“I don’t want anything too pretty or over-the-top. Don’t let them pretty things up.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “A lot of people don’t like a lot of color or variety in funeral arrangements. We could do something very classy and sober with white flowers and some greenery?”
“I guess.”
“I could show you some examples from arrangements I’ve done before.” She pulled out her phone and found the folder of photos she kept of her work. She picked out a few of the more minimalistic arrangements and showed him.
“This isn’t bad,” he said, indicating one of them, “but I don’t want that many flowers.”
“We could just do some greenery? What about like this?” She pulled up another photo to show him.
“Yes. That’s better. Do something like that. But keep it simple. Don’t want to be gussied up and prettified, even though I’m dead. And don’t let the ladies talk you into anything different.”
Ria wondered what ladies he was talking about. Maybe Martha? Who else would have a claim on his funeral arrangements? “I won’t, sir. You can count on me.”
“Good.” Mr. Worth nodded a few times. “That’s it then. You can go.”
She stood up immediately, rather baffled by the strange conversation and wondering why she’d been summoned at all. “Of course. Thank you. I promise your wishes will be carried out. I... uh, goodbye.”
What the hell did one say to a man you’d never really liked who was likely to die any day now?
“Yeah.”
Assuming that was his last word, she turned to leave.
Froze when he blurted out, “Wait, girl.”
She turned around.
“Jacob.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Jacob.”
“What about him?”
“Can you...?” Maybe the conversation was too much for him. He was trailing off, like he didn’t have the energy to even finish a sentence.
“Can I what, sir?”
“Make sure he’s okay. Not sure if he is or not.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me, girl. Make sure he’s okay.”
Ria swallowed so hard it hurt her throat. She shifted from foot to foot to give herself a moment to figure out what to say. “I think he’s okay. He seems like he’s done pretty well for himself.”
“But is he happy?”
Her throat was aching now. Almost unbearably. “I... I don’t know.”
“Find out.” Mr. Worth’s face twisted as he readjusted positions in bed. He must be in some sort of pain. “You were always the one who made him happy. So find out for me.”
“I... Um... Okay. I’ll... try.” It wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to say that she was the last person in the world who should be put in this position. But the man was dying. He was clearly in pain. He didn’t have much time left.
She simply didn’t have the heart to tell the man no—to tell anyone no—in those conditions.
“Good. Thanks.” He turned his head away and closed his eyes.
And that was clearly the end of the strange encounter. Ria left the room, feeling shaky and torn.
What the hell was she supposed to do? She and Jacob weren’t close anymore. He’d hurt her more than anyone else ever had.
But Mr. Worth clearly felt guilty about something connected to Jacob, and Ria couldn’t help but wonder what it was.
Plus she hated the thought of Jacob being unhappy. No matter what he’d done, she’d loved him a lot, and those feelings linger, far longer than we ever want them to.
She was saying goodbye to Martha when she heard a pounding sound from somewhere below her. “What’s that?”
“Jacob. Working in the basement. Place is a mess. He’s been trying to fix some things up.”
“Oh.” She paused, feeling like she was torn in two.
“You wanna say hi to him? You can go on down.” Martha wasn’t a lady who smiled very often, but her eyes looked almost sympathetic now. Like maybe she could see how torn Ria was.
The last thing Ria wanted was another awkward conversation with Jacob, but there was a compulsion inside her that she couldn’t deny.
It was pulling her. Hard.
Pulling her toward Jacob.
So she finally nodded. “Okay. I guess I will.”
JACOB HAD BEEN WORKING in the basement of the old house for most of the day.
Not only was it stuffed full of decades’ worth of junk, but it was also in woeful disrepair. It leaked in all four corners of the basement. Support beams were rotting, and the cracks in the cement floor were appalling.
This was far more than a one-man job, but Jacob had nothing better to do with his time, so he figured he’d start on some of the most basic repairs.
It was late afternoon and he was replacing one of the beams when a voice from behind him startled him.
“Jacob.”
He knew the voice. Knew the sound of her saying his name. Heard it sometimes in his sleep.
Whirling around with his heart in his throat, he saw Ria standing a few steps up from the bottom of the stairs.
He dropped his hammer with a loud clatter. The beam he was working on started to fall too, but he clumsily managed to grab it and hold it in place.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Ria’s pretty face twisted as she registered his shock. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. Here, let me help.”
She hurried down the last few steps but didn’t count on the mess on the basement floor. Her foot landed on an ancient newspaper that had fluttered off the four-foot-tall pile of them nearby. She slipped. Wobbled as she tried to keep her balance. Then went down, landing hard on her butt.
“Shit,” Jacob muttered, hurrying over to her in alarm.
The beam he’d been holding crashed down onto the cement.
Ria had cried out as she slipped. Then she winced at the crash from his dropped beam. She looked stunned and pained as he reached her and knelt down beside her on the floor.
But then she seemed to process the ridiculous debacle. He saw the succession of expressions on her face. Heard a choked-off laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he muttered, his heart still pounding from the fear of watching her fall and
