Page 71 of Mourner for Hire
“Lucy, I’m Vada.”
“I know,” she answers with a skip.
“Of course you do.”
We cross into the house, and I set the bag on the counter before rummaging through the cabinets for a first aid kit. I find one and grab a cleansing towelette and Band-Aid. She takes an unprompted seat on the couch, and I crouch before her, cleaning and dressing the scrape.
She looks a little young to be delivering food, but instead of outright asking her age, I take a different tact. “So, the Hungry Hermit is your family’s restaurant?”
“Yep.” She rubs her lips together mischievously. “That’s how they get away with child labor.”
I snort out a laugh.
“I know I look older, but I’m only twelve,” she adds.
She does not at all look older. Her commentary, on the other hand…
“I like your bracelet,” she says.
I touch the charm bracelet on my wrist.
“Thank you. I’ve had it since I was little.” I’ve had to add some extenders, but other than that, I don’t remember taking it off.
“Who gave it toyou?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just know I’ve always had it.”
“It’s pretty,” she comments.
I nod again in thanks and continue to dress her wound. “There you go. Can’t have you returning to the restaurant all bloodied and bruised. I have a reputation to protect.”
“I know.” She chuckles.
“Yowch,” I mutter, standing. “Thank you for delivering. It helped me out tonight.”
She glances around the cottage. I sense she’s about to say something. Mention a memory. Defend Dunner. Tell me her mom and dad said I’m a bad, bad woman. Comment on the lack of finished floors or the fresh paint on my forehead.
Instead, she takes me by surprise. “I can see why you ordered so much food. You’re working like crazy. I bet you wish we had a Cheesecake Factory.”
A real laugh rips out of me. “Ah, yes, variety at its finest.”
She smiles, rubbing her palms against her thighs. “Thanks for the tip, by the way. I don’t really get many deliveries because most people like to drop by the restaurant, and delivery is the only way I canmake a little extra money to pay for a telephoto lens. It’s the best way to study astronomy firsthand.”
“Well, that’s pretty cool. I’ve never known a real-life scientist.”
“Really?” Her eyes brighten behind her glasses. “And, well, astronomer, but you get what I mean. There’s actually going to be a total solar eclipse the fourth Saturday of next month, and I want to get pictures of it and submit them to Portland Tribune. The winner wins five hundred dollars. Shellport is situated at the precise location where it will be most visible.”
“Really?” I’m genuinely intrigued. I had heard rumblings of an eclipse happening. Maybe even a mention of once-in-a-lifetime, but I’ve lived through enough once-in-a-lifetime events that I just assume it will feel like an average Saturday.
“Yes, and I’m hoping I can buy the telephoto lens for my camera in time. It’s going to be epic.”
I smile, absorbing this twelve-year-old’s excitement. “How much more money do you need to save to buy it?”
One-hundred-and-forty-three dollars and twenty-three cents,” she answers with a nod.
I quickly do the math. “Well, I’m going to be very busy getting the cottage in order for Ms. Annabelle over the next several weeks. Maybe you could deliver three or four times a week, and I’ll make sure to tip well…” My voice trails with a question.
Lucy’s face brightens. “You mean it?”
