Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two

by Robyn Peterman

  Heather’s laugh was so shocking, I almost smiled. But smiling wasn’t in my repertoire right now.

  “Let me start by saying I would love for Clarissa to be eliminated from this world. However, it’s not an option. She can’t be killed.”

  “Are you serious?” I shouted.

  “I am,” Heather said. “Here’s the real question. Do you want Steve to stay in this state forever?”

  I paled and sat. “No.”

  “Fine,” Heather said. “I’ll represent you.”

  “I thought you said Clarissa couldn’t die,” I said, confused now.

  “There are far worse things than death, Daisy,” she said with the beginnings of a smile. “Far, far worse.”

  “Clarissa’s decision was wrong. Steve didn’t commit suicide. Why can’t it just be reversed?”

  “Once a decree has been made, it stands,” Heather said. “However, in this case…”

  That was all I needed to hear. I was in. “Tell me what I have to do.”

  “You won’t like it.”

  I sighed and pressed my lips together. The choices were not many. I was sure none of them were good, but at this point, it didn’t matter. As long as Clarissa would pay for what she’d done and Steve wouldn’t be left like a dead vegetable, I was game. Gideon was gone. Due to my stupid habit of assuming I knew what the hell was going on, Gideon and I probably couldn’t be fixed. It would forever be the biggest mistake I’d made, and I had to live with it. However, I was never going to assume anything again. If that was my lesson, the price had been damned high.

  “I don’t care. I’ll do it.”

  So, she told me. She told me in great detail what had to be done. It was far more horrifying than what I’d imagined. But Heather had given me something.

  Heather had given me hope.

  There was a blinding golden light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

  And maybe if I came through it in one piece with a small bit of my sanity intact, I’d search for Gideon and apologize. I didn’t think he would accept, but I would find him someday and tell him.

  He deserved that.

  I owed it to him… because I still loved him. Not that it would make a difference in the end, but I knew. And that would have to be good enough.

  “When do we start?” I asked.

  “We start now,” she replied.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  Heather looked at me for a long moment, and then sighed. “Daisy, you can get your happiness back too. Love doesn’t disappear that easily.”

  I smiled, but I doubted it. Heather hadn’t been here when it went down between Gideon and me, but it was a nice thought—one I’d hold on to.

  Forty was a shitty year, and it had barely started. Midlife had been one hell of a bumpy ride so far. I chose to believe midlife was a journey—not a destination. It was the only way I could go forward without breaking.

  There was no other choice. My best friend’s afterlife was on the line… and possibly my happiness.

  May the best woman win.

  Chapter One

  Three Days Later

  “I found thirty-nine dang silver wisdom sparkles in my hair today,” Jennifer griped as she tried like hell to frown but failed. “Looks like white pubes sprouting up out of my head. And wouldn’t you just know, JoJo, my hairdresser, is on maternity leave.”

  “Wait,” June said, perplexed as she rummaged through her large tote and pulled out a bright pink tin. “I thought JoJo was a man—a gay man.”

  “He is fabulously gay, but if that hottie was straight, he’d be husband number six. That boy wields a curling iron with skill—great with his hands if ya know what I mean,” Jennifer said with a chuckle and a wink that came kind of close to looking like a wink. “Anyhoo, his Labradoodle, Barbra Streisand, is having puppies and he took two weeks off.”

  “Makes sense to me,” June said with a laugh. “Probably helps that he owns the salon.”

  “Probably,” Jennifer agreed with a sigh and tried to frown again.

  Again, no luck.

  Jennifer recently had so much Botox injected into her face that her facial expressions were not in working order.

  “While I like the wisdom sparkle nickname, the pube part is a bit uncouth,” June said with a shake of her head as she put the container of what I was pretty sure were cookies on the steps of my front porch.

  “It’s the truth,” Jennifer shot back. “My face looks like a baby’s ass and my hair looks like an old lady with her bush on her head instead of in her pants.”

  “You’re not old. You’re just gross,” June admonished her with a smile. “And anyway, I read that sixty-five is the new forty-seven.”

