Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(11)

This thought steels my resolve to pay my respects and then get the hell out of this town.

Finally the six pallbearers return to the front of the cathedral and heave the weight of the solid wood casket onto their shoulders again and walk solemnly down the aisle.

Maybe the best thing that ever happened to me was this family excommunicating my mother and me. Perhaps I wouldn't have had the same appetite and ambition without their cold shoulders. Maybe I'd be a plump, weak man like my uncle. He passes me then, glancing to the side as if he hears my thoughts. His eyes, so much like my mother's, reveal no recognition. He flicks them forward again. Following behind is Isabel Montgomery, and then a few others I don't recognize, but who seem to be important to the family. I should have slipped out before the recessional. Now I have to leave the church while people mill around outside exchanging solemn talk about how fitting the eulogy was and hope no one recognizes me.



* * *



If you were stuck in a church and there were angry villagers outside, how would you escape?



* * *



Emmy: That's happened to me before. It's best to stay inside.



* * *



I let out a bark of laughter, drawing the censured looks of a few last funeral attendees as they file past.



* * *



What did you do to make the villagers angry? I ask, buying into her make-believe for a moment.



* * *



Emmy: That's a story for another day. But if Father Pete is still there, tell him Emmy says hello and ask him for a shot of fortifying Irish Whiskey. He keeps some in the sacristy.



* * *



My God, this girl. If you take out the fact she stole my phone, she's a sparkling, fresh mountain brook on an otherwise shit-filled sewer of a day. I look up. The priest is at the doors of the church accepting thanks for his thoughtful sermon and wishing the last people well. I have no idea if it's Father Pete or if she just made that up. As much as a shot of alcohol right now would be welcome, I don't need to see my family with whiskey on my breath. I stand and make my way to the exit. I shake the priest's hand and then step into the bright South Carolina sun so I can head to the reading of the will.



* * *



The law offices of Ravenel & Maybank is on the first floor of the historic Sassaportas building overlooking King Street. Out the window of the reception area I can see all the brand name stores interspersed with Crogan's Jewel Box (the family jeweler) on down to Berlin's where even my twelve-year-old self remembers my grandfather used to buy all of his suits. I'm early, hoping to get my part done and dusted and not have to sit with Isabel Montgomery and have her flick her eyes over me again.

Unfortunately, the receptionist with the tight bun who introduces herself as Daisy informs me Mr. Ravenel, the family executor, is still on his way back from the reception. I park myself in a corner armchair and lament the fact I didn't bring my laptop in from the car so I can do some work. Pulling out Emmy's phone, I try and log into my email through a browser and can't remember the password because our IT guy makes me change it every month. My inability to get work done starts to make my skin crawl. Deciding I'll just call Dorothy, my assistant, I then freeze when I realize I don't have my own assistant's number memorized. Jesus. I know I know it. But I'm so agitated now I can't get my mind to bring it up. I loosen my tie and blink hard.

"Sir, can I get you anything?" The receptionist's voice makes my eyes snap open, and I become aware I've been sighing and shifting and generally climbing out of my skin. It crosses my mind I'm showing symptoms of a digital withdrawal.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"Water?" she presses, looking at me like I might lose my shit, and she's legitimately concerned she'll have to witness a grown man cry. If only she knew my agitation came from annoyance rather than grief.

She stands and moves around the desk toward the spring water dispenser in the corner, and I become aware of her tight black skirt suit and really long legs. She's cute too, in that librarian way. I let my eyes linger on her while she's not looking. It's inappropriate, I know, but I'd give my left nut for a distraction. Any distraction. She bends to retrieve a paper cup, and I suddenly veer from inappropriate to downright pervy. God, I'm going to miss my dating apps for the next couple of days. I have to catch a flight out of here tonight, get my phone back, and return to my life. Dragging my eyes away, I search the reading material on the table next to me for something to read. Golf Digest, Golf Digest, Good Housekeeping, and Golf Digest.

The receptionist clears her throat, and I look up to her holding out a cup of water with a smirk playing around her mouth. I glance back at the water machine and note the reflective plastic. Normally, not one to embarrass easily, I feel heat claw its way up my neck. "Thank you," I mumble, taking the water.

"Daisy," she says.

"What?"

"My name? It's Daisy."

"Yes, sorry. Thanks, Daisy."

No problem," she says huskily. Then she lays a hand on my shoulder. "Do you, uh, need to talk?" she asks and bites her bottom lip. "Maybe we could go out later?"

I stare at her a beat before the absurdity of her question hits me, and I snort out a laugh.