Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Margot

The O'Leary family is small, but Ann O'Leary had a lot of friends. The viewing room is packed. Even the hallways are crowded. During the viewing, I walk a continuous loop from the front door to check on Henry, who greets people, hands them a pen, and asks them to sign the register book, to the viewing room where my cousin Paul is stationed a discreet distance from the casket in case there are any issues—like the one time we had a son try to climb into his mother's casket and almost knocked it off the catafalque.

I ran into Daniel briefly this morning but haven't seen him since.

My father's out back preparing things for the trip to the cemetery, while I continue observing and fixing any issues that arise.

On one of my rounds, Paul signals to me that there's an issue in the back of the room. It doesn't take long for my gaze to land on pieces of a broken vase. I hurry over to pick it up before someone gets hurt.

Holding the large chunks of broken porcelain in my hands, I stand and turn quickly—only to freeze when I find myself face to face with Daniel.

"Hi," I squeak. "How is everything?" I add in a slightly less startled, more professional tone.

"Wonderful. Truly. Thank you for everything." While his words are appreciative, he seems rigid.

My gaze slips past him and I realize, we're not alone. A tall, slender blonde stands slightly behind him, holding one of his hands.

"Everything's lovely," she says. "Thank you for taking such good care of his nana."

Nana? I've never heard Daniel refer to his grandmother so informally, but okay.

"Uh, this is Danielle." Daniel pulls her forward.

Thank God I have years of experience maintaining a blank expression. Daniel and Danielle? Lordy.

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you," I say, lifting my hand with the broken pieces of vase as an excuse for not shaking her hand. "I'm Margot."

She wrinkles her nose, then glances toward the front of the room at the casket. "I love what you did with Nana's makeup. That coral lipstick she always wore." She lifts her shoulders to her ears and scrunches her face in a full-body cringe. "Just awful."

I blink and fight the urge to point out her own red lipstick isn't doing her any favors. Speaking ill of the deceased at their own service happens more often than my tolerance can handle, so I shouldn't be surprised. But it tells me all I need to know about Danielle.

"Well, we all have our own unique style." I run my gaze over Danielle's plain black dress. "Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder, as they say."

Daniel frowns at his girlfriend, then me.

I force a sweet smile. "Well, I need to throw this out."

"Just add it to my tab." Daniel laughs awkwardly.

Oh, I will.

"Please let me know if you need something," I say. "Paul is also around, and my father is preparing things for?—"

"I know. I spoke to him." Daniel cuts me off. "You'll be there too, right?"

"Ah, no. I usually stay here to tidy up and help direct anyone who comes late."

"Babe, let her do her job." Danielle pats Daniel's chest and fusses with his tie.

"I am. Margot has a way with the dead." Daniel lets out an awkward chuckle.

My stomach clenches tight. Is he…making fun of me? Margot has a way with the dead, because she's practically a corpse herself, har, har .

Get a grip. It's his weird way of complimenting me.

Compliment or not, it feels crummy.

"Nice to meet you." I nod at Danielle, then turn and hurry away from them.

I exit the viewing room and speed down the hallway into the kitchen. It's empty for now. I dump the broken pieces of the vase in the trash, then lean against the counter. Hot tears well up in my eyes and I blink them away.

Why am I crying over him?

We're over. I don't even have feelings for him anymore. Not romantic ones, anyway. Bitter ones, I have plenty.

But he's moved on. Danielle probably rides him like a rodeo queen and screams through every orgasm and I'm…stuck. Afraid to get intimate with anyone again.

What if there's something wrong with me? I'll be the freaky girl who lives in a funeral home forever.

What kind of person thinks about these things at a viewing? Shame slides through my chest. I should keep my thoughts focused on Mrs. O'Leary.

So that's what I try to do for the rest of the afternoon.