Jeepers Reapers: There Goes My Midlife Crisis

by Marianne Morea

“This was fun, but one of us better get inside before that meshuga gets back. Ivy finally agreed to come into the city, and I don’t want Alistair ruining my weekend with my daughter by changing the schedule.” Marigold wrapped her leftover sandwich, and then plastered a red lipstick mark on my cheek. “I’m so glad you stopped by, bubbaleh. I’ve been so worried.”

  “No need. I’m all good.” I pinched the underside of Thea’s elbow not to say otherwise.

  “Still, I don’t know if Thea told you, but Alistair is catching heat because he can’t find anyone half as qualified to fill your shoes.” Marigold didn’t notice Thea’s wince, or the keep-your-mouth-shut-or-I’ll-glue-your-lips-together look I shot her in reply. Instead, Goldie blew me a kiss, and then left for the library’s back door.

  “Ow!” Thea shoved my shoulder once Goldie was out of earshot. “That pinch hurt!”

  “Really, T? Why would you joke around like that? I thought you believed me.”

  “I do believe you,” she argued.

  “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t have skirted nearly outing me. Hell, watching me lose it on the roof should’ve been enough proof.”

  Thea handed me a wet-nap from the food delivery bag. “Trust me. Your dealings with the dead went right over Marigold’s bouffant.”

  “Thea! You still don’t get it. My situation isn’t conjecture. It’s the real deal.”

  She lifted a hand. “If telling me is such a big deal for your real deal, then why say anything at all?”

  “I haven’t even scratched the surface. I gave you the highlights reel, and that’s more than enough, considering your need to poke fun.”

  Thea’s brows perked up at that, and she practically salivated. “C’mon, Louisa. I won’t say anything to anyone. Do you know how rare something like this is for someone like me? I’ve always prided myself on being plugged-in to what lies beyond, but I never imagined anything this huge.”

  “Then why tweak me about it with Goldie?”

  She looked at me square. “Jealousy. Plain and simple. I’ve been flipping tarot cards forever, playing with crystals and trying to tap into otherworldly energy. Sometimes I get lucky. Most times, it’s zippity-do-dah.”

  Thea had it all wrong. Would I choose this if there were no consequences for Emmie? No way. Blissful ignorance would’ve done me fine for the rest of my life.

  “Trust me, T. You have nothing to be jealous about. I didn’t go looking for this. It just happened.”

  “Exactly! You don’t even believe in this mumbo jumbo as you call it, but here you are, a celestial Keeper.” She turned on the bench, holding her cupcake in the flat of her palm. “Pledge of good faith. Let me live vicariously through you, and I swear never to eat chocolate if I break your trust.”

  Plucking the cupcake from her hand, I broke it in half to lick the vanilla cream center. “Since swearing on chocolate is sacred to us both, I’m holding you to that pledge, and if that’s not enough, then I’m sure I can get Angelica to pay you a visit if you break your word.”

  I ate the cupcake, filling her in on the letter from Memento Mori, Angelica’s revelations, even the gargoyles on the building, the ghost box and Harry and his paper-knife, Esther and her atomizer, but I purposely left out Cade.”

  “Wow. The Angel of Death and the Grim.” Thea’s brows scrunched in her trademark processing face. “And you’re sure both entities are female?”

  “Unless Angelica changes form based on circumstance, I’d say she was without a doubt female, but I only have her word for it when it comes to her counterpart.”

  “The Grim Reaper.”

  I nodded.

  “Female.”

  “Jeez, Thea. Like it makes a difference.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just not what I sensed on the roof. I sensed male. In both instances. Plus, imagining a pair of high heels under the Grim Reaper’s shroud is a trip. I wonder if she accessorizes them with her scythe.” She laughed. “All that’s missing is a hottie who looks like Brad Pitt in Meet Joe Black.”

  I busied myself with my sandwich. I was starved, and if I had a mouthful of turkey on rye, I couldn’t comment. Cade definitely had a Brad Pitt vibe, but I wasn’t going there. Not with Thea.

