Page 61 of Mourner for Hire

FORTY-NINE

DOMINIC

I reach for Vada as soon as my mind wakes, only to find cold sheets. I sit up and grab my glasses from the bedside table and quickly spot her wrapped in one of my flannel shirts, leaning against the railing on the balcony that overlooks the valley.

I meet her out there, wrap my arms around her, and kiss the top of her head. She relaxes into my arms, and I pull her closer.

“Daylight,” she says softly.

“What?”

“I get why you named the bar Daylight.”

My gaze follows hers out to the skyline. The first golden hues of morning light up the valley, illuminating every tree changing with the season, glowing shades of amber and rust. Every shade of fall, brighter under the flame of the sun.

“It never made sense to me. How is a bar that closes before midnight called Daylight?” She lets out a small laugh, and I smile.

“The view is my favorite part of the bar. But I guess I was the only one that got to truly appreciate it, and now, no one will,” I admit.

She hums in response. “It really would make a cool house.”

“I think so, too. ”

“You get the best sunrises here, but do you know where to find the best sunset?”

“Where?”

“The cottage.”

She hums and shifts in my arms so she’s facing me. She reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses me. “I have to go. Meet me at the cottage at sunset.”

I hold her tighter. “Leaving so soon? No bagel? No coffee?”

“Ooh, tempting, but I have a few things to clean up so you can see the cottage and help me get it ready for the party,” she says, throwing on her clothes from last night.

“Oh, I’m helping?” I ask as she floats through the room, grabbing her belongings and slipping on her sandals.

She stops at the door that leads downstairs. “You better.” Then she blows a kiss and leaves.

As the door clicks closed, I look at the letter from on top of the manila envelope.

When the cottage is done, open this.

And trust me, honey. Please.

Mom

Trust is such a strange thing—especially when it’s blind. I’ve always loved my mom, always respected how even when I disagreed with her, she never forced her opinions on me. She had a way of gently guiding me—nudging me toward the truth until I saw it for myself.

And that’s what guts me now.

Because trusting her this time feels final. Like this envelope is the last new thing she’ll ever say to me. The weight of that thought presses against my chest, and for a moment, I consider waiting. Drawing it out. Pretending that by not opening it, I can delay the goodbye.

But I don’t .

I hold my breath and tear it open. I pull out a small stack of papers. The top one is the deed for the cottage, signed over to Vada Daughtry. The one below that is from when the county signed it over to my mom. And the last one makes everything make sense.

A yellow sticky note from Mom is underneath the name.

Don’t tell her until she figures it out.

“No peeking,” she says, guiding me up the sandy footpath that leads to the cottage.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” When I open my eyes, all I see is the silky aqua scarf she wrapped around my face.

She straightens my shoulders so I’m square with the front door, I’m guessing.

She huffs. “Okay, ready? One, two, three?—”

The silk falls from my eyes, revealing a sage-colored front door surrounded by white trim. It stands out brightly against the faded cedar shingles. Matching flower boxes adorn the two front windows, and mums spill out of each.

“It’s funny how a little fresh paint can really make the whole thing look a little less condemned, am I right?” She smiles at me but doesn’t give me time to respond before swinging the door open and gesturing for me to follow her inside.

Every memory I know in this space is still distinct underneath all the new paint and floors. A familiar ache in the bones of the house and a swipe of beauty that belongs to Vada.

The cabinets are freshly painted. And the old linoleum swept away, revealing the beauty of the cottage’s originality.

The furniture is new, and there’s a painting of Milton’s Mailbox that I’ve never seen before, but I want one of my own.

Everything in the space catches my eye, and everything goes seamlessly together to create a masterpiece.

I run my fingers along the wallpaper— the same wall our bodies fell through not too long ago.

It’s now covered in lilac and rose wallpaper.

“You hate roses,” I say.

She smiles at me, pride flashing all over her features. “I do, but your mom didn’t.”

I continue inside the home. I’m not one to know how to describe interior design, but if I had to describe the space, it would be modernish, with a hippy bohemian vibe.

She kept the beading hanging on the entryway to the bedroom and the old brick surrounding the fireplace in the living room, which echoes in the bedroom on the other side.

The palette is earthy and warm, yet clean and updated.

“What do you think?” she asks. “Be honest.”

“I love it,” I say, truly meaning it and wondering why I was so afraid. Mom would be so proud.

“I wanted… Well, I wanted to update it. And I wanted to make sure that you still saw your mom here… at least a little bit.”

She’s so excited as she speaks, smiling over the space with tears in her eyes.

What a discovery this town, this beach, this cottage has been for her.

And yet, she’s handled it with so much grace, even through her pain and emotions.

She committed, and she didn’t stray from her true self. Not even for a moment.

