Page 62 of Every Chance After

My new job is great.Really,reallygreat. I have a sweet little office with a window to the parking lot—not much of a view, but the breezes are nice. I’m thinking of hanging a bird feeder outside for some cheerful, wing-flapping action, if Liam, the funeral director, lets me. He’s a bit of a stickler about things. I’m allowed one plant, for instance. But one is better than none.

The benefits surely outweigh the small sacrifices. It’s a cushy job, much easier than Sunny’s. I get to wear whatever nice clothes I want as long as they’re “subdued.” Liam says I need to practice smiling less—that’s a challenge I’m working on. I practice my ‘sympathy smile’ at home with the cats.

Owen, the mortician, is a quirky fellow obsessed with reality TV. We’ve had interesting talks about turning a funeral home into a reality show. He wants to call itDied, Sealed, and Delivered, which I argue might be insensitive. We’re working on other ideas. Regardless, I love getting to know people.

So, I’m sure it’ll begreat.

Marnie Strange—Office Manager for the Dearly Departed. It has a ring to it, I think.

Not that I manage much. The phone. Data entry. Files. Appointments. The front door—it’s visible from my office. Being on light duty has been easy since there’s so little to do. People don’t die very often in rural areas. Not that I’m complaining.

This work meets a definite need for Seagrove. That’s important.

Ridding me of my sudden aversion to heavy floral scents is another perk. My migraine days have made me sensitive. Checking in the floral delivery for Mrs. Johanson’s wake—not pickle-juice Johanson but her grandmother—I take a deep breath and only gag a little.

It takes as long as it takes.

A smile crosses my lips—just a little one—thinking about Grady. The other night, we got into a music discussion that lifted my spirits more than all my AM CDs put together. He’s a music lover, and when I got a little sheepish about loving old-school Phil Collins, he was quick to alleviate my embarrassment.

Never apologize for loving what you love, Marina.

There’s a teeny-tiny part of me that knows Ishouldbe angry. When navigating the rocks across my emotional river, I picture Grady on the other side, arms folded and looking intense. I could hop onto the angry rock and stay there, blaming and hating him for what he’s cost me.

But how can I hate the man who held my hair back when I heaved? Or held my hand when I cried? Or held me together when I was dying?Stay with me, Marina.

Hate simply isn’t in my vocabulary, not for Grady Tripp. Besides, he takes in wounded pets and doesn’t mind getting down and dirty with farm animals—what decent person could hate a man like that?

I finish checking off the floral delivery, resisting the urge to move the arrangements into their proper places. I can’t lift anything heavy yet. The other morning, I picked up Hershey as he tried stealing Sunkist’s food and nearly fell over. I hobble through the small chapel, aching from being on my feet too long.

Returning to work early was probably foolish, but survival wins over aches and pains. Securing the job and a steady paycheck topped my priorities, even with Cora’s vile,keep-your-mouth-shutmoney. I still haven’t cashed her $25,000 severance check. I will, of course. That’s more money than I’ve ever had at one time, more than I’ve ever seen. But I’m waiting until I need it.

That’ll be soon.

I step and click through the wide hallway, with its pseudo-soothing landscapes and cushy chairs. Even the lighting is dimmed to set the correct mood. A low hum of conversation comes from the casket room where Liam meets with clients—I know not to disturb them under any circumstances. I made that mistake on my first day. He said I was too friendly, as if happy they were there.

But I’m always happy to be around people, even if they’re sad. Oh, well. Another thing to work on.

It’ll begreat—I know it.

The wide double doors at the main entrance scrape and swing open as I approach them, screeching through the quiet hall. A formidable force barrels through the doors.

My heart pitter-patters seeing him, but then it registers that he’s upset and I sink with worry.

“Grady? What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?” I demand too loudly.

Liam pokes his head out of the casket room with irritation. “Marnie, shhh.”

“Sorry, Liam,” I whisper back. My attention returns to Grady, and my arms lift to meet his, even though I have my cane. He braces me, hooking my cane to his forearm like I don’t need it if he’s around. “Has something happened? You look distraught.”

“You frustrate me—that’s what happened. You shouldn’t be here.”

His tone is curt, borderline angry, but that’s how his intensity comes out. I sigh with relief, tapping my chest to calm my heart. “Oh, that’s all? You had me worried.”

“Worried?” he blanches.

“It’s a funeral home, Grady.”

His brow pinches. “Oh, right. Everyone’s fine. I’m worried about you.”

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