Page 22 of Mourner for Hire

EIGHTEEN

VADA

I’ll admit I was reluctant to meet Connor, but as soon as I stepped foot on Beach Street, I knew I was going to love it.

There is something magical about a town that celebrates together—even if it’s something as silly as the weekend after Labor Day, because all the out-of-towners return to their suburban neighborhoods and city sky-rise apartments, leaving this sweet Oregon beach town to live and breathe to its own rhythm.

The cobbled stone street is packed with tents and vendors, spilling out from the shops lining it.

A dessert and coffee shop called Something Sweet.

A Taqueria called Don Chuys. A parking lot of surreys to rent and ride down the boardwalk next to a tourist shop called Shell Take You Home filled to the brim with neon-colored sweatshirts that say, Shellport: Shell Love You Forever.

I don’t know what caricature of a mayor let that be the town slogan, but I would vote for him simply for that.

It’s even on the Welcome to Shellport sign perched next to the highway, just past Dominic’s bar.

I exhale sharply at the thought of him, trying desperately to release the new nerves that just buzzed in my chest. I scan the crowd of festivalgoers as if he’d magically appear. Of course he won’t. It may be a small town, but it’s not that small .

But alas, the crowd parts, revealing the man I’m actually here for… He’s tan and blond, with a sharp jaw and charming smile, and he’s wearing socks with his sandals.

“You came!” he says, arms outstretched.

“I did,” I answer, rocking back on my sandals and making the length of my dress sway against my ankles. My gaze drops to his feet and back up. “Nice socks.”

He wiggles his toes in his Birkenstocks and laughs. “My toes get cold.”

“It’s very Pacific Northwest of you.”

I let myself smile. He looks ridiculous, I’ll admit, but there’s something almost endearing about him. He’s wearing a sage green, short-sleeved button-up with khaki shorts, Birks, and socks, and I am still waiting for him to charm the pants off of me.

He takes note of my strappy leather sandals. “And those are very Jesus of you.”

I can’t help it. I toss my head back and laugh.

“Which, it makes sense, really. You work with the dead. Of course you’d dress like Jesus,” he continues.

“I am not dressed like Jesus,” I say, laughter hanging on to the edges of my voice and my fingertips drifting to the sides of my dress.

“Well, no. The dress is sexy as hell. It’s just the sandals. They’re definitely Jesus sandals.”

His hands magically drift down my arms until he’s holding my wrists out and letting his eyes admire the whole of me.

“Well, thank you.” I nod out the pleasantry, and he takes my hand, pulling me through the crowd.

“Come on, I want you to meet my friends Jenna and Dean?—”

“Real names?” I question.

“Jenna and Dean.”

A chuckle rumbles out of me. “Just checking.”

The deeper in the crowd we get, the more it smells like spiced apple cider and cotton candy, intermingled with freshly baked cupcakes and carne asada. I love every single smell, even experiencing them all at once.

“Miriam and Carlos make the best tacos al pastor you will have this side of the border. Well, unless you’re in like San Diego or something.” He points at the red Taqueria sign, then pulls me closer, whispering over his shoulder. “But don’t tell them I said that.”

I pretend to zip my lips.

“Marylou’s cupcakes will blow your mind. The spiced cider is simply a tradition. I’m pretty sure my Grandma Louise made the majority of it this year.”

My gaze pings to each side of the street like a pinball machine with every spot he explains. It’s sweet. It also reminds me of the night I met Dominic, who pointed out every stranded citizen of Shellport in his bar as if it were a family reunion.

“Drink?” he asks.

“I’d love one,” I answer.

He drags me by the hand to the pop-up bar near the bobbing for apples station.

A woman with a jet-black bob and bangs reaches out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Jenna.” I take her hand, shake it, and before I can fully say my name she adds, “This is just so wild that you’re here.

We haven’t seen Dominic in a tizzy in a while.

He’s normally so serious.” Her voice drops as if she’s imitating his voice.

“Now Jenna, don’t stir the pot,” Dean warns.