“Vada, it’s so beautiful.” I clear my throat and then look at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

She smiles with gratitude and then glances out the back window to the deck. “I still have to get the deck done, but I didn’t have time, and it’s fine, really, it just needs to be refinished. Plus, I’m certain we’ll have a few dozen people dancing through the eclipse on it tomorrow.”

I breathe out a small laugh. “Right.”

“So it’s okay? The cottage, I mean.”

I pull her into my arms and kiss her temple. “Vada, it’s amazing.”

“Is it good enough for you?”

I draw back. “Is it good enough for you ? ”

She opens her mouth to speak and immediately closes it.

“I think you should have it,” I blurt, not explaining why but letting her know she could have permanency here in the town she used to call home.

“What do you mean?”

I cup my hands around her face. “I want you here.”

She leans into my hand. “If only I could…”

“I know I haven’t been the best welcome committee. I was just in denial. Then, at some point, I just became so wrapped up in you, I…” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel forced to stay. Or live here or change your life for me. But a part of me is hoping you will.”

She reaches out and cups my jaw in her soft hand. “I’m sorry everything happened this way. Your mom is the best kind of crazy, and this cottage is just…” she pauses. “I just want to make her proud.”

She doesn’t confirm or deny if she’s going to stay, but I note the present tense, and for some reason, it feels so good to hear my mother’s opinion phrased that way. My gaze drifts around the space, and I pause at the gallery wall between the living room and bedroom.

“Come look,” she says, holding my hand.

It’s a complete time capsule of memories in picture frames.

Some of the pictures are from the nineties, others the eighties, a few of the early aughts.

There are several of my mom and her mom probably taken on the beach.

Chasing seagulls, laughing over cocktails.

Most of the photographs are faded and worn.

Some are creased against the glass of the picture frame.

It reminds me that even the moments that are jagged and broken are so beautiful and worth being a part of a highlight.

I laugh when I get to my baby pictures. “Really?”

A smiling chocolate-covered face on my first birthday, a paper airplane flying in a field. Flying a kite on the beach with my dad. I pause here. I miss my mom, but I miss my dad, too. The longer he’s gone, the more I realize that emptiness filled with grief will never go away.

Next, I get to a more recent picture, filtered in black and white. Mom and I are standing together, smiling, both our heads shaved.

She was gone so soon after that.

No one ever has any idea of how hard life is going to be or who you’re going to lose or when.

Fifteen years from that picture with my dad, he’d be gone in a breath.

Four months from that picture with my mom, I’d lose her, too.

And twenty years from that moment on the beach next to sand castles I would stomp on with Vada, I’d find her again and fight her in different ways.

I stand in awe at the kaleidoscope of time. “You did well. It’s perfect.”

I stare at the photo of us next to a sand castle and smile. “It’s like we’ve known each other forever.”

She nuzzles under my arm, and I kiss the top of her head.

“Because we have known each other forever,” she responds. “We just forgot each other for a while.”

She squeezes my arm, and we keep going through the house, making our way back to the back bedroom. Not much has changed in here, but man. The way she improved the bathroom is beyond me. It is still classic and original but brand-new. She worked miracles in this old house.

One thing I’ve learned about Vada is that when she has a vision, she lets it come to life.

“Are you happy?” she asks as I sit on the bed.

“I love it.”

“Good.” She breathes out and holds her hands out to me, making me stand. “Come outside.”

We make our way down the hallway to the back French doors to the wrap-around porch.

All the lights are strung, cascading over the porch to the extended deck and over the cedar hot tub.

“I didn’t finish the deck because the stain that I’m going to use is on backorder, but it will be here next week, and the sander isn’t available until next weekend.

So then, once that’s all here, I’ll finish that, and then I swear I’ll be completely done.

But I think it’s going to be perfect for the party and the eclipse.

Lucy’s mom is going to bring extra chairs with Eli tomorrow morning.

And I ordered the cardboard glasses for everyone for the eclipse.

” She grabs a pair out of the box on the porch and puts them on.

“You look like you’re going on a 3D ride at Disneyland.” I smile at her. “My mom would love it.”

She smiles and exhales, her relief apparent, and then I hear the creak of the front doors and footsteps inside. I turn toward the noise. “Were you expecting company?”

She looks surprised and then shakes her head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” I peek my head through the doorway. Again, I hear footsteps. “You must hear that. The floorboards are creaking. Anyone here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Something seems to catch her eye. I don’t know what, but the smell of lilac hits my nose, and I turn to Vada. “I bet it’s Mom.”

Vada’s eyes go wide, and tears kiss the corners of her eyes.

“I bet she’s doing one final inspection.”

I walk through the house, following the creaking of the floorboards. I don’t know why, but I start laughing.

“Mom was meticulous. And such a control freak down to the color, the shade, and the look of every drape, every throw blanket, and pillow, which is surprising considering the place was outdated and rather ugly if I’m honest.”

I stare over at Vada, and she’s smiling at the couch.