked back in her seat.

  Her reaction seemed to amuse him, as another trickle of laughter escaped his kissable lips.

  Piper jumped to her feet. Quinn followed.

  “The service will be starting soon,” she mumbled as she smoothed out her jacket and nodded at Quinn. My, he was tall. And lean, looking slim yet fit in his well-fitting gray suit. And from the story she’d heard, no matter how much she didn’t believe it, she’d bet her life’s fortune that he was as sweet as his grandparents. Caring. Loving.

  “I’ll let you get back to your…ah…” Piper looked around, hoping for a random family member of Quinn’s to save her. “Waiting for the service to start, I guess. Thank you for telling me that story, Quinn.” She turned and glanced over her shoulder. “It was lovely.”