I was betting my life—literally—that Tim had been to the dark side. Tim was the most logical choice.
Both Heather and Charlie blew out audible sighs of relief and made me feel more confident of my choice. Karma was back to picking her teeth.
The odd reaction was from Clarence Smith. If I wasn’t mistaken, the man looked proud.
Whatever. I didn’t need John Travolta to be proud of me. I needed him to declare Clarissa wrong so that Steve could go into the light where he belonged.
“When would you like to travel?” Tim inquired.
“Umm… tomorrow morning?” I said, mentally cataloging what I needed to do just in case I didn’t make it back to this plane. Number one on the list was a visit to Gram. She needed to know how much I loved her if I didn’t come back. “Is there anything I should do to prepare?”
“Yes,” Tim replied.
I waited.
And I waited.
God, he was an asshole.
“What do I need to do?” I ground out as politely as I could, which wasn’t very polite.
“Choose someone,” he said.
“I already did,” I snapped. “I chose you.”
“Quit being a dick,” Heather hissed to Tim. “Out with it. Now.”
“I quite agree with Heather,” Charlie said, sounding so ominous I blanched.
Tim practically peed his postal pants.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” he stammered. “You must choose one of the dead. You will go into their mind and enter the darkness that way.”
“And you’ll teach me how to come back out?” I pressed, wanting to get it all out on the table with everyone present.
He nodded. “It will not be easy… at all.”
Well, that sucked. However, nothing worth doing was ever easy.
I was scared. I was scared to walk willingly into the darkness. I was scared of never coming back. I was scared to face Gideon after all the things I’d said to him.
But I was terrified of what would happen if I couldn’t convince him to come back.
Standing up and grabbing my purse and coat, I nodded to the group. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t.” I realized that for the first time, my Southern manners didn’t own me. I owned me. “Tim, I’ll expect you around ten in the morning. Does that work for you?”
“It does,” he replied. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”
“Noted,” I said as I turned and walked out of the office.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t say thank you. From now on, I was going to move unapologetically forward. It was the only way to survive.
Chapter Twelve
Gram’s mouth was wide open. I could see her molars.
“Shut the front door! Candy Vargo is Karma?” Gram asked for the third time. “Always thought that woman was slower than a herd of turtles. Little concernin’ that someone who wears leggings as formalwear and digs for gold up her nose in public is in charge of fate.”
I closed my eyes and tried to remember if I’d ever shaken hands with Candy the nose digger. “Please tell me that was an exaggeration.”
“Nope. Bless her heart. That woman is a hot mess of nasty,” Gram announced with a grimace.
“Gross,” I said with a shudder, as I unwrapped the burgers and fries I’d picked up for us to eat. Thankfully, thus far in life I’d missed Candy Vargo having a go at her nose. If I ever saw her hands getting close to her sniffer in the future, I’d be sure to look the other way.
June had been delighted when I’d called to let her know I was going to bring Gram some lunch and sit with her for a bit. She insisted that I take my time and enjoy the day. She needed a few more hours with my couch. I adored my friend.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Gram said as she squirted mustard all over her fries. “Can’t get over that Candy Vargo is gonna live forever. Next you’re gonna tell me that the cross-eyed gal at the bank is a dragon.”
Mustard on fries was one of Gram’s stranger habits, but if it made her eat, I didn’t care what she slathered on her food. I’d tried mustard on my fries once and hated it. I was a catsup and extra salt girl all the way.
“Nope, not as far as I know,” I said, unwrapping the extra hamburger I’d gotten for myself. A gal couldn’t live on cookies alone. “However, very little would surprise me at this point.”
“How is it that you eat all that crap and never gain a pound?” Gram asked as she tore open a few more mustard packets.
“My guess is early menopause,” I said with a mouthful of hamburger.
“Don’t know where you’re getting your information, Daisy girl, but that ain’t the way it works.”
I shrugged. It wasn’t the best idea to tell her I took out a tree in the yard with my fist. Her health was declining and that would worry her to no end.
Heck, it worried me.
“Call me lucky,” I said with a laugh. “It won’t last, so I’m taking advantage of it.”
“Should have named you Lucky,” she said with a sigh. “Might have counterbalanced the rest of the name.”
“Not following,” I said, wiping a little mustard from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
“Amara,” Gram said, checking her hamburger for extra pickles. “Means Immortal being—one who is blessed without end or death. Dang it, only one pickle.”