  Jennifer laughed and pilfered a cookie from the tin. “You made that up.”

  “I most certainly did,” June agreed. “However, I stand by it.”

  I stood on my front porch and tried to think of something to add to the conversation to be polite. Politeness was ingrained in my Southern DNA. Nothing came to mind. Today, even being Southern wasn’t enough.

  I adored June and Jennifer. They were my coworkers and two of my dearest buddies, along with Heather and Missy, who thankfully hadn’t joined Jennifer and June in the surprise morning visit… or rather, ambush. I was in sweatpants, a crappy t-shirt with holes in it and paint-splattered running shoes. My coat covered the worst of it, but I was very aware I looked like hell warmed over. I felt like it too.

  My world had imploded as of three days ago and I couldn’t bring myself to tell my friends about it. Part of me was grateful they knew nothing about the physical existence of Angels, Demons, ghosts, Immortal Arbitrators and Death Counselors. The other part of me was devastated that I couldn’t tell them the truth.

  My life had become an unending horror movie.

  “You could pluck the wisdom sparkles,” June suggested, pulling her coat tighter around her body.

  The cool November air felt like a sharp slap of reality in my face. I hadn’t ventured outside in a few days. The need to run ten or a million miles pulled at me, but I wouldn’t leave my farmhouse right now.

  It wasn’t safe.

  I also couldn’t invite my friends inside.

  “You pluck one tinsel pube, five of the little bastards come back in its place,” Jennifer announced, plopping her round little body down on my porch swing.

  “I call bullshit on that,” I said, surprising myself with the sound of my own voice. I hadn’t spoken in a while.

  “You’re only forty, Daisy. Just you wait,” Jennifer warned, trying to raise her brow at me.

  She failed. She’d gotten a double dose of botulism shot into her head. Her eyebrows were going to be frozen on her wrinkle-free forehead for at least six months.

  “Men look distinguished when they go gray,” June said with a sigh. “My Charlie is so handsome with his gray hair. Women just look old. Not fair.”

  “You’re both beautiful,” I said, mustering up a small smile.

  June was an adorable and well-put-together fifty-seven-year-old. She was like a mom to us all—happily married to Charlie, who was a medical tech at our small-town hospital. She had four awesome kids and had won the Marriage Goals Award with Charlie. June was the only one in our posse who had gotten the happily ever after. The rest of us were a hot mess.

  Jennifer—also adorable, just not as put together as June—was sixty-five and had sworn off men after her fifth divorce. She was short, round and obsessed with using her investments made off of her divorce settlements to improve her face. It was a given that the wisdom sparkles wouldn’t work for her.

  “We’re concerned about you, Daisy,” June said kindly. “Are you doing okay?”

  There was no way to answer the question. I would never be okay again. And there was no way to make them understand.

  “I’m fine,” I heard myself say. “I’m just… I think I might need to be alone for a little while.”

  “That’s understandable,” June said with a
nod. “We’re here for you, sweetheart. Always.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what June thought was wrong with me, but my appearance and the fact that I hadn’t been to work in days must have tipped them off that something wasn’t right.

  “That was kind of wussy,” Jennifer commented to June.

  June shrugged and gave Jennifer a look that I was sure she used on her own children when they were out of line. “I don’t like to push. It’s rude.”

  “I’ve got no problem with it. I have no filter whatsoever and I’m not nearly as tactful as June is,” Jennifer stated.

  “That’s correct,” June chimed in, supporting her buddy with the tiniest of eye rolls.

  “Thank you,” Jennifer replied, taking the compliment at face value.

  A compliment was a compliment, no matter how insulting.

  “My pleasure,” June replied.

  “So anyhoo, to get back to the matter at hand, I’d like to say that Gideon, while he has a fine ass, is a dick and a good-for-nothing jackhole,” Jennifer said as her voice rose an octave, proving she was upset even though her face was incapable of conveying it. “The fact that he quit and took a job out of the country is bull crap. I hope he gets fired and that his nuts shrivel up and fall off.”

