Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Margot

It's been weeks since my last "class" with Jigsaw. Ugh. It feels stupid and desperate that I'm actually calling it that. Especially after he couldn't get away from me fast enough. I've been tiptoeing around my own thoughts so I don't dwell on why he's been so distant. Anything to avoid triggering an avalanche of insecurities.

Why did I have to start feeling something for him—thinking it could be more than physical?

He's sent me a few texts here and there—short, casual, meaningless. Like he's sending them to some random woman he's trying to let down easy. Nothing suggests he's thinking about our lessons. It's like he dropped me at the curb, and I'm getting more and more distant in his rearview mirror.

Am I overthinking things? Overreacting? I'm the one who asked for the lessons. Is he waiting for me to tell him I'm ready for another one?

Damn. Why is this so difficult?

Imagine how awful it'd be if this had been a genuine relationship.

I'm actually out of the house for once. On my way to meet my friend April to attend a class on The Modern Cremation Customer. Not exactly enthralling stuff, but necessary to keep my license. Except for the annual convention held at a casino a few hours west of us, my father prefers to do as many of these courses as he's allowed online. I still prefer in-person lectures whenever I can. Who knows, maybe I'll meet an under-thirty-five single guy while I'm there.

I spot April as soon as I pull into the parking lot. In her bright, butter-yellow dress, she's hard to miss standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance.

"Hi!" she shrieks and runs over the pavement to greet me as I step out of the car, holding my purse and a bag of supplies to get me through the morning. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." Her body collides with mine in an exuberant hug, a wash of gardenia and something earthier filling my nose as I return the embrace.

She holds me at arm's length. "You look so adorable. I love the pink dress." She fingers the collar of my black cardigan with pink edging. "This is too cute." A bright grin breaks out over her face as her gaze lands on my tiny black-and-gold All men are cremated equal pin. "Stop it!" she squeals. "Oh my God, that's hilarious for this class."

"I know, right?" I return the grin, lock my door and slam it shut. "I love the dress." I nod at her sleeveless cotton poplin dress with thick straps and a modest, square neckline. "Aren't you worried you'll be cold in there, though?"

She holds up a white-and-yellow tote bag. "I have a sweater in here."

As soon as we step into the large lecture room, we stand out. Almost all our peers are twenty or more years older and dressed in professional attire at the darker end of the spectrum. April and I circulate around the room for a few minutes, saying hello to colleagues. Most people know my father and ask how he's doing. We run into a few of our college classmates and after they share a few horror stories about job-hunting, guilt settles over me. I never had to worry about resumes and interviews.

"You okay?" April touches my shoulder.

"Oh, yes." I force a bright smile. "I think my dad's tough on me until I hear what everyone else is going through."

"Yeah, I think I got lucky too. I love my place. They're actually open to new suggestions and moving forward."

We find seats in the last row at the back of the room. The lights dim and I bend down to pull a small notepad and a pen out of my tote bag.

"Really?" April tips her head toward the paper.

"I need to do something with my hands."

The president of the Empire Funeral Directors Association steps up to the podium to welcome everyone. "Good morning…" I tune out until he gets to our speaker's bio. "...a third-generation funeral director…"

Just like me. My grandparents, my parents, and now me. It sounds so weighty . How did this guy transition into giving lectures instead?

"According to our industry's comprehensive cremation statistics," the lecturer's face shifts into a devilishly comedic smile, "cremation is the burning desire of a growing portion of our consumers."

The room vibrates with groans and chuckles. Tittering with my own laughter, I roll my eyes April's way. Her shoulders shake and she gestures toward the front of the room.

"We paid two hundred bucks for this," she whispers.

Two hours later, I'm dizzy with statistics and ideas for ways to offset the revenue losses from more people choosing cremation over casket burials.

"What'd you think?" April asks as we walk out to our cars.

"I wanted to ask if that shift is true in rural areas or just urban. His numbers didn't break it down."

"You're not seeing more cremations?"

Yes, but not legal ones.

