Page 23 of Look, Don't Touch

I roll my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

Why delay the inevitable?

Five minutes come and go. Now, Pouty Pam looks at Astor, and my friend nods for her to continue. The celebration of life passes as Matt’s life did, a blur of disappointment punctuated by misplaced hope.

She closes her Bible, scoops it to her chest, and comes to the front of the casket. “You may take your time saying goodbye. I’ll meet you in the vestibule and escort you out.”

“Thank you,” Astor offers.

When she’s gone, I look at my therapist and friend. “You can go first or just go wait with Pastor Barbie. I’ll be out soon.”

Astor grabs my hand, kisses it, and stands. She walks with her head high toward Matt’s death box. When she reaches it, her head bows for a while. She’s a good girl who attends church with her dad on major holidays and still knows how to send up a prayer.

I know how to send out a big fuck you.

After she goes, I hoist myself off the pew and totter to Matt’s side. I let out a long breath that ends with a hiss.

“I’m pissed at you. I’m pissed at me too. So we’re even, I guess.” I give him a nod and retreat. My back grows colder the farther I get from him.

Outside, Astor handles the cordiality, stuffs me into the Town Car, and directs the driver to Crouther Brother’s Diner. We’re there in a flash. An obscure and muddled one. I’m directed out of the car, into the restaurant, and deposited into a booth. The black leather cushion and hard mahogany back ground me. They are familiar and welcome.

The smell of barbecue pork omelets, hash browns, and sweet biscuits shutters a weak heartbeat through my soul. The unforgettable laughter of Michael Crouther pulls me back from the edge.

He waves goodbye to a regular and heads in my direction. I don’t know where Astor has run off to, but her father is a man on a mission. He sets a steaming cup of coffee and a plate with one hot biscuit in front of me and sits on the other side of the booth.

“There aren’t many problems that a good cup of coffee and a sweet biscuit can’t help.” He shrugs his newly muscled shoulders. “Unless, of course, it’s my cholesterol.”

Just like that, he’s forced a smile onto my face. A small one, but one nonetheless.

“You’re a good man, Mr. Crouther. I won’t let Astor tell me any different.” I hug the mug between my hands.

“I’m sorry to hear about Matt.” He puts his hands in a lazy prayer position and pops his thumbs together repeatedly. “Even sorrier I couldn’t be there.”

“You have your hands full.” I stare at his amber eyes. “How’s your new kitchen manager working out?”

“Crazier than a cat in a bathtub, but somehow we’re both still alive.”

“Pops,” Astor scolds as she slips her phone back into her purse and glares daggers at her father.

“What?” His thick brows wrinkle his forehead and then drop. “Oh, right. I’m sorry, Astor. I’m guessing you want to sit with your friend.”

“No apology needed.” I offer him a wink.

“You see that?” He grins at his daughter. “She winked at me.” His thick bicep is propped on the back of the booth and flexes. “I haven’t lost my touch.”

“I wish you would.” She snorts and waves him up.

He pats the table. “It’s on the house today, no arguments.” Michael’s big finger points at me, and I keep my mouth dutifully closed. “Good.” His arms wrap around his daughter and pull her into a sweet embrace. He kisses her forehead and helps her into the booth. “Tell me bye before you go.”

“Yes, Pops.” She watches him walk away, and I’m jealous. Her dad has always been good looking. Now that he’s taken charge of his health and fitness, the man is fine. But it’s his heart and presence and their relationship I envy.

My throat thickens, and I burn it with a gulp of coffee.

“Everything okay?” I gesture to her purse.

Astor nods and pulls it into her lap. “Holly told me Wednesday that she was coming to the service. I called to check on her.” She pulls three envelopes from her bag. Two large and one small. “The person who was going to cover her shift called out sick, putting her on for twenty hours straight.”

“That sucks.”

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