  “Where did you hear that?” I whispered. My broken heart was beating so loudly in my chest I was sure the gals could hear it. Jennifer had almost gotten a smile out of me with the shriveled nuts part, but I was still too raw.

  “Heather told us,” June said, taking my hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze. “Apparently, he didn’t even give notice at the firm. Just up and left.”

  Normally, I craved June’s motherly attention. Today it didn’t help. Nothing helped… yet. Soon I would have to grow bigger lady balls and face life head-on, but right now, I was in a strange and secret limbo.

  “It’s all good,” I lied. “And I’m the one who ended it, not Gideon. It wasn’t his fault at all.”

  The last part was true, and his name on my lips was utter torture.

  Jennifer eyed me for a long moment. I felt like a bug under a microscope. Also, I thought her face might have twitched despite all the Botox. I wasn’t about to share the news. The silver wisdom sparkle pubes were all she could take.

  “You’ve forced my hand, Daisy,” Jennifer said, shaking her head.

  “I have?” I asked, confused.

  Jennifer rubbed her little hands together and grinned. At least I thought she grinned. Note to self… never get Botox.

  “Jelly beans get their shine from shellac that’s made from insect shit,” she announced with glee.

  Closing my eyes, I really tried not to smile. Smiling seemed so wrong with Steve in the state he was in, but Jennifer’s knowledge of the ridiculous was enormous. When Steve was alive, he’d loved her outrageous humor. He’d be happy that I was enjoying it now.

  Jennifer spent hours at the nursing home with my gram, entertaining her with a fount of useless and stomach-turning facts. I loved Jennifer for that but it was hard being on the receiving end when all I wanted to do was go back inside and cry.

  “You lie,” June gasped out, appalled. “I love jelly beans, especially the pink ones.”

  “You’re eating poop,” Jennifer said as June gagged. “Perfume musk comes from a sack in the front of a deer’s pecker.”

  “Do you actually search for this kind of stuff?” I asked, realizing that maybe Jennifer’s hilariously nasty and pointless skill with the absurd might be just what I needed right now.

  “You bet I do,” Jennifer said with a cackle as she swung on the porch swing with her feet barely touching the ground. “A pig’s orgasm lasts for a half hour.”

  “Next time around, I’m coming back as a pig,” June said with a chuckle as she seated herself on the top step.

  “Last but not least—and this one actually pertains to the situation,” Jennifer said as she stood up so whatever the hell she was about to say had more of an impact. “A male honey bee’s ejaculation is so strong that it makes his junk explode and kills him.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I stared at my friend. “How exactly does that pertain?” I asked, kind of scared of what she might say. One never knew what would come out of Jennifer’s mouth.

  “I wish a honey bee’s ejaculation on Gideon. You’re too good for him. The son of a bitch is like my ex-husband,” Jennifer muttered.

  “Which one, dear?” June inquired.

  “All of them,” Jennifer snorted. “Not a single one was good enough for me. Took me till I was sixty-three to figure that shit out. However, the stock I bought with the divorce settlement checks is lovely. I tell you what, I’d like to give Gideon a good knee to the balls and knock his nuts up into his esophagus.”

  “Well, he’s gone,” I said, wanting to wrap up the impromptu get together or, at the very least, change the subject. “Aren’t you two supposed to be at work?”

  “Nah,” Jennifer said, swiping a few more cookies. “Heather’s got some kind of urgent lawyer business and told us to take the next two weeks off. Closed down the entire office.”

  “With full pay,” June piped in. “I don’t feel quite right about that, but Heather insisted.”

  “Daisy, I can tell you want us to leave since you haven’t invited us in and tried to feed us,” Jennifer announced with a cookie in her mouth as an appalled June lightly punched her in the arm. “Being that you’re as Southern as they come, I’d have to surmise that you really do want to be alone. Just remember we’re a phone call away, my friend.”