“Really? He seems like such a goofball,” I say, leaving the bait on the line.

At first, Jenna isn’t sure if I’m being sarcastic, but she catches on, letting her lips slide into a small smile.

“But also, he’s been through a lot so I’m just trying to respect his space while he grieves.

Losing a parent is a big deal,” I add, and when I do, I lock eyes with Dominic from across the way.

He’s scowling at me so hard, I wonder if he has a migraine.

I blink away just as a man I recognize from the funeral approaches him.

“And Annabelle was the best,” Dean says. “We all loved her. ”

“She is quite a character,” I add, spotting her ghost at the picnic table next to us. I let out a breath through my nose and shake my head.

“Have you met Sully?” Connor asks, noticing my gaze.

I squint at him, unsure if he’s stirring the aforementioned pot.

He shakes his head. “Right. Let’s not open that can of worms. Madam! A drink!”

He sticks out his arm for me to grab, and I smile at his theatrics. But as we walk toward the pop-up bar, my heart begins to pound. It’s like my blood knows when I’m getting closer to Dominic.

I almost say I don’t want one, but my voice doesn’t speak. I almost tell him he can get the drink and bring it back, but my street sense won’t allow it. I’ve been roofied under even more wholesome circumstances.

Thankfully, when we get to the bar, only his bar hand is there, dressed in a sage-colored sweater and ripped jeans.

She has smooth olive-colored skin and light green eyes.

She’s gorgeous. At first, I assume she’s Dominic’s girlfriend, but she smiles far too kindly at me for me to believe she’s romantically involved with the man who wants me to disappear.

I order a pear apple cider and take in the rest of the event with Connor.

Bobbing apples, racing rubber ducks, an apple sling shot.

Not to mention the town gossip. Within forty minutes, I learn that Connor dated Jenna all throughout high school but she ended up marrying Dean after he got her pregnant in college.

Connor also took Joelle to homecoming while she and Eli were on a break.

Eli almost beat him up after school. They got back together by Tolo, and she wound up getting pregnant at the end of junior year.

It worked out because, apparently, they’re forever port locals, and their daughter is everyone’s favorite babysitter.

I make note to never tell Connor anything personal. Ever. It will make it through the port pipeline faster than a game of telephone.

After my third round of cornhole, I’m all peopled out.

“Connor?” I lightly touch his shoulder. “I’m going to be right back.”

He nods and immediately returns to his conversation with Jenna. I probably could leave and walk all the way to the cottage and he wouldn’t even notice for hours. Connor is sweet, and I’ve appreciated this night, but socializing with the living isn’t really my specialty anymore.

I glance back at the picnic table and see Annabelle sitting with Marylou, Sully, Bernie, and Carlos.

She’s laughing, tilting her head and listening to whomever is speaking.

If I were seeing her for the first time, I wouldn’t know she’s a ghost. Her laughter fades, and her smile drops briefly, a tired, almost sad expression in her eyes.

I blink away. I don’t have the stamina to ask about her feelings in the afterlife. I barely have the stamina to reconcile my own feelings.

When I reach the end of the cobbled street, I slip off my Jesus sandals, sling them in my fingers, and walk toward the water.

The grains of sand have absorbed the coolness of the night, making chills run up my spine while the salty wind of the ocean whips through my hair.

I walk until the soft sand turns hard, dense, and wet.

The cold ocean water tickles my toes before retreating back into the abyss.

The ocean is intimidating at night—black and inky with no signs of life and roaring loud enough to drown out every sound from the town party. It’s calming, too, to have something so large drown out all my thoughts.

I breathe in the salty air, contemplating heading up the beach to the cottage instead of saying goodbye. I’m tired and lonely, and I have to be up at eight to buy a shell necklace from the farmers market in the morning. All I want is a cup of tea and a warm blanket .

The thought of hot tea tips the scales. I turn to start walking south to the cottage and am met with the shadowy figure of Dominic Dunne.

“Here to murder me?” I ask when my heart recovers.

“Thinking about it,” he mutters, tossing a shell into the ocean.

My gaze follows as it plunges into the retreating wave with a plunk. The scowl on his face and the way he seems to hate me would suggest he is fully capable of homicide, but it slowly morphs into an unintentional smirk and I can’t help but laugh a little, remembering who he was the night we met.

“Maybe next time,” I say and start walking again. I know he doesn’t want to talk to me. There’s no point in pleasantries, so I get straight to the point. “I’m not going to take the money.”

“Are you going to donate it to some dog shelter?”

“No,” I answer, then tilt my head, considering. “That’s not a bad idea, but I was going to give it back to you.”

His expression is cold, eyes ablaze. “You think I’m pissed about the money?”

I swallow hard. “Yes. I mean, I assumed… It’s a lot of money, and you don’t know who I am, and I just thought?—”

“How dense are you?” he grits out through his teeth. “It’s the principle of it, Vada. You weaseled into my mom’s life; she put you in her will, you’re going through her stuff, and now you’re just… around .”

Words freeze on my tongue. I can’t be honest and tell him I wanted to walk away but his mother’s ghost is going to haunt me until I do what she says. And I certainly don’t think he’ll entertain any notion of me defending my profession.

“I—”

“And now, you’re dating Connor!” he bellows.

I squint at him in the moonlight.

“It’s not a date. He just invited me to the Apple Festival, and by the looks of that street, I would have been the only one around who wouldn’t have attended. ”

He shakes his head. “Shellport sure knows how to throw a party. I just didn’t think you’d come to it.”

I nod once. “Well, I’m sorry I did. I had no intention of ruining your night.”

I start to walk away but his words interrupt my steps.

“You didn’t.” The pause leaves me almost hopeful that his guard his crumbling. That is, until he adds, “Careful, though. Connor is known for serenading the most unsuspecting women.”

If I didn’t know him better, I’d say there was a smile in his warning.

I scoff lightly. “With what? The joys of living in a small beach town?”

“No. A guitar,” he answers humorously.

“Oh, God, I hope not.” My voice is wracked with preemptive humiliation.

He steps closer, a wicked grin cutting through his face. “You wouldn’t like that?”

“I would be traumatized.” I laugh. “Being sung to is my worst nightmare. I once saw a clip from a pop star’s wedding, and he sang his vows ! In front of everyone!” I throw my hands up and shudder. “I had second-hand embarrassment for her, and I wasn’t even there. I watched it online.”

A rough chuckle escapes his broken smile, and for a moment, I think this is us making peace.

“Serenade me with French fries, a good conversation, a favorite book… a cup of coffee—” I catch myself on the last suggestion, realizing I just revealed one of my tells.

He doesn’t seem to catch it as he says, “So, a bed of roses?”

“Oh, no,” I respond quickly. “I hate roses.”

He squints, clearly not understanding.

“When you do what I do for a living, roses usually just remind you of death.”

His gaze drifts to the dark ocean while he absorbs my explanation. I choose my next words carefully. He may have the presence of a German Shepherd and the face of a god, but deep beneath his amber eyes, there’s sadness.

“Isn’t the official flower of death a lily?”

I eye him quizzically, surprised he knew that.

“It is, but more people send roses.” I sigh.

“There are always so many roses, particularly white ones. And I know it’s because people don’t know what else to send.

I know it’s a gesture. I know it’s a Hail Mary attempt to bring even just a minuscule part of beauty during such a hard time, but it makes me sad. ”

“I didn’t realize what you do makes you sad.”

I shrug, though I didn’t realize it had come out that way. “I don’t like seeing people hurting.”

His jaw is set as his gaze slices through me. “I don’t understand you.”

I scoff out a laugh as his eyes study my face rather harshly.

“And quite frankly, I just… I don’t want to,” he continues.

I huff out a breath. Well, in that case, I guess we won’t be making peace. Dominic clearly is putting up roadblocks toward any sort of truce.

When he turns to walk away, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair and I can practically feel the contrite confusion drifting off his shoulders.

It’s going to be a long stay in Shellport. With that last thought, I head down the beach in the direction of the cottage.