wasn’t all that bad. You’re a good dancer.”
His mouth tipped up a tiny bit. “Thanks. So are you. But that business with Kira…shit. That was fucked. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t help it she’s a stupid cunt,” I told him, and Jack looked shocked for one second before he burst into laughter.
“Can I give you some advice?” I asked, watching him laugh.
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Do you plan on doing this a lot?”
He didn’t ask me what I meant by “this.” “Um…well, yeah.”
“And you want to be good at it, right?”
“Yes. For sure.”
I studied him another moment. “First of all, don’t make appointments where you can’t smoke.”
Surprise swirled around his mouth and eyes. “No?”
“No. Watching you suck on that butt was like watching a baby going for its bottle.”
He laughed, chagrined. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t make dates where you’re going to feel like you can’t be yourself. Because I have to tell you, Jack, that’s what’s going to work for you. Not trying to be someone else.”
He nodded, slowly, and gave me an assessing glance. “I sucked that bad, huh?”
“No. Not really. But…” I thought of how to get my point across. “Okay, think of it this way. What am I paying you for?”
“My time and company,” he answered promptly as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it.
At least he got that right. “Exactly. But you have to act like these are real dates, Jack. You have to do your homework. Read the information Mrs. Smith sends you, and pay attention. Be a little more confident. Don’t make it so much like you’re waiting for permission to show me a good time. Just go for it.”
“What if I’m guessing wrong?”
“If you’re doing everything else right,” I said, “you won’t be.”
He sighed. “Great.”
I laughed and reached forward to push the hair out of his face. “And don’t go on dates where you’re likely to run into psycho barsluts.”
“Well, that limits me.”
We laughed together. I looked into my car but didn’t slide behind the wheel. He moved toward me, one arm sliding around my waist to hold me against his body.
“Is this what you’re talking about?”
Against his dark brows, his eyes looked very blue. Not a hint of green anywhere. His hair had stayed off his face this time.
“Yes.”
He inched me closer. “So…are we saying good-night?”
“Yes, Jack.” I tempered it with a smile.
He didn’t let me go. His fingers splayed on my hip. “Is it because of the way things went tonight?”
I shook my head and answered honestly. “No.”
“The cigarettes?”
“Oh. No.” I meant that, too.
Jack paused, his eyes searching my face but finding what, I didn’t know. “Do you think you might call me again?”
“Sure.” I might. Or might not.
“Great!”
Then he let me go and stepped back to let me get in the car. The world shook a little and my body with it, because he gave me that smile again, that bright and shiny brilliant smile that made me want to dip him in butter and gobble him up.
He sauntered away and I watched him go, and I realized something. That smile had almost made me forget Sam the stranger.
I would definitely be calling Jack again.
Chapter 04
I didn’t have time to think of smiles or strangers for a few days. I had services to oversee and families to soothe. I know many people think what I do is morbid. Maybe even creepy. Few understand the purpose of a funeral director is not to take care of the dead, though that’s a part of it. My job is to care for those whose lives stutter in the face of their grief. To make the horrible task of saying goodbye as easy as it can never be.
I appreciated Jared more than ever as the week began with three funerals on the same day. My dad and uncle had always had assistants, but when I took over, the business had initially dipped and I’d had to let them go. I’d turned it around quickly enough, largely in part by doing most everything by myself. Running the home wasn’t impossible to do on my own, but it was pretty damn difficult. Having Jared there to help me organize and arrange services was a luxury I hadn’t wanted to get used to.
When a person dies in a hospital or nursing home, there are staff and gurneys available to make the transferal easy, but when a body needs to be picked up at a private residence, I never go alone. Most people don’t die conveniently by the nearest exit, and it can be too difficult to lift or transport a corpse down flights of stairs by myself.
We got a death call early Tuesday morning. The woman, in her early thirties, had died at home but had been taken to the hospital. Her husband would be coming in to make the arrangements with me while Jared went to pick up the body.
It’s easier with some than others. When the deceased passes after a long illness, or at an advanced age, for example. When it’s not a surprise.
“It was such a shock.” The man in the chair in front of me cradled an infant against his chest. He wasn’t weeping, but he looked as if he had been. A little girl played quietly at his feet with the set of blocks I kept for kids. “Nobody knew this was coming.”
“I’m sorry,” I told him, and waited.
I’ve heard horror stories about families being pressured into buying the best caskets and vaults, or being forced to make decisions hastily. Some other funeral homes operated like revolving doors, shuffling people in and out as fast as possible. Mr. Davis deserved my time, though, and he could have as much of it as he needed.
“She hated that van,” he said. The baby against him peeped and he shifted it. A boy. I could tell by the baseball bat on his outfit. “Why would she want to die in it?”
It wasn’t a question that needed an answer, but he looked at me like he thought I should have one. I tried hard not to gaze at the little girl on the floor, or the baby in his arms. I tried hard to just look at his face. “I don’t know, Mr. Davis.”
Mr. Davis glanced down at his children, then back up to me. “I don’t know,