  “Get your butt in the car,” June said with a wink to me as she pulled Jennifer across my front yard. “Jennifer’s way with words is slightly lacking.”

  “Thank you,” Jennifer said.

  June rolled her eyes for real and giggled. “However, she was right about us always being there for you. Call us any time of day or night, Daisy. I mean that.”

  I nodded and gave them what I hoped looked like a smile. It felt like a forced grimace, but they seemed satisfied and drove away slowly, waving until I couldn’t see them anymore.

  I knew exactly what Heather’s urgent business was. She was gearing up to help me take on Clarissa and save Steve’s soul from being damned to the darkness. Just as nothing was what it appeared to be, Heather was not simply one of my dearest friends and a lawyer who had hired us all from the old firm we’d recently quit.

  No, Heather was much more.

  And unfortunately, so was I.

  Chapter Two

  So far, midlife had been a shitty journey. The ride had been out of control, and the crisis was included—whether I’d ordered it or not.

  “I can’t help you,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t acknowledge my words. I was unsure if she’d even heard me since I’d barely heard myself. My throat was raw from the recent crying jag I’d indulged in after June and Jennifer left. Of course, I’d eaten the entire tin of cookies June had made as well. It was not a good day so far. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, and I was fairly sure I had chocolate chip cookie crumbs in my sweats.

  Talking about Gideon wasn’t something I had wanted to do. It was still too painful and entirely my fault that he’d disappeared—something I would regret until the day I died. I’d done it thinking I was avenging Steve. I’d been gravely mistaken.

  Staring at the dead woman who sat on my couch felt like a breath of forbidden fresh air. The others were gone, and I felt the loss like an open wound. The ghost sat quietly and stared at her hands. Every few minutes she would glance my way. She was either newly deceased, which I doubted due to her state of decomposition, or she hadn’t heard the word on the street yet.

  I’d quit my unpaid secret side job. I was no longer the Death Counselor. Never again would I glue body parts back onto semi-transparent ghosts or help the dead find closure so they could move forward to whatever the heck came next. My inner debate as to the truth of the afterlife still waged violently inside me.<
br />
  Closing my eyes, I almost laughed. Almost. I still had six cases of superglue in the garage. I hadn’t smiled for real in what felt like an eternity. It was inappropriately fitting that the first thought that made the corners of my lips turn up was the recent memory of reattaching arms, legs and jaws for my former dead roomies.

  Did I want to quit? No.

  I had to. There was no choice. I’d done it in a moment of desperation, but it had been the right choice. Steve was safe and Steve was here.

  A month ago, I thought I’d lost my mind. I was wrong.

  Three days ago, I’d almost destroyed my world. Correction. I did destroy my world and my happiness. I also came very close to destroying my best friend. As much as it shredded me, I was of no use to the sad specter sitting in my living room.

  Knowing there was nothing I could do for the woman, I felt like I’d lost my humanity—my mind would have been an easier loss to take.

  “You’re in the wrong place,” I tried again, hoping she understood me. “I can’t help you.”

  Her reaction was full of confusion.

  Join the club…

  “I mean, it was the right place,” I said, realizing that I was confusing myself. “But it’s not anymore.”

  The poor woman must think I’m nuts. She would be correct. I wasn’t certifiable, but I was definitely missing a few screws.

  “I had to stop,” I told her, unsure if she could follow what I was saying.

  Most of the dead understood English, but the young woman in my house could be an exception. I was surprised I could see her at all. I assumed that once I’d quit, I would lose the ability like Gram had. Thank God I could still see Steve.

  “Sssiiiiiiinngea,” she said. “Booooooouuns.”

  Shaking my head, I tried once more. “I can’t do anything for you. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  The woman appeared to have been young when she’d died—maybe mid to late twenties. She was lovely in a sad and decomposing kind of way. Most of the dead were a bluish-gray hue, but I could make out that her hair had been blonde by the few strands that still held color. It was difficult to tell her exact age. She was rough-looking—missing part of her head and a good deal of her jaw. For some bizarre reason, she was familiar to me.