The bite of hamburger felt like sandpaper going down my throat. “Here.” I handed her the extra burger. “I just lost my appetite.”
“Baby girl,” Gram said with concern, putting her food down and taking my hands in hers. “Did I say something wrong? My mind seems to be goin’ and I just talk nonsense all the time.”
“Our name. Our last name,” I said. “Do you think it’s an omen?”
“Hells bells, Daisy,” Gram said with a laugh. “You mean like that little adopted devil boy who’s slicker than goose shit and kills his whole family, and then smiles at their funeral like he just had a good BM?”
“Umm… no,” I said, shaking my head and pressing the bridge of my nose. “You missed your calling, old lady. You should have reviewed movies for a living.”
“I would have been right good at that,” she said, pointing a fry at me. “Could’ve called it Siskel, Ebert, and Gram. Betcha I could’ve gotten into Bob Barker’s britches if I’d been a famous movie reviewer.”
“If I hadn’t already lost my appetite, that would have done it,” I told her, shoving all my food her way. “June and Charlie are going on a diet. I’ll tell them to stop by every day around dinnertime and you can help them out with a Banging Bob story or two.”
“Least I’m still good for something,” Gram said with a giggle.
“You’re good for everything,” I told her firmly. “What I meant was, is our last name an omen about us?”
“Gonna have to go with a no on that, sweetie,” Gram said, checking her new burger for extra pickles. “I’m about ready to be one with the earthworms. Immortality—or Imodium, as I like to call it—ain’t in the picture for us. Always just kind of figured we got saddled with the name Amara because we help the dead.”
“Enough pickles?” I asked.
“Yep, has four.”
“Good. Eat it.” I gave her a look that meant business.
As far as our name went? It was a strange coincidence… I hoped. For right now, I’d stick with Gram’s explanation. At the very least, it was semi-logical.
The changes in me were not logical. I’d forgotten to ask about it at the meeting. However, I hadn’t come here for Gram to help me figure out why I was turning into a freak of nature with superpowers. I’d come to let her know how much I loved her. The name game was irrelevant.
“Gram?”
“Yes, baby girl?” she answered, taking a bite of her lunch.
“I need to tell you something you’re not going to want to hear.”
“Well then, spit it out. Bad news is easier when you tell it quick—like rippin’ a Band-Aid off a hairy
leg. Speaking of… what in tarnation happened to your hands?”
“Are you saying my hands are hairy?” I asked, trying to veer her towards another subject.
“Don’t you be smart with me, Daisy girl,” Gram chastised. “You might be forty, but I’m still your Gram.”
Shit.
Truth or dare… or lie. Lies really weren’t kind or fair. Gram would read right through a lie. Even the ugly truth was sometimes less painful than trying to protect someone with deception. I knew she’d worry, but she’d worry more if I wasn’t honest.
“I… umm… punched a tree and it fell over.”
She was silent for a long moment. “In a dream?”
“No.”
“A little tree?” she asked, still searching for the joke.
“No.”
“Mmmkay,” Gram said, pulling one of the pickles off the burger, dipping it in mustard and popping it into her mouth. “What kind of tree are we talkin’ about here?”
“You know the oak in my front yard?” I asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “The huge one?”
I nodded.
Gram slowly chewed her mustard-covered pickle and swallowed it. I could see her mind working and absorbing what I’d just told her. Her expression went from disbelief to shock to confusion and finished with a resigned acceptance.
“Did it hit the house?” she inquired.
Of all the questions I thought she’d ask, that was not one of them.
“Nope. Demolished the mailbox, but missed my car by inches,” I told her.
“You break your hands?” she asked, eyeing the bandages.
“Shockingly, no,” I admitted. “Heather couldn’t believe it.”
“Might be because it’s impossible,” Gram pointed out.
“Nothing is impossible. You just have to believe.”
We both stared at my hands for a while. Gram ate a few more fries as I tried to think of a solid reason as to why I was able to take out a tree with a few punches.
There wasn’t one.
“Daisy girl,” she said, gently touching my bandaged hands. “You’ve always been different—since the day you were born.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Remains to be seen, but I say good different. The gift came late to you,” she pointed out correctly. “Maybe that’s because your gift is greater than that of any other Death Counselor in our family tree.”
I was so tempted to make a joke about punching our family tree but refrained. The timing was way off.
“What if I don’t want that big of a gift?” I wondered aloud.
