Page 144 of Mourner for Hire
“Is it good enough for you?”
I draw back. “Is it good enough foryou?”
She opens her mouth to speak and immediately closes it.
“I think you should have it,” I blurt, not explaining why but letting her know she could have permanency here in the town she used to call home.
“What do you mean?”
I cup my hands around her face. “I want you here.”
She leans into my hand. “If only I could…”
“I know I haven’t been the best welcome committee. I was just in denial. Then, at some point, I just became so wrapped up in you, I…” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel forced to stay. Or live here or change your life for me. But a part of me is hoping you will.”
She reaches out and cups my jaw in her soft hand. “I’m sorry everything happened this way. Your mom is the best kind of crazy, and this cottage is just…” she pauses. “I just want to make her proud.”
She doesn’t confirm or deny if she’s going to stay, but I note the present tense, and for some reason, it feels so good to hear my mother’s opinion phrased that way. My gaze drifts around the space, and I pause at the gallery wall between the living room and bedroom.
“Come look,” she says, holding my hand.
It’s a complete time capsule of memories in picture frames. Some of the pictures are from the nineties, others the eighties, a few of the early aughts. There are several of my mom and her mom probably taken on the beach. Chasing seagulls, laughing over cocktails. Most of the photographs are faded and worn. Some are creased against the glass of the picture frame. It reminds me that even the moments that are jagged and broken are so beautiful and worth being a part of a highlight.
I laugh when I get to my baby pictures. “Really?”
A smiling chocolate-covered face on my first birthday, a paper airplane flying in a field. Flying a kite on the beach with my dad. I pause here. I miss my mom, but I miss my dad, too. The longerhe’s gone, the more I realize that emptiness filled with grief will never go away.
Next, I get to a more recent picture, filtered in black and white. Mom and I are standing together, smiling, both our heads shaved.
She was gone so soon after that.
No one ever has any idea of how hard life is going to be or who you’re going to lose or when. Fifteen years from that picture with my dad, he’d be gone in a breath. Four months from that picture with my mom, I’d lose her, too. And twenty years from that moment on the beach next to sand castles I would stomp on with Vada, I’d find her again and fight her in different ways.
I stand in awe at the kaleidoscope of time. “You did well. It’s perfect.”
I stare at the photo of us next to a sand castle and smile. “It’s like we’ve known each other forever.”
She nuzzles under my arm, and I kiss the top of her head.
“Because wehaveknown each other forever,” she responds. “We just forgot each other for a while.”
She squeezes my arm, and we keep going through the house, making our way back to the back bedroom. Not much has changed in here, but man. The way she improved the bathroom is beyond me. It is still classic and original but brand-new. She worked miracles in this old house.
One thing I’ve learned about Vada is that when she has a vision, she lets it come to life.
“Are you happy?” she asks as I sit on the bed.
“I love it.”
“Good.” She breathes out and holds her hands out to me, making me stand. “Come outside.”
We make our way down the hallway to the back French doors to the wrap-around porch.
All the lights are strung, cascading over the porch to the extended deck and over the cedar hot tub.
“I didn’t finish the deck because the stain that I’mgoing to use is on backorder, but it will be here next week, and the sander isn’t available until next weekend. So then, once that’s all here, I’ll finish that, and then I swear I’ll be completely done. But I think it’s going to be perfect for the party and the eclipse. Lucy’s mom is going to bring extra chairs with Eli tomorrow morning. And I ordered the cardboard glasses for everyone for the eclipse.” She grabs a pair out of the box on the porch and puts them on.
“You look like you’re going on a 3D ride at Disneyland.” I smile at her. “My mom would love it.”