  “Louisa.”

  Hmmm.

  “You’re doing what you always do when you evade conversation.”

  “What?” I crammed French fries in my mouth.

  “You squirrel.”

  I chewed enough to swallow, wincing as the lump of half-masticated potatoes went down hard. “I’m sorry, I what?”

  “You cram so much food in your mouth you look like a squirrel collecting nuts for winter. It’s your tell that you’re NOT telling. And it’s gross.”

  “I’m hungry,” I said, reaching for more fries. “It’s a Keeper thing.”

  If I told Thea about Cade, she’d whip out her Yenta hat faster than I could say matchmaker.

  “Fine…but if you won’t trust me with the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, then don’t call me when the supernatural shit hits the fan.”

  I stopped mid-chew.

  She was right. I finished what was in my mouth and then wiped my face with a wet-nap.

  “You just smeared Goldie’s kissy lips across your cheek.”

  “Forget Marigold’s lipstick.” I grabbed Thea’s hands, making her look at me. “This isn’t a joke. If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t get the way you get.”

  A sideways smile started on Thea’s red lips, and I let go of her hand. “See? That’s why I can’t tell you.”

  “Ah ha! I was right! Male! And he has the hots for you!” She did her little Yenta dance in her seat. “Move over Brad Pitt!”

  I laughed at that. “His name is Cade. He’s a high-ranking Keeper brought in to train me.” I told her the whole thing and her sideways red grin spread from ear to ear.

  “I told you!”

  “And? Technically, he’s my boss, T. My hands are tied.”

  “No, he’s training you. He’s not your boss. That Angelica person is your boss.”

  “Same thing.”

  She studied me as I picked at the remaining fries in my take-out tin. The weight of her eyes was unnerving, like her super power was a death stare.

  “You like him, Louisa. Don’t deny it.” She took the takeout tin from my lap and put it on the bench. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you light up when you talk about him. Your whole aura changes.”

  “Thea please. I told you, my hands are tied.”

  She shrugged, eating my leftover fries. “But your knees aren’t. You nail that boy first chance you get, and I guarantee your chakras will light up like the fourth of July. Not like that muddy mess Marcus left behind—”

  Thea’s mouth puckered like a sour patch kid, and she scrounged in her pocket. “I almost forgot. Peter Pan himself stopped by the reference desk looking for you.”

  “Marcus?”

  “Is there another man-child we know?” She handed me the note. “He said he got a new cellphone number, and wanted me to give that to you.”

  “Why?”

  “My question exactly. He’s your ex, but my gut tells me he must want something.”

  I pocketed the note, not sure what to make of it. “It’s nearly one thirty. I better clean out my desk before Alistair gets back, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Yeah, about that. Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” I replied, stuffing my lunch garbage into the delivery bag.

  “Hell.”

  I looked up at that. “They don’t call it by that name, but to be honest, I never thought to ask.”

  “What do they call it then?”

  A hot flash stirred beneath the surface in that moment, and I blew my hair from my face. “They call it the darkness.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I WAITED ON THE STEPS of the library with a shopping bag from my desk. Alistair wasn’t back yet, so win-win. Clearing out my stuff was bittersweet, but at least h
e wasn’t there to cast a stink eye over everyone who came to say goodbye.

  The note Thea gave me was burning a hole in my pocket. Did I want to call Marcus and risk being pissed off, or worse, disappointed again? Not really. But my curiosity was piqued.

  I hadn’t heard hide nor hair since I threw him out four years ago. The divorce was final, and he got nothing thanks to my grandmother’s iron clad will. I had no personal assets, so what could he attach himself to? My flat-iron? My collection of teapots or the cookbooks I never touched?

  Everything in the house was tied up in the estate, and technically not even in my name. Thank God. He made more selling travel articles to publications than I made at the library, so there it was. As Marigold would say, the schmuck and his wandering penis were entitled to bupkus.

  Still, there was a little part of me that wanted him to see how well I did since we split up. My mother used to say the best revenge is a successful life.

