wait another week before I could take the sister out on a date. I decided to set up a date.
So, I called Melissa and asked her out to dinner.
She accepted.
At the time of our proposed first date, Melissa happened to be working at a pharmacy right across the highway from the funeral home. Naturally, I suggested a restaurant that shared the same parking lot with the pharmacy for convenience’s sake. I also made the verbal disclaimer that I would be on call that night, and might have to leave. She seemed fine with that. We agreed to meet when she got off work at eight o’clock.
I met Melissa at the restaurant and we were seated immediately. Due to the lateness of the hour, the place was fairly empty and the service was fast. The waiter came up and asked for our drink orders.
“I’ll have a margarita,” she said.
“Club soda with lemon,” I said. The waiter left. Melissa looked at me strangely, as if to ask,
“But you were drinking last weekend—” she said, obviously confused.
I laughed. “I know. Just kidding. I don’t drink when I’m working.”
“Oh.” She nodded like she understood, but still had a puzzled look on her face.
We sipped our drinks, talked, and ordered our food. I was really enjoying her company. It’s quite different to talk to someone one-on-one in a quiet setting, sober, than yelling over the din of a packed beach bar at each other, totally smashed. I was glad I had gotten her number. Our food came and about five seconds later my pager buzzed.
“Excuse me,” I said and whipped out my phone.
I called the familiar number. Someone was dead. I had to go on the removal.
“Listen,” I said, signaling to the waiter, “I have to go.”
The waiter trotted over. “I need the check please. ASAP,” I said to him, handing him my credit card. He scurried off.
“I need to go on a removal. Sorry to cut the date short—” I signed the check that the waiter thrust in my face. “But I’ll call you later when I get home.”
I hopped up, leaving Melissa sitting alone in the booth with two piping hot entrees and a baffled look on her face.
She later told me that when she arrived home at eight thirty, looking confused, her father said to her, “You know, there are services out there that a guy can hire to call him so that he can abort the date if it’s going bad.”
Apparently, when I had told her I had to “work” that night she didn’t know what I was talking about because she didn’t know my profession. But since then she’s gotten used to my having to drop everything and go to work. For some reason, the first date wasn’t bad enough not to say “yes” fifteen months later. We’re now happily married and love recounting the tale of our inglorious first date.
In fact, we ran the story of our first date along with the announcement of our wedding in our local paper.
CHAPTER 48
Ironic Injustice
Building a business from the ground up is hard work. Ask anyone who’s done it; they’ll tell you.
I liken a business to a newborn. At first you have to do everything for it.
At the time of this story I hadn’t gotten to the reaping point yet; my business was still an infant.
My shingle had only been out for about thirteen months when I had the opportunity to go on my first vacation as business owner. I started with a phone call from Dani. It was a Wednesday. The call went something like this:
“Hey Topher, how’s the old swordsman? I haven’t talked to you in, like, six months,” Dani said.
“Nice to talk to you too, Dani.” I tried to put on an air of indignation. “You know that hurts. Really hurts. Just because I like to see what’s out there on the dating scene you automatically tag me with those hurtful labels.”
“How long did Rachel last?”
“I—”
“How long?” she interrupted.
“Six weeks… but that’s not the point!” I huffed.
Dani laughed, airily, the way she always did. “So, seriously, what’s going on with you?”
“I’m so stressed!” I groaned.
She laughed again. Dani laughs a lot. “Why’s that? No squeeze?”
“No, thank you very much,” I replied with mock anger. “I haven’t had a day off in thirteen months is why I’m stressed!”
“Stop being so dramatic. I’m sure you’re just fine.”
“You know that grandfather clock I promised to build for Rob? Just like the one I built for your wedding present?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“I built the frame thirteen months ago but haven’t had the time to do any of the inlay.” I paused. “What I’m saying, Dani, is that I haven’t done anything but work with dead people for the past year and I need a break.”
“That bad?”
“I might as well pitch a tent here in the office.”
“Poor you.”
“Poor me. I can’t even find the time to go do a little speed dating, much less finish a stupid clock.”
“Speed dating.” She snorted. “Is that what you call it these days?”
“Oh, shut up.”
She ignored me as she usually did. I think Dani thought I was too dramatic.
“If you’re so stressed then why don’t you take a long weekend this upcoming weekend and use my place in the Keys?”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
Dani had a beautiful condo in Lower Matecumbe Key that we used to go to all the time before she had kids. I loved going to her place. It was great for doing nothing and relaxing on the beach, or if you wanted to do something, Key West was just an hour and a half drive down the coastal highway.
“Yeah, sure,” Dani said. “Take it. Enjoy yourself. I’ll drop the key off at your office tomorrow on my way to the gym.”
“Oh my God, Dani, you’re a life saver!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but thanks, Toph. One condition though—” she trailed off.
“What would that be, my dear?” I asked coyly. I knew what was coming.
“No strange women in my bed.”
“Why Dani, I would never—”
She cut me off. “Save it, lover boy. Gotta run. I’ll drop the key tomorrow.”
We hung up.
I had met Danielle Brown, or Dani, as her friends call her, about twelve years earlier when I first got into the mortuary business. She worked for the Omega Counseling Center. I was looking for a place to refer clients of mine. We met and became friends.
Dani left Omega to open her own clinic, The Hope Clinic, that specializes in drug and alcohol recovery counseling, something closer to her heart than what she had been doing as a general family counselor at
