Page 102 of Mourner for Hire
“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself. All elements of charm and memories have been erased and turned into a white room fit for an asylum.
The fresh caulk around the windows is the only small mercy. As I run my fingers along the trim, movement outside catches my eye. A shadow near the beach.
A breeze of a human—a shadow of my mother. I squint, trying to unblur the edges.
It’s not…
It can’t be. I blink hard and shake my head. She remains there, hands behind her back, swaying back and forth in the weird way moms do.
“Are you coming?”
Vada’s shouts through the old front door, breaking the spell.
When I look back… gone.
I storm over to the front door and thrust it open.
“What took you so long?”
“Where the fuck is the wallpaper?” I ask, ignoring her pleas.
The color drains from her face. “Can I get some emotional regulation? This shit is giving me whiplash.”
I take a deep breath, though it’s more or less a huff through my nostrils. “I asked you to keep the wallpaper.” I don’t know why I mention the wallpaper first. I don’t really care about the wallpaper, but the absence of it hits me in the gut.
“Oh. Well, it was peeling really badly, and I saw some mildew underneath. It was nothing serious, but I needed to remove it anyway. I just haven’t decided what to replace it with. I wanted to restore it, but I just couldn’t. I’m trying to restore as much as I can, though?—”
“You don’t own the place.” My jaw stiffens.
“Right,” she starts cautiously. “I just?—”
“You could’ve fucking called me.” My voice rises, just a hair below yelling.
She doesn’t back down. She doesn’t even blink. “I offered to have you come by more than once. You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with help.”
My eyes narrow on the tumbler next to the sink.Shellport: Shell Always Love You.“And that’s my cup.”
There’s nothing like the universe sprinkling in reminders that she and I have a history.
She grabs it and hastily dumps the remnants in the sink, makes her way back over to me, and shoves it against my chest. “Here. Now, do you care to explain why you stopped by?”
“To check on things, and… help!” That was my intention, in all honesty. But now, finding the cottage in such blank disarray feels all wrong. I grip the tumbler I could not care less about tighter.
“Well, it would besomuch more helpful if you left.” She shakes her head. “Jesus, Dominic, it’s fresh paint. Say thank you.”
“Do you just whitewash every project you do? I bet you’re a real treat to have as a contractor.”
“I’m renovating!”
“I thought you said you were restoring!”
“There was mold, Dominic!” She plants her hands on her hips and holds her ground.
God, I hate it. It also makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of this house.
I refrain, throwing my hands toward the empty, patched up and repainted wall. “And where the hell are the pictures that were on the wall?”
“I took them down to organize them for you!” She’s still yelling, not even trying to calm down, but neither am I.
