Page 136 of Mourner for Hire
Oh, do you?
Dominic
Yeah. So bad.
Me
I’m busy.
Dominic
Then why are you texting me?
I laugh at the text and toss my phone on the couch without responding.
There are a few boxes left on the bottom of the closet, and after peeking inside, I can tell I’m about to be graced with some Dominic baby pictures. I already pulled the ones I’m framing for the gallery wall, but I wouldn’t mind a chubby-faced Dominic, as well.
When I open the last and final box, I expect to see Dominic wrapped in a hospital swaddle or maybe pictures of Annabelle with her late husband on their wedding.
I don’t.
Instead, I find pictures of me.
My entire childhood up until I was eight years old is captured in each four-by-six photo printed off at the local one-hour photo. My first day of school. A picture with Mrs. Nettles—her hair far less gray. Mom and me at the beach. At the apple orchard. Picture after picture.
As real as each smile is in each photograph, none of the pictures are met with memories. I’m embarrassed to admit I’m painfully disappointed as the forefront of my mind frantically searches the recesses of my brain for anything that will make these pictures come to life. I’ve been content with remembering nothing until this town stirred up a desire in me to remember and now, I’m looking at me, my life, my once-was, and I remember… nothing.
“Wow!” Lucy says, coming through the front door with a bag filled with my Hungry Hermit food, making me jump and shove the lid back on the box. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” I say then backtrack. “I mean, you did, but it’s fine. I was just lost in a…” I glance down at the box of pictures. “In a daydream.”
“Cool.” Her head bobs, and her gaze scans the almost completed cottage, her eyes climbing the ladder to the loft that reveals walls covered in bookshelves and twinkling lights.
“What do you think?” I say, standing
“It looks so good in here and way less musty!”
I laugh at her use of words, though her description is not entirely wrong. “It’s almost done.”
“Has Dunner seen it yet?”
“No, not yet. I’m waiting until tomorrow after I put in all the final touches.”
“He’s gonna flip.”
“Yeah, you think he’ll like it?”
“Of course! It feels brand-new!” She spins around and runs her fingertips across the wallpaper. “Do you think you’ll stay here?”
“I’m sorry?” I’ve read the will, and there was nothing of the sort.
“At the beach cottage. I think you should keep it.”
A pang of longing sweeps through me. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Staying feels like a whimsical dream—a break from my reality. But the truth is, I have an apartment and a life to get back to.
Lucy smiles at the baby picture of me on the coffee table. “You were a cute kid.”
