Page 25 of Mourner for Hire
I lick my lips as I prepare to explain, but I watch his mind connect the dots. He leans over me, bracing the tree behind me.
“Why did she hire you?”
I hesitate because my policy won’t give him the answer he wants. “I don’t ask why. I just agree to the terms and execute the directive.”
He lets out a wild groan of frustration.
“Dominic, I’m sorry—” I begin, but the way his eyes slice through me makes me realize I shouldn’t have called him that.
“I never told you my name.”
I swallow, the saliva like glue down my throat as I stay silent.
He shakes his head, taking a step back and wrapping his hands around his head, the disbelief getting the better part of his brain.
“I’m sorry, Dunner,” I emphasize, and he whips around.
As if every glare and scowl he’s sent my way hasn’t been bad enough, this one takes the cake, sets it on fire, and throws it in the dumpster.
I make a mental note to never speak again in his presence.
“You don’t get to call me that. We aren’t friends, Vada. And this is fucking insane! My mom was the best woman I have ever known. She was loved by me and literally everyone in this fucking town. She didn’t need you and your antics to storm through her funeral, cause a scene, and act a fucking fool for the sake of a few hundred dollars.”
I don’t dare mention how much she’s paying me. I remain still and silent.
“I’m so fucking pissed!”
The anger clawing through each word he screams at me in an empty cemetery doesn’t sound scary or angry at all. It sounds devastated.
My bottom lip trembles as I begin to speak. “I’ll go. But for what it’s worth, I really liked your mom.”
I turn to leave, practically aerating the cemetery as I go. But before I make it ten steps, he bellows back.
“You’re in her fucking will, Vada.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you actually showed up.”
I pause and pivot slowly, an apology covering my expression. When I open my mouth to explain or sayI knowor apologize yet again, he waves a hand in the air.
“None of this feels like a coincidence. You, stuck on the highway. You, in my bar. You, kissed—” His voice breaks over what he was about to say. He doesn’t finish the sentence. “You, staying the night. You, ending up here.”
I rub my lips together, allowing the friction to keep me calm. My heart pounds as I realize I’ve become the villain in his story.
“You acted like this funeral crashing shit you do is a service. Now it feels like a scam.”
The heat of his anger burns off his shoulders as he walks away. I let him. Because I know exactly how this looks. I have no way to make reparations. I will simply abandon my part of the bargain and not fulfill anything else on the list Annabelle gave me. It will be fine—she’ll never know anyway.
I watch Dominic walk away until he disappears beyond view, then turn to the gravesite. The groundskeepers are still filling the hole with dirt, and the hum of the tractor drowns out the words I whisper into the warm September air.
“I’m sorry, Annabelle. I can’t do it,” I whisper, staring at the mound of fresh soil on top of her coffin.
“Like hell you can’t,” I hear behind me and scream as I whip around.
“Jesus!”
“Nope! Just Annabelle. Remember me? Finally kicked the bucket, been waiting for you to show up.”
“Annabelle?” I shake my head and rub my eyes to no avail. She’s still here. The same ruby lips and pale blue eyes. The midnight hair and the crinkles around her eyes. She’s wearing apurple sweater and a floral skirt. She looks exactly how I remember her.
“Yes, I’m here. Yes, it’s me,” she answers quickly, reading my thoughts.