That's not true. Besides the bikers' late-night usage of our crematorium, a lot of our customers have chosen that path lately. "There's been an uptick in clients choosing it but not the seismic shift he's talking about."

She shrugs. "You're probably right about the shift being slower in rural areas. I'm more interested in some of the green alternatives being developed. He didn't spend a lot of time on that. Just how to boost revenue for the industry."

"Well, yeah." There's one part of the business I'm more intimately acquainted with than April would be.

"What else have you been up to?" April asks with a saucy eyebrow lift. "Seeing anyone?"

I've never been the kind of girly-girl to talk about relationships with my friends or, God forbid, sex. Probably because none of them had been worth talking about. "Not really."

She leans closer. "Margot." Her stern friend voice rings loud and clear. "You're blushing. Who is it?"

"Just a guy." I give her a teasing push away. "But we don't really have anything in common."

"Is he hot?"

Burn down a barn hot. Why is my mouth twitching into a smile? "Yeah, kinda."

"So, who cares. Opposites attract, right?"

"Maybe. It was just…"

"Were you using him for sex?"

She's teasing, but the question stops me cold.

"Oh my God, were you?" she asks in an interested whisper.

Yes, I was. Holy shit, that's awful. No wonder Jigsaw decided he'd had enough.

"No. It's nothing." I squeeze her arm. "I really have to get back."

I take a short detour home, cruising by the Horizon Inn . What a shabby looking motel. I stop across the street and study the parking lot for a few minutes.

On the way home, my mind returns to Jigsaw. He said he didn't do relationships. Claimed he liked me and found me attractive for some reason. Gave me high marks in all of our lessons. So, was I really using him? Or was he using me? He promised to help me, then bailed. I was so stupid for asking him to do that in the first place. Who does that?

I pass the restaurant he took me to the night I was so distraught about Laurel, and it only makes me feel worse about the situation.

"Oh, Margot, I'm glad you're home." Dad steps out of his office to greet me as I come in the back door.

His urgent tone promptly drags my mind away from my Jigsaw dilemma.

I set my purse and tote bag on the bench by the door, and hurry toward Dad's office. "What do you need?"

"Can you give the bikers a call?" he asks. "We need that oversized casket brought upstairs. Paul's busy." Dad rests his hands on his lower back. "And I tweaked my back. I have a family coming by today and from what they said on the phone, I'll need to show them that one."

"Uh, I can move it," I offer, not sure how the heck I'll accomplish that all by myself. "No reason to make them ride all the way out here."

"Margot, it's heavy and awkward. You might get it on the gurney but guiding it into the elevator by yourself? No. Call them. Marcel said he'd make himself available to us as needed."

"All right."

"How was the lecture?" he asks.

"Interesting. The speaker had a lot of out of the box thinking and integrated some interesting ideas into his family's business."

A flicker of annoyance crosses my father's expression. "You'll have to tell me about it later."

"Oh, and Justin Packer says hello and said to give him a call."

He nods quickly. "That's good. I'm glad you spoke to some people there. How's April?"

"Good. Still likes her organization."

"That's good to hear." He winces. "I'm going to ice my back before the family gets here."

"Do you need help?"

"No. Just make that call for me." Still clutching his back, he walks by me, heading for the kitchen.

My stomach flips at the thought of reaching out to the club. At least I'm calling Teller and not Jigsaw. Based on all the people I saw at Teller's wedding, there are a lot of bikers in his club. What are the odds Jigsaw's the one sent here? The way I understood it, Jigsaw's home club is all the way down in Union. He's not the one who'd be sent here to do a favor for my dad, right?

Still, the thought nags at me. I don't want to face Jigsaw again when I have all these weird, unresolved feelings strangling my heart.

A deeper part of me, that I'd rather ignore, desperately wants to see him.

There's no getting out of this. Dad's right, we need to move that heavy casket and no one else on our team can do it right now. I sit behind my father's desk and reach for the phone, mentally preparing myself for whoever shows up and knocks on our door.