Page 65 of Mourner for Hire

VADA

The seagulls’ caw against the crashing waves has become the sweetest lullaby. Three years back in Shellport, and I’ve never felt more at home.

I kept the cottage, and Dominic sold the bar and moved in with me a few months after Annabelle’s celebration.

He ended up being accepted to both the University of Washington in Seattle and Good Samaritan in Corvallis, and being the homebody he is, he chose Good Samaritan.

He’s been commuting to Corvallis for residency for the last few years, and while it hasn’t been easy, it hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be.

I keep to my Google Alert schedule, and he keeps to his three twelve-hour shifts every week. I’ve gotten better at making Annabelle’s apple cider donuts, and Dominic still builds birdhouses to clear his mind.

He’s ventured out into other forms of carpentry—a coffee table, another bookshelf because I have trouble parting with my literary trophies.

He built a shop on the side of the cottage and even talked about getting permits to build an addition on the cottage.

We have the land and eventually will need the space, right?

he asked one crisp October night while the bonfire roared on the beach.

Now, a year after that moment, I find him in his shop, his white T-shirt wet with sweat and dirty with sawdust. He breaks his focus from sanding the edges of a birdhouse to smile at me.

“Hey, baby.” The kiss is simultaneous to his words. I sink into it as I hop up on the shop bench. “What’s up?”

“Remember how we talked about an addition?”

He drops the sandpaper and dusts off his hands, his gaze not breaking from mine.

“Think we could look into it?” I ask, waiting for him to realize what I’m saying.

His curious smile moves to a full-blown grin, and he closes the little distance between us, arms wrapped around me in a hug I can feel all over my body. When we finally part, I smile at him.

“Want to build a cradle?” I ask.

He kisses me in response. “I will build anything and everything for you. A bookshelf. A cradle. An entire life.”

I smile against his lips, and I relish the safety that has become him.

“Can you believe this?” I ask.

He glides a hand over my flat stomach and, with a laugh, says, “Yes.”

Moments later, we’re kissing. He’s crying. I’m crying. And we’re proposing a toast on the beach with apple cider and donuts.

The waves tickle our toes as I stay wrapped under a blanket and his arms.

“What are we going to tell our kid one day?” I ask as the autumn sun sets over the water.

“What do you mean? About how my mother haunted you into loving me?”

I shrug, a smile pushing past my pursed lips.

“We won’t. We won’t tell a soul. No one would believe us anyway.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips, and my head falls onto his shoulder as we begin walking toward Hope Rock. I think of that day of the eclipse. The day the sun and moon aligned, so did we .

As we approach the rock, Dominic finds a pebble in the ground and begins carving.

“You only get to carve once, babe.”

His gaze is intense—almost smiling—as it flits from me to the rock.

“I know exactly what I want.” A few moments later, he declares, “There. It’s done.”

I step forward to read what he wrote.

Vada.

One word. One name. Just me.

“We must be getting serious if I’m the only thing you want.” I laugh, deflecting from the emotions rising in my heart.

He shrugs, playing coy. “A marriage, a baby… but me writing your name on a rock makes you think we’re getting serious, sure.”

An ache in my throat forms, and tears fill my eyes.

“You wreck me,” I say.

“I know.” He kisses me and pulls away enough for me to respond.

“I hate it.”

“No, you don’t.” His hands cradle my jaw as he kisses every inch of my face.

“Give me your worst, Vada. The weird. The questionable. The cryptic. I want the parts of you that don’t make sense—the worst and the best. I want your gray skies, your lost memories, your haunted nights, and your bad days.

Your absolute worst. And I’ll still think you are the very best thing to ever happen to me, and I’m going to love you for the rest of my life. ”

I smile at these words—the ones I have etched on my heart forever.

I am apple cider donuts and hot chocolate on a chilly fall evening.

I am sunset walks and bonfires on the beach.

I am sand castles, diary entries, and games of Clue while it storms outside.

I am lullabies, nineties alternative rock bands, and laughter in a silent room.

I am whispers of I love you and goodnight prayers.

I am a shoulder to cry on and hands to hold.

I am empathy and resilience. I am my mother’s daughter and the town that welcomed me back home.

I am Dominic’s wife and the mother of this sweet baby.

My name is Vada Daughtry-Dunne, and I am a mourner for hire.