“Not sure you have a choice, darlin’,” she said, sounding worried.
“I suppose I could get a job with a tree-clearing company,” I muttered with a laugh.
She who laughs first has the last laugh, or something like that…
Gram’s giggle delighted me and calmed my chaotic mind.
Our acceptance of the impossible was mind-boggling. But then again, talking with the dead should be impossible. Solving their issues so they could move on was not exactly normal either.
“Alrighty then, now that we’ve discovered you’re the new female Hulk—albeit not green and ugly, thank Dolly Parton’s plastic surgeon—let’s get to the rippin’-off-the-Band-Aid part of the talk,” she said, still staring at my hands.
“I’m going to mind dive and go into the darkness. I have to bring Gideon back to save Steve.”
The last thing I expected in reaction to the news was a hamburger with extra pickles being lobbed at my head. Had to hand it to Gram. She was creative when she was pissed.
“Absolutely not,” she snapped as her frail body began to shake.
I immediately regretted my decision to tell her, but if I didn’t come back, I needed her to know why. Wrapping my arms around the most precious woman in my world, I held her close and rocked her trembling body.
“There’s no other way,” I whispered. “Tim is going to teach me how to do it.”
“Tim, the scrawny little Imodium bastard who steals mail?” she demanded.
I laughed. “Yes. The scrawny little Imodium bastard who steals mail. You said yourself that he’s the mailman for the living and the dead.”
“Lord have mercy on a Thursday,” she said, giving me a little shake. “Don’t listen to what I say. I’m a crazy old woman with the hots for game show hosts. I’m not right in the head.”
“You are a little nutty,” I agreed, cupping her pale cheek in my hand. “But you’re also the most amazing woman alive. I love you more than anything in this world even though your taste in men is a bit off.”
“Bob Barker is a looker,” she said with a small smile. “You’re really gonna do this?”
“I am,” I told her. “The Angel of Mercy can’t do what she did to Steve and get away with it. She did it to hurt me. If Clarissa wants to come at me, fine. But there’s no way in Heaven or Hell she’s going to do it by destroying Steve’s afterlife with a vicious lie.”
“That gal is an abomination,” Gram said. “Never actually had to deal with her during my time on the job.”
“There were never any questions about a ghost’s afterlife?” I asked, surprised.
“Not a one,” Gram said. “How a life was lived usually determined the path for what came next. But then again, I never saw the dead go into the light like you do. Also never took a dive into their minds.”
“Do you think that’s why I’m changing?” I asked.
“Wish I had an answer, lovey,” she replied, sounding tired. “Life ain’t as simple as The Price is Right.”
Cleaning up the remains of our lunch, I thought about what she’d just said. Gram was correct. Life was not a game show.
“You want to see Gideon again,” Gram stated as I sat back down on the edge of her bed and tucked her covers around her frail body.
She was right and she was wrong. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to beg his forgiveness for being blind. But I needed him to save Steve. My apology might be misconstrued as selfishness for myself. I was unsure if he would believe I was truly sorry. Truthfully, I didn’t know if he would even care.
I wanted to see him again. However, I would have liked our reunion not to have included massive strings attached.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Not too excited about seeing him in Hell, though.”
“So, you believe now?” she asked, trying to salvage the burger she’d attacked me with.
“In the biblical definition? No. That some form of Heaven and Hell exists? Yes.”
Gram’s eyes began to flutter closed. My visit had exhausted her.
“I want you to know I love you more than anything,” I said, kissing her wrinkled cheek.
“Right back at you, sweetheart,” she replied with a smile. “You’re my world, little girl. I need you to promise to be careful. Whose mind you gonna dive into?”
It was an excellent question, and one I didn’t have an answer for yet.
“Not sure, maybe Steve’s,” I said, thinking that was probably not a good plan.
He was in terrible shape and it could be a traumatic event for him.
“I suppose I could go into the Mayor of Squatter Town’s mind, or Birdie, the foul-mouthed little mess who keeps flipping me off,” I told her, drawing her shade down so the sun wouldn’t disturb her nap.
“Or Lindsay’s,” Gram suggested.
“She’s been through enough,” I said, grabbing my coat and crappy purse.
“Hell’s bells. Get your rear end into my closet right now and take a few handbags,” Gram said, eyeing my torn purse with horror. “That bag looks like it fell out of a tree and hit every branch on the way