“I don’t see how her liking me is a bad thing. I mean, I would think that should be a requirement.”
“It’s a bad thing because I’m not going to give her even an inkling of hope to cling to that anything will happen between us.”
“Fair enough.” I can tell by the depth of her conviction that she believes every word of what she’s saying, and I’m not about to pressure the woman. “See you tomorrow,” I offer, retrieving my ballcap from my back pocket and slipping it on my head as I make for the door.
“Friends?” she calls after me.
“For now,” I say, before shooting her a wink on my way out.
With only a few days left until Thanksgiving, we’re all running around like chickens with our heads cut off, trying to get things taken care of so we might be able to share a turkey day meal together.
Bodies are being embalmed, services held, and others planned around the holiday. There’s still no guarantee we won’t be interrupted by a death, but we do what we can to have what little normalcy we’re able to manage around here. I don’t think people outside this industry realize just how demanding it is. Unfortunately, death doesn’t adhere to our schedules. We have to be ready at a moment’s notice to go out and scoop up those bodies. There’s no telling Betty she’ll just have to throw a sheet over Bill till tomorrow, ’cause we’re taking a day off. In our line of work, there’s no such thing as a day off.
“Whit?” Momma peeks her head into my office, and just from her tone, I can tell something isn’t right.
“Ma’am?”
“We got us a situation.”
God bless my mother and her flair for the dramatics. I look up from the papers I’m sorting, giving her my full attention. “Well, what is it?”
“Got a body to pick up, and Rusty just called…said he done tested positive for the flu and won’t be in all week.”
Wonderful.
“Well, I’m meeting with poor Elly Joe in an hour to make arrangements for her Gramps…I can’t go,” I say, nibbling on the end of my pen. “What about Daddy?”
Her head shakes. “He’s in the middle of an embalming.”
It’s times like these I wish we had another person on payroll, but we just can’t justify the expense of more than one apprentice. We don’t usually run into issues unless one of us falls ill—like right now. There’s no way Momma can move a body on her own. She just isn’t strong enough.
“You think, maybe…you might ask Wyatt to help out?” She flutters her lashes at me, gnawing on her thumbnail. If there was any doubt as to whether my father filled her in on our sordid past, there isn’t anymore. That’s the look of a meddlesome mother if I’ve ever seen it.
“I mean…you can ask him,” I say, looking back down at my papers, but I can still feel her looming presence.
Annoyed, I jerk my head back up. “Something else?”
“Well,” she says, plopping her butt down in the chair across from mine. God help me. “As the funeral director, making sure all the business is tended to really is your job…seeing how I’m retired and all.”
My eyes bulge. I look around at all the work sitting on my desk and throw my hands out in her direction. “You serious right now, Momma?”
“Yeah.” She sighs deeply. “I’m afraid I am.” Her right leg crosses over her left slowly and she leans back, making herself nice and comfy.
“Ugh,” I groan, shoving back from my desk. “Sure, I’ll just stop all what I’m working on to go ask the contractor to accompany you on a body removal.”
“Atta girl,” the irksome woman says, slapping her hands twice on the wooden arms of her chair. “Good luck.”
It’s an effort not to flip her off as I walk past while she’s staring at me with that mischievous smirk of hers. Always up to no good, that one. She thinks she’s playing matchmaker, and she needs to just stop and mind her own dang affairs.
The clomp of my heels seems to echo louder than usual as I make my way to the chapel. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My nerves are at an all-time high, and not for the reasons my momma’s thinking. She has no clue of his past—of just how much we’re gonna be asking of this poor man.
“Wy—” My voice gets lodged in my throat when I round the corner to find him bent over a table saw, his white tee tucked haphazardly into his back pocket and little bits of sawdust stuck to his glistening back as he guides a plank of wood through the machine. It takes me a minute to regain my senses and knock on the open door. I don’t know why I even bother. “Wyatt,” I call, but he doesn’t hear that either.
Carefully, I cross the room in my stilettos and yank the extension cord until it comes unplugged from the wall. That gets his attention.
He does a double take when he finds me standing there. I can’t blame him seeing as I rarely make my way over to this end of the building. “Too loud?” he asks, swiping the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand.
“N—no. I—can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” he answers, ripping his thick plastic goggles over his head. The little red indentation they leave around his eyes and over his nose are sickeningly adorable. “What’s up?”
I bite my lip, trying to figure out the best way to pose the question. “Dammit,” I growl. “This is hard.”
Wyatt looks down at his crotch, pointedly. “Oh, that? That’s barely a bump.”
“Ugh,” I groan, fighting back a smile. “I’m trying to be serious here!”
“Just spit it out. Whatever it is, can’t be that bad.”
I take a deep inhale and go for it. “We’re kinda in a bind and were hoping you might be willing to help?”
He gulps down half a bottle of water before nodding. “Sure.”
There’s that word again. “Ummm, you might wanna hear the rest before you agree.”
“Whitney, just ask me already.”
“Okay, so…Rusty. Remember you met him last week?” Gosh has he really only been working here less than two weeks? It seems so much longer. Sexual tension has a way of transforming minutes to hours and hours to days. Days to weeks and weeks to years, and now I’m just stalling because I’m the worst person on earth for asking this man to do this. I know it, and I’m gonna ask anyway, and that makes me the worst of the worst. Deplorable.
“What about him?” Damn, but his smile is beautiful. Shame I’m about to wipe it clean off his face.
“Well, he’s usually the one to accompany Momma on body retrievals, only he came down with the flu, and I have a meeting with a family and Daddy’s in the middle of an embalming.”
His answering laugh lacks its usual warmth. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he groans.
“So, you’ll go?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.
He takes his time, retrieving his shirt from his pocket and shaking off all the dust before pulling it over his head. “On one condition.”
“Name it,” I rush out.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He clucks his tongue. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”