Page 29 of Mourner for Hire

TWENTY-FOUR

VADA

I haven’t eaten anything since Dominic dropped off cookies, and the inevitable sugar crash is starting to give me the shakes. Instead of beginning the scroll of doom on my phone while my stomach eats itself as I wait for the food to arrive, I examine the shell necklace.

The necklace has a conch shell.

It’s small, but it has a purpose.

I hold it up to my ear. I know the science of why it sounds like the ocean. It’s really the blood rushing through my ear and the sound waves that would normally vibrate out into atom after atom in the air are trapped by the glasslike walls of the shell, mimicking the sound of waves.

All at once, my vision spins, and I’m transported to a time where I am five years old, sitting on this couch, staring at my mom in a cream linen dress.

“Listen, sweet girl, you’ll hear the sound of freedom.”

“What’s freedom sound like, Mommy?”

“This.”

I pulled the shell to my ear and heard the whoosh-whoosh of the sea. The crash of each wave made me smile .

“When you hear this noise, think of me always, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“Do you hear it, Vada? Listen. Do you hear me?”

I can feel her breath on my skin as she whispers in my ear, blowing chills down my spine and making me lose my breath. It was as if she actually whispered it to me in this room, and the memory hits me so vividly that I drop the necklace and the shell chips.

“What… was… that?”

The doorbell rings, and I jump. It takes me three full seconds before I open the door to my first delivery of the day: breakfast burrito and a side of southern-style hashbrowns.

The brown-haired young man hands it off and jumps back in his Honda Civic just as an old red Datsun clammers down the driveway.

I accept the bagged white Styrofoam containers with a nod of thanks, and the old man walks back to his old truck just as a girl riding a blue bike with a basket comes rolling down the driveway, her teeth tight together as she’s trying to make a full stop.

The tires skid against the dry sand, making her lose her bearings enough that she slides into the lavender planted in the garden beds lining the house.

“I am so sorry ,” she exhales. She has bright hazel eyes and fiery red hair under a baseball cap and helmet.

I shake my head. “It’s okay. Begonias will be going out of season any day now.”

“I know, but…”

“But it’s okay,” I reassure her, holding my hand out for the bag. “This must be my fish and chips with extra hot sauce from the Hungry Hermit?”

“Yes, and my mom threw in some extra cheddar biscuits.” She unclips her helmet and wipes her brow with the back of her hand.

“Speaking of: please don’t tell my boss.

And by my boss, I mean my mom… and my grandma and grandpa.

They don’t want their re staurant to do delivery, but I begged and begged and told them I’d do it because I need the extra money and?—”

“Your secret is safe with me.” I take the bag and notice her ankle is scraped—not enough to be bleeding down her leg, but enough that she should clean it and cover it. “Why don’t you come on in and I can get you a Band-Aid for that.”

She looks down at the small wound. “I thought you didn’t like blood.”

I chuckle. “Word travels fast. Come on,” I say, nodding over my shoulder. “And no, I don’t like blood… but only my blood. That’s just a scratch. I can handle it.”

She grins at me. “I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“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 to you?”

“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?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, bet! I can do that. I can deliver every night if you want. Even tomorrow?—”

“Well, I can’t tomorrow. I’ll be out of town for a funeral. But Monday? Are you working?”

“Yep. I work Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”

“Excellent. I’ll set a reminder on my phone, and I will make sure I get the chance to order everything I can on the menu, extra biscuits, delivered here.” I type it into the calendar on my phone.

Lucy is buzzing with excitement. “Thank you. Oh, man, thank you so much, Vada. This is going to be so dope!”

I laugh. “I have one condition.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I get to see the photos you take of the eclipse.”

“Of course!” she practically cheers. “I can’t wait to tell my dad. He’s going to be so excited for me! Mom, too. And Grandma and Grandpa.”

“I’m excited for you! And for all the cheddar biscuits I’m going to eat these next few months.” I let out a soft laugh. “You said it’s your grandparents’ restaurant?”

“Since nineteen-seventy-three.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, Mom works there, too, but not Dad. He’s an EMT.” She pauses. “For the health insurance. ”

I would laugh if curiosity and recognition didn’t consume my brain. “Oh, yeah? What’s your mom and dad’s names?”

“My mom is Joelle, and my dad’s name is Eli.”

The breath hitches in my throat, and my hand inadvertently flies to the top of my head. “Oh, that’s great. Maybe I’ll see them around.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says. “Thanks again!”

And just like that, she skips down the path, her white sneakers kicking up sand as she goes. What have I now got myself into? I promised Dominic I’d lay low while I’m here. It’s not my fault his best friend’s daughter delivered my food.