I’m too stunned by the kiss to say anything as we head inside. My mind is a whirl—I haven’t seen Derek for over twenty years, and suddenly we’re like that again? Am I the only one who feels as if no time has passed between us? Does he expect to pick up our friendship—our relationship—right where we left it all those years ago?
More importantly, am I willing to let him do that? Do I even want to?
I don’t know, I just don’t, and I don’t have time to think about it now, so I keep my mouth shut.
Once we step into the lobby of Eckert’s, I take a deep breath to compose myself. I’m at work, so regardless of whatever it is I’m feeling, I need to set my thoughts and emotions aside for the next eight hours or so. Which I can do—I’ve gotten quite adept at it through the years. Grieving families want empathy and competence from their funeral directors; they don’t want to gossip with me. So I imagine shoving everything in me into a closet and slamming the door shut. I’ll open it up again later, when I’m home and Riley’s down for the night. Then I’ll have a chance to examine exactly how Derek makes me feel. This isn’t the time or place.
Molly isn’t at the reception desk when we pass by, and I almost think we might make it to my office without her noticing, but then she steps out of the break room with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand. She’s blowing on the hot java and glances up at me, then does a double-take when she sees Derek.
Lowering her mug, she widens her eyes. “My word, Derek Duran,” she says with a slow smile. “Look at you, all grown up.”
Derek ducks his head and scuffs his sneaker on the carpet, suddenly ten years old again. “Mrs. Miller, hey.”
“It’s Hunter now,” she corrects him. “Cancer took my Johnny what, eight years ago now?” She looks at me as if seeking confirmation. Like I keep a running tally of all the people I’ve buried.
Derek’s reply is automatic. “I’m sorry.”
With a wave of her hand, Molly says, “Oh, don’t be. In the end it was a blessing, really. What are you doing back in town?”
I cough into my hand, embarrassed. “Molly, his mother just passed away, remember?”
“Right, right! Silly me.” She sips at her hot coffee and winces. “I was so sorry to hear about that. So sudden, too. Delores was a wonderful woman. Great with Riley.”
Derek frowns and gives me a sideways look, as if he doesn’t know what Molly’s talking about. Truth is, he probably doesn’t. “Who?”
Taking a seat at her desk, Molly mirrors his frown. “Why, Jamie’s little girl, of course.”
Now he looks at me full on, his brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’ll explain later,” I tell him. To Molly, I say, “We’re going to review Mrs. Duran’s final arrangements, so if you could hold my calls—”
“Oh, sure.” But Molly isn’t quite done chatting yet. “You know, I looked up that song of yours online, Derek. I had no clue you’d become such a big name rock star, but then again, I listen to country, so that sort of music you do isn’t really my thing.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m a big name…” Derek’s hand drifts to the small of my back, and he gives me a subtle push in the direction of my office. “We really should get moving on my mother’s stuff. It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. M—Mrs. Hunter.”
She doesn’t see the hand on my back, and doesn’t realize he’s trying to end the conversation. “Call me Molly, dear. I have to say, I don’t really understand the appeal of all that loud music, but if it’s what you like, to each his own.”
We could be here all day if I don’t step in. Derek obviously doesn’t want to talk about his career with her, and I don’t blame him. He’s here for his mother, nothing else. Not even me, I remind myself.
Taking a deep breath, I clap my hands together. “Right, okay. I hate to cut things short, but I have other appointments—”
“Right, right, sorry.” Molly makes a shooing gesture with the hand not holding the coffee mug. “Go on, I’m holding you up. Take care, Derek.”
“You, too, Mrs.—I mean, Molly.”
Her smile follows us down the hall.
* * * *
In my office, I sit down behind my desk as I tell Derek, “Have a seat.”
He doesn’t, at first. Instead he slowly walks around, taking things in. My college diploma hanging on the wall. My Funeral Service Provider License, also on display. Eckert’s business license beside it. In a soft voice, he murmurs, “Look at you.”
For the first time ever, I feel self-conscious about the framed certifications. “Well, when you run a business…” I trail off, unsure how to dismiss the accolades without diminishing them. Maybe the best way to get things moving is to just dive right into the paperwork for his mother’s service. I open a drawer in the file cabinet behind me and pull out the folder marked Duran, Delores. “If you want to get started…”
When I turn back around, Derek has moved onto my bookshelves. With his head cocked to one side, he reads titles for industry books I’m sure won’t interest him. Funeral Planning Basics and Creating Loving Memorials, Death and Grief, Funerary Practices around the World, stuff like that. There are also a handful of humorous anecdotal collections about working in the death industry, like Mortuary Confidential, as well as a few novels about a mystery-solving funeral director. To be honest, I haven’t read many of the books I have at work—they were gifts from clients or friends, or were already in the office when I took over the business from my father. The few I bought with every intention of reading have never been opened. I don’t have much free time at work, and when I’m home with Riley…well, she’s six. The books I read at home are more along the lines of Clifford the Big Red Dog than Confessions of a Celebrity Embalmer.
Clearing my throat, I prompt, “Derek? I have your mother’s file right here…”
Finally he abandons the bookshelves and takes the seat in front of my desk. As I open the folder, Derek reaches forward and, for a second, I think he’s going to take it from me. But his hand falls on Riley’s school picture, framed beside my computer monitor. Turning it around so he can look at it, he asks, “Is this your little girl?”