  Of course, my Italian mother’s advice was usually followed by a colorful curse, and the fare le corna, or giving the horns. It was supposed to be protection against the evil eye, but maybe she was protecting herself against a backlash from her own curse. Then again, maybe she was adding a little extra familial oomph. Either way, it was too late for me to ask her.

  Did her superstitious hoodoo work?

  I smiled to myself.

  Every time.

  Maybe there was something to what Cade said about Keepers and latent psychic abilities. If you went by my mother’s track record, it made sense.

  Still. To call Marcus or not. That was the question. I took Thea’s note from my pocket and read the number. I was a Keeper now. I had stopped aging, and if what I saw in the mirror this morning was any indication of Keeper perks, then why not? I looked good.

  My skin was always peaches-and-cream, but this morning there was an extra glow. Was it my imagination? Who cared? I was forty and rocking it.

  That settled it, and I reached for my cellphone in my back pocket, my inner revenge junkie poised to get some of my own back.

  I AGREED TO MEET MARCUS, but in a public place. That way if he annoyed me, I’d be less likely to throw something at him. Also, I could keep it short and sweet, as Cade still expected me at the house by three p.m.

  To be honest, I was surprised Marcus picked up so quickly when I called. Even more so that he waited downtown on the off chance I’d respond to his note. Was I that predictable? Or did he know me too well? Either way, it made me uncomfortable.

  My face and chest were drenched with sweat by the time I got to the coffeehouse where we agreed to meet. Only this time the rest of me chilled to the bone. I was fire and ice. A walking thermoregulation conundrum.

  A reaper must have crossed my path while walking from the library, and from my body’s inferno-fest, it must’ve been a mutha-sized minion.

  Neither Angelica nor Cade told me about physical reactions to reapers, but I managed to put two and two together. Was it an oversight considering the clusterfuck my newfound status caused? Probably. Or at least I hoped so. It would suck if they threw me into the deep end for shits and giggles.

  I ducked through the coffeehouse’s side entrance, avoiding the outdoor café area where Marcus said he’d be. Half of me wanted to call him with an excuse, but that wasn’t happening. I wasn’t a coward. I was just vain. That meant pulling myself together with what I had at the moment.

  Luckily, cleaning out my desk provided everything I needed. From a blouse I forgot I bought, to body spray and deodorant, and even a little makeup. The only problem? I needed to stop sweating first.

  I locked myself in a stall and sat on the toilet lid. Taking deep breaths, I closed my eyes and focused on the icy chill in my extremities, willing them inward and upward through my body.

  Upward.

  My eyes snapped open at that. Thea said my chakras lit every time I mentioned Cade. Was there a way to use their balancing energy to calm my reaper-o-meter?

  I never had much interest in anything new age, but Thea gave me a chakra balancing guide with a matching tonal CD last Christmas. I didn’t pay much attention, but it was a book, and like a good librarian, I studied the guide just the same. The accompanying CD was instrumental music timed with a singing bowl, and actually pretty calming, so like it or not, I had internalized most of it without realizing.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I sat in the bathroom stall humming tonal chakras like a weirdo.

  Rocking back and forth with the rhythm, I lost time and space. Cooling waves resonated from somewhere inside, and I wasn’t about to question.

  I worked up the chakra line, and the heat in my face and chest waned. Not completely, but enough for me to do a quickie makeover and save my self-respect.

  I walked from the ladies’ room out to the sidewalk tables set café style under a blue-striped awning.

  Marcus sat at a table for two nearest the street. He spotted me right away, and I squared my shoulders, winding my way through the narrow set up.

  “You look great, Louisa. Then again, you always did,” he said, getting up to pull out my chair.

  I didn’t take the dangled bait to answer in kind. “I was surprised to get your note. Did something happen I need to know about?” I asked before he hit me with more small talk.

  He templed his fingers. Psychologists say the move was meant to subliminally intimidate. A posture of dominance, but guess who didn’t play that anymore.

