Page 137 of Mourner for Hire
“Thanks,” I say, examining the photo as she sets the bag on the counter next to my spackle, hammer, and nails, then leaves, pedaling her heart out down the footpath.
I close the front door and look around the room. I preserved so much of this place the best I could and truly hoped Dominic would think I honored his mom. The old floors, the freshly painted walls, even the beaded curtain hanging in the bedroom doorway.
I take a seat at the bar and eat way too many prawns and crab legs, contemplating life and the near completion of this renovation. Before my thoughts get too somber, I clear the remainder of the Hungry Hermit food into the refrigerator and wipe down the counters. I return the spackle to the tool chest and take the hammer and nails with me to the dreaded hall closet.
With the faucets installed and the hardware fastened in thekitchen, there isn’t much left to do except clean and rid the cottage of any renovation evidence. But my mind feels too scattered to clean. It’s drawn to the pictures.
I hope you find it.
“Find what?” I ask aloud, hoping Annabelle will materialize, but she doesn’t. Apparently, ghosts only operate on their own schedule. So I text Dominic the picture I find of us.
FORTY-SEVEN
DOMINIC
I smirkat my phone as a picture of me as a little boy, and a little girl with a heart-shaped birthmark on her shoulder, appears on my screen.
Me
Our moms really were friends.
Vada
Did you think your mom was lying? Or just hope?
I laugh aloud.
Me
No, I hoped I was filled with false memories.
Vada
That’d be rather convenient.
Me
Nothing about you is convenient. You are the definition ofinconvenience.
Vada
Shots fired.
Another picture of us comes through. This time carving pumpkins.
Me
Are you suggesting we carve pumpkins?
Vada
Absolutely not. Knives with you sounds like an irresponsible choice.
This makes me actually laugh—the kind of soul-hugging, belly laugh that makes me forget all of my troubles.
Vada
Everything is starting to make sense.