Molly’s words. I fold my hands together and nod. “Yes, that’s Riley. That was taken last year. She’s in first grade, now.”
“My mother knew her?”
The question comes off a little incredulous, which strikes me as odd. The last time Derek was in Ashbury, Riley wasn’t born yet. Hell, Lisa was still in high school. She didn’t even meet Michael until well after college.
“She watched her for me,” I tell him. “I’d drop her off on my way to work and pick her up at the end of the day. Riley loved her.”
“Riley.” Derek touches the picture, running a hand down Riley’s long hair, sleek and brushed back over her shoulders in the photo. “She has your eyes.”
With a laugh, I admit, “I can never understand when people say stuff like that. To me, she looks like Lisa.”
Derek frowns as he tries to remember who that is. “Your sister? A little, yeah, I guess, but I think she looks a lot like you.”
“It’s the hair.” I run a hand through the thick mop on top of my head—I wear it shorter than I used to, but then again, now I have a respectable business to run. I keep it clipped in the back and parted to one side, and the little bit of length on top barely covers my forehead. But it’s the same shade of brown as Riley’s, though mine is shot through with the first strands of gray.
Putting back the picture, Derek says, “She’s adorable. You didn’t tell me you were married.”
“I’m not.” I hold up my left hand to show him—no ring.
“Divorced, then?” Derek shrugs as if it’s nothing to him either way, then sinks back into the chair, watching me warily. “Or are you still together?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. “With who?”
He nods at the picture. “Her mother.”
I glance at Riley’s photo, trying to work out what he’s asking, but I’m still not following. “Do what now?”
With an exasperated sigh, Derek shakes his head. “Never mind. But you could’ve at least said something before I kissed you.”
“Said what? I didn’t even know you were going to do it.”
He crosses one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. There’s a hint of a pout in his voice when he mutters, “You didn’t have to kiss me back. If I’d have known you were seeing someone else—”
“I’m not,” I tell him. “What are you talking about?”
His chin juts out defiantly. “You have a daughter. The Jamie I used to know didn’t even like girls.”
Now I get it. “No, wait, it’s not what you think.” With a laugh, I say, “She’s my sister’s.”
His eyes widen. “You mean you and Lisa—”
“No. No. I adopted her,” I hurry to explain. “I’m not actually the father.”
“She looks like you.”
“Yeah, so did Lisa. Hello? We’re related.”
“So where is Lisa, anyway?” Derek wants to know. “If you adopted her daughter…”
Picking at the corner of his mother’s file, I tell him, “There was a car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
It’s an automatic response, I know, but I still tell him, “Thanks. It happened years ago, when Riley was just a baby. She doesn’t even remember her parents.”
“I don’t remember my dad,” Derek offers, as if this might be some consolation.
I stare him down. “You always said he was an asshole who left your mother high and dry.”
“That’s what she told me,” he admits. “I don’t know it first-hand.”
“Well, for the record, I’m not seeing anyone.” I shuffle the papers in Mrs. Duran’s file. For some reason I can no longer look Derek in the eye. “Not that it matters to you. I bet you’re dating some rich celebutante somewhere—”
“Yeah, no.”
I feel the weight of his gaze on me but don’t look up. “How about we get things started, okay? I know that’s why you’re here—”
“It’s not the only reason.”
My hands fumble the papers I’m shuffling, crinkling the bottom edges. Is he hinting that I’m the reason he came back? If so, I’m not sure I want to hear it. Yes, I kissed him back, I’ll admit it, and yes, seeing him is tearing me up something terrible inside, but I have to wonder why bother picking things up where we left them after all this time? He’ll most likely be gone again in a week, after his mother’s service is over and he’s hired a lawyer to settle her estate. He’ll walk out of my life as easily as he walked in it, and leave me here pining for what could’ve been.
Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? He hasn’t called me in twenty years—and he knew where I was, didn’t he? Because he sure as hell called me when his mother passed away. The sad fact of the matter is we aren’t friends anymore, we haven’t been for quite a while. Does he seriously think I might still be interested in him now?
Problem is, I am interested, and he knows it. Not by what I say or do, but by my silence, and the way I can’t meet his eyes.
I take a deep breath. I have to be strong enough to withstand his charms, so that when he’s looking at Ashbury in the rearview mirror, he won’t take my heart with him. We lead different lives now, two very different lives, and I have Riley to think of, too. I can’t get caught up in a temporary fling with a “big name rock star,” even if we were together once upon a time. I can’t afford to throw away what I’ve created here for myself, for my daughter.
Derek’s chair creaks as he leans forward, then his hand covers mine. “Jamie…”
I shake him off. “We have a lot of paperwork to get through,” I tell him, ignoring the way my name sounds in his soft, plaintive voice, “and I have another client coming in at ten, so we better get started.”
“Is this really all you want to talk about?” he asks.
I tell myself it is, and I almost believe it. When I finally look at him, what he sees in the expression on my face makes him flop back in his chair, as if the breath has been punched out of him. “I might not be a big rock star like you, but right now I’m at work. In case you didn’t notice, we’re in my office. So yes, while we’re here, this—” I tap the papers together on my desk—”is what we need to discuss.”
In a low voice, he mumbles, “I’m not really much of a rock star.”
Still, I’m not the one with a song on the radio, but I keep that thought to myself.