Page 143 of Mourner for Hire
When the cottage is done, open this.
And trust me, honey. Please.
Mom
Trust is such a strange thing—especially when it’s blind. I’ve always loved my mom, always respected how even when I disagreed with her, she never forced her opinions on me. She had a way of gently guiding me—nudging me toward the truth until I saw it for myself.
And that’s what guts me now.
Because trusting her this time feels final. Like this envelope is the last new thing she’ll ever say to me. The weight of that thought presses against my chest, and for a moment, I consider waiting. Drawing it out. Pretending that by not opening it, I can delay the goodbye.
But I don’t.
I hold my breath and tear it open. I pull out a small stack of papers. The top one is the deed for the cottage, signed over to Vada Daughtry. The one below that is from when the county signed it over to my mom. And the last one makes everything make sense.
A yellow sticky note from Mom is underneath the name.
Don’t tell her until she figures it out.
“No peeking,”she says, guiding me up the sandy footpath that leads to the cottage.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” When I open my eyes, all I see is the silky aqua scarf she wrapped around my face.
She straightens my shoulders so I’m square with the front door, I’m guessing.
She huffs. “Okay, ready? One, two, three?—”
The silk falls from my eyes, revealing a sage-colored front door surrounded by white trim. It stands out brightly against the faded cedar shingles. Matching flower boxes adorn the two front windows, and mums spill out of each.
“It’s funny how a little fresh paint can really make the whole thing look a little less condemned, am I right?” She smiles at me but doesn’t give me time to respond before swinging the door open and gesturing for me to follow her inside.
Every memory I know in this space is still distinct underneath all the new paint and floors. A familiar ache in the bones of the house and a swipe of beauty that belongs to Vada.
The cabinets are freshly painted. And the old linoleum swept away, revealing the beauty of the cottage’s originality. The furniture is new, and there’s a painting of Milton’s Mailbox that I’ve never seen before, but I want one of my own. Everything in the space catches my eye, and everything goes seamlessly together to create a masterpiece. I run my fingers along the wallpaper—the same wall our bodies fell through not too long ago. It’s now covered in lilac and rose wallpaper.
“You hate roses,” I say.
She smiles at me, pride flashing all over her features. “I do, but your mom didn’t.”
I continue inside the home. I’m not one to know how to describe interior design, but if I had to describe the space, it would be modernish, with a hippy bohemian vibe. She kept the beading hanging on the entryway to the bedroom and the old brick surrounding the fireplace in the living room, which echoes in the bedroom on the other side. The palette is earthy and warm, yet clean and updated.
“What do you think?” she asks. “Be honest.”
“I love it,” I say, truly meaning it and wondering why I was so afraid. Mom would be so proud.
“I wanted… Well, I wanted to update it. And I wanted to make sure that you still saw your mom here… at least a little bit.”
She’s so excited as she speaks, smiling over the space with tears in her eyes. What a discovery this town, this beach, this cottage has been for her. And yet, she’s handled it with so much grace, even through her pain and emotions. She committed, and she didn’t stray from her true self. Not even for a moment.
“Vada, it’s so beautiful.” I clear my throat and then look at her. “You’re so beautiful.”
She smiles with gratitude and then glances out the back window to the deck. “I still have to get the deck done, but I didn’t have time, and it’s fine, really, it just needs to be refinished. Plus, I’m certain we’ll have a few dozen people dancing through the eclipse on it tomorrow.”
I breathe out a small laugh. “Right.”
“So it’s okay? The cottage, I mean.”
I pull her into my arms and kiss her temple. “Vada, it’s amazing.”
