Page 134 of Mourner for Hire
He chuckles, shaking his head. His gaze darkens as he rolls the condom on.
I crawl back on the bed, positioning myself for him. He eyes me incredulously.
“What are you doing?”
“You, hopefully, but?—”
“Get your ass back here.” He beckons me with one finger.
I do as I’m told, sliding back to the edge of the bed. He grabs my waist and pulls me to standing, kissing me deeply with my hair in his hand. Then, he turns me around and bends me back over, pressing into me. Long, hard thrusts while his strong hand holdsme in place until my legs give out, and I scream his name. He follows suit, trembling behind me.
Then he does it to me again. Making good on his promise twice over.
After a long goodbyethat involved undressing and redressing yet again, I watch Dominic drive down the gravel driveway, his truck disappearing into a cloud of sand, and turn back inside to assess the absolute mess that is the only thing I can work on for the next few days until the eclipse.
There’s brown paper covering the floors. The wall paint needs a touch up. I need to install the bathroom vanity and the kitchen faucet and paint the cabinets. I also need to finish going through the closet.
The closet.
I stare at the shoeboxes of pictures stacked on the floor, absorbing the state of chaos this renovation has taken. I can feel my blood pressure rise in three seconds. Knowing exactly what I need to do to get back on track and complete this project, I put in my earbuds, throw on a romance audiobook, and get to work.
By the time I’ve filled the first garbage bag, the first longing glance occurs, and their knuckles brush soon after, making me want to call Dominic. The urge is aggressive and burns in the pit of my chest. I immediately turn off the audiobook and turn on a thriller.
Much better. Way less longing.
I laugh to myself. Dominic is flipping my world upside down—it is both amazing and jarring. I let out a hopeless sigh as I toss the crusted drywall mud into a garbage bag when there’s a knock at the screen door.
I whip around and see Annabelle offering a timid smile.
“Miss me?”
My throat tightens. “Yeah, I think so.”
Her quirky expression switches to concern, and she driftsthrough the doorway and approaches me. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong? I thought you needed space, and I’m trying not to be a completely psychotic ghost, you know? But turns out trying to say goodbye to everyone in this form is not working out well for my reputation.”
I offer a helpless laugh, but something in my expression must give me away because she says, “What did he do?”
“Who?”
“Dominic.”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Or at least nothing like that. He just…”
She sighs. “He’s a good boy, Vada.”
“You’re his mother. You have to say that.”
“Correction: I am his dead mother, and I do not have to say that.”
I stare at her, my eyes focusing on the edges of her silhouette. She looks so real. The only ethereal thing about her is her expression. It’s a wistful look of hoping for tomorrow and reminiscing about yesterday, as if she has one foot on Earth and one in Heaven.
“You know what’s not fair?” I ask her, and she raises her eyebrows. “That you aren’t hanging out with him the way you’re hanging out with me. I just feel like he needs a better goodbye or a different goodbye. Like, maybe if he could see you or talk to you and you can tell him everything is going to be okay and the bar will make it?—”
She lets out a melodic laugh. “That is the last thing I will tell him.”
“Why? The bar is great! I mean, I went… once.” Heat hits my cheeks as I realize I haven’t returned since I’ve been in town, mostly because I’ve been very unwelcome, but now…
“Vada, honey, I’m going to hold your hand when I tell you this: not everything has to be a success. Not everything has to go according to plan. Not everything can be written on a list andchecked off when you finish it. Not everything gets finished. Not everything is completed.”
