Page 64 of Mourner for Hire
She wipes her wet hands on her dress and mutters a thank you before bowing an embarrassed head and escaping the restroom with minor wounds and a bruised reputation.
When the door slams shut, Marylou, Eli, and Connor all stare at me, waiting for an explanation.
I shrug. “What she said is true.”
“Why can’t you just leave her alone, Dunner?” Eli asks. “Stop fucking around. You aren’t in high school anymore. Grow up.”
“That’s not fair, Eli,” Marylou says with a soft expression. I can see her mind working as she hesitates over what to say.
“I’m going to walk her back. She doesn’t deserve to become a spectacle in a situation your mother created,” Connor says, always the wannabe hero.
I clench my jaw so hard that my jaw aches. “This isn’t my mother’s fault.”
“You’re right. It’s not. It’s yours,” Connor tosses over his shoulder before leaving.
I turn to Marylou and my best friend. “This isn’t that big of a deal.”
“No, it’s not, Dominic,” Marylou agrees softly.
I meant this particular situation with minor head injuries andmisinformation coming from Lyla, but Marylou very clearly means the entire situation with Vada being in town. It’s infuriating that no one seems to get my point of view.
“So maybe you should just accept it and leave her be. She’s already a nervous wreck around you, and for no good reason. You’re all bark and no bite.”
Guilt punches me in the gut, just as frustration rises hot behind my ribs.
Why does no one see this from my point of view? I don’t want to see Vada hurt just as much as I don’t want her in this town at all.
When Marylou leaves, Eli socks my shoulder. “Come on, drama queen. You have some birdhouses to sell.”
We escape the bathroom and head toward the market area, but my vision is pulled in the direction of the beach beyond the bathroom. There, I see Connor walking with Vada, his arm draped around her shoulders, and the jolt of jealousy rattles through me like a warning bell.
TWENTY-TWO
VADA
“Sorry about all of that.We really aren’t vultures,” Connor tells me as we reach the cottage.
The lines around his douchebaggery are dissipating, and I wonder if my first impression of him wasn’t accurate.
“Hmmm,” I muse aloud. “It’s fine.”
He starts doing that thing where you snap and hit one palm with the other fist. He’s unnecessarily nervous, so I offer a bright smile.
“Is that why you left without a goodbye last night?”
“Not one for Irish exits, are you?” I tease, and he laughs, a shy and endearing laugh. He’s quite adorable. Especially in that California surfer meets Oregon hipster kind of way. He’s all dimples and manners and just… soft. Not at all my type. I prefer edges.
“I would have walked you home,” he offers, and I nod.
“That would have been very kind of you, but I—” I start to make an excuse but choose honesty. “I was a little peopled out, and everyone was having a good time, and I just didn’t want to upset anyone more than I already had. I’m not trying to be easy prey. Just do my job, you know?”
His blue eyes glisten in the height of the sun as he thinks about what I just said.
“Is it really just a job to you?” he asks.
I nod.
“How?”