  “I’m still not a mind reader, Marcus.” I wasn’t sorry for the small jibe. His lack of communication was a major problem during our former marriage. “Are you going to tell me why you stopped by the library looking for me? Or am I supposed to guess?”

  “I wanted to see you again.”

  I didn’t blink, and at my non-reaction, he actually shrugged, seemingly embarrassed.

  “I know. Out of the blue, right? I bet you’re wondering what angle I’m trying to work, but Lou, I swear I’m not.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him not to call me Lou, but it wasn’t worth the effort.

  “What do you expect me to say to that?” I could’ve given him a litany of snark, but the waitress walked over to take our order.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Unsweetened iced tea,” I replied, not looking up.

  Marcus smiled at the girl. “I’ll have coffee with cream and a large slice of chocolate cream pie. Bring two forks. It’s the lady’s favorite, but she never orders her own.” He followed up with a wink, and the server actually blushed.

  I rolled my eyes, turning to concentrate on the street and the people walking past. Marcus had player built into his DNA, but he was no longer my monkey, no longer my circus. I retired my ringmaster hat well before the ink was dry on our divorce papers.

  The waitress walked away, and I turned my attention back to the table.

  “What’s that look for?” he asked.

  Seriously? I folded my hands on the table and leaned in a bit for effect. “This isn’t a date, Marcus, and I’m not your lady. If I wanted pie, I’d order my own.”

  “That was just a bit of fun. Remember fun?”

  The more time ticked past, the more I realized meeting him was a vain mistake, but I could take care of that. “You’ve got three seconds to tell me what this is really about, or you’ll be wearing pie and coffee, or better yet, how about I leave before there’s a scene?”

  I went to get up, but Marcus stood as well. For a split second, heat whooshed from my chest to my face again, but this time it was anger and embarrassment. Talk about a piece of work.

  “Please, Louisa. Give me ten minutes. That’s all I ask. There are things to be said, and I may never get the chance again.”

  There was something in his expression that gave me pause. It wasn’t his boyish charm. No. Looking at him now it was clear that appeal had waned. Had Peter Pan grown up? I didn’t really care, but neither was I a true bitch. Obviously, something he banked on when he asked me to stay.<
br />
  “Ten minutes.” I sat down again, and he did as well. “Let me remind you of something I told you a long time ago. Something you chose to ignore back in the day. Do not confuse my kindness with weakness. You will lose.”

  He nodded, folding and refolding his paper napkin. “You’re right. And I did lose. I lost you and I lost us. I have no one to blame but myself.”

  Stunned, I blinked at him but still kept my face impassive. “Well then. What have you been up to in four years? Are you still a perpetual student?” I knew he wanted me to comment on what he said, but I couldn’t. Or more to the point, I didn’t want to.

  “I prefer student of life.” He took the passive aggressive dig in stride. but doubled down with one of his own. “And you? Are you still taking care of the great unwashed?”

  I shook my head, playing with the paper place mat in front of me. “Not nice, Marcus.”

  “And neither was your shot across the bow.”

  The waitress brought our drinks and the pie, setting them down without a word before turning for her next table.

  He poured cream into his coffee and stirred. “I didn’t ask you to meet so we could trade jibes or open old wounds. I had hoped we could move past that.”

  I played with the ice in my drink with my straw. “Why?” My question was matter-of-fact, but I still wanted an answer.

  “Time and circumstance.” He looked at me and shrugged. “And opportunity.”

  I didn’t know what he meant, but something about his reply didn’t sit right. Opportunity for whom? Or for what?

  “So, did you end up backpacking across the world, or is that still on your bucket list?” My question was an honest redirect.

  “I did,” he said, digging a fork into his pie and taking a bite. “It was quite the adventure. Experiences and opportunities like I never dreamed.”

  There was that word again. Opportunity. The word itself was innocuous, but the way Marcus said it, and then said it again, made it smack of something smarmy. He was just making conversation, but it felt like he was about to peddle a mid-level marketing program.

  “You said that twice.” I had to ask. “What gives?”

  “Said what twice?”