Page 40 of Mourner for Hire

“Hi, everyone. My name is Juniper, and this is Jan. It’s true—we’re Marilee’s daughters. We never knew our mother.” I choke on my spit, but it’s okay because it’s just making me look emotional, not incompetent at public speaking. “Or our brothers,” I add, using Marilee’s pre-morbid suggestion.

“Bullshit!” the short one shouts, standing.

Morgan squeezes my hand. She’s about to lose her mind with laughter.

“I’m afraid it’s true, Timothy.”

“I’m Barron!”

The tall one rolls his eyes.

“Right. Sorry, Barron. I wish we met under better circumstances. But it’s true, Marilee is our mother.

When we were notified of her death, all the things we thought we could have with her one day when we found her vanished in an instant.

” My chest twists, and tears drip down my face.

Again, I’m not an actress, but the emotion stems from my own aching hollowness at missing my mother.

“We’re broken up about it, wishing we had a life with our biological mother, but are so grateful she is leaving her legacy with us. ”

Another gasp.

This time, Timothy jumps up. “What do you mean, she’s leaving her legacy?”

His gaze cuts through me. Confusion sweeps over his face.

For a moment, I feel bad. Then I remember his crimes.

His lack of remorse and complete entitlement.

I remember all of it. I remember Marilee and how I sat with her and she told me her diagnosis before she even told her sons.

She told me she loved them, and she always would, but there was only so much she could do when she was made to be meek as a mouse next to her powerhouse of a husband.

They weren’t always this way, she said. But they were now.

And now, they needed to feel the weight of their actions.

“We’ll discuss it more later, boys,” Henry says, which is quite funny considering they are in their twenties, probably just a few years shy of Morgan and me.

“We’re just as shocked as you, and I hope and pray we can celebrate our mother’s life with all she’s left us with. She really is quite generous, considering… everything.” Morgan emphasizes the last word.

“How much do they get?” Barron asks.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Henry repeats.

“Tell us now!” Timothy demands.

Henry hesitates. I know he hoped this would have been confrontational behind closed mahogany doors, but alas, entitled men like this want answers on their timetable, even if they don’t realize it’s at the expense of their own embarrassment.

“They get everything. Your mother left you with nothing.”

“Fuck this!” Timothy shouts, and Barron kicks a chair, sending it toppling into the wet grass.

There were a few snickers in the crowd, a few expressions of disbelief, and many faces of confusion. But the woman sitting next to us who spoke to Morgan was smiling with pride. She made eye contact and held a hand over her heart and mouths , That’s my girl.

The shouting grows louder, and chaos starts to ensue. Henry tells us thank you and to check my account, but we should really get out of there.

We waste no time speedwalking down the hill until we reach the tree that was my line of focus during my speech. A man steps out from behind it.

Not just any man.

Dominic.

Shit.

He slow-claps as he walks toward us. “Well done, Vada. That was quite the performance.”

There’s a flash of fear from a man jumping out behind a tree, but then all I feel is confusion. “What are you doing here, Dominic?”

“I just wanted to finally see you in action,” he responds.

“Who’s this?” Morgan asks.

I glance at her. “The thorn in my side.”

“Aw, you speak so kindly of me,” he says .

“Wait. This is Dunner? This is Dominic? This is the bartender? This is—” she cuts herself off as her gaze sweeps over him. “That’s right. I remember the picture you sent me way back when.”

I know what she sees. Six-foot-three inches of solid man. A deafening scowl. A sharp jaw. Perfectly disheveled hair. And eyes that are a cross between honey and milk chocolate and that still make my stomach flutter.

Damn it.

“Yes, this is Dominic. Dominic, this is my friend, Morgan.”

“There’s more of you?” he asks.

“I’m sorry?” My face twists in confusion.

“Funeral crashers,” he clarifies.

“Not usually. Just today,” I answer.

“And we’re mourners for hire. Invited by the dead,” Morgan answers with crossed arms.

“Does it feel good to make people spiral when their lives have already turned to chaos?” he remarks, gesturing up the hill. There’s shouting and uncontrollable laughter—the combination making my mind spin.

“I only do what’s asked of me,” I answer.

His nostrils flare. “Even if you crush the people around you.”

Morgan steps forward, her gaze darting behind us. It would seem a rich mob is about to descend upon us. “It sounds like the two of you have some unresolved issues and you need to just sit down and hash it out, but like, maybe some other time.”

My gaze shifts to her with my mouth wide open. She is not typically the voice of reason. But I understand. Barron and Timothy are barreling down the hill, red-faced with fists in the air.

“Unresolved issues are a very nice way of saying I disagree whole-heartedly with her life choices, and I think she preys upon the weak for money,” Dominic says, completely oblivious, it would seem.

“Oh, look at you and your big feelings.”

“Big feelings you can talk about later.” Morgan grips my arm .

“Time to go!” I shout, fumbling with my key fob. Just before I slam my door, I add, “Come to the cottage tonight if you still want to lecture me.”

I practically see the steam blow out of his ears as we peel out of the parking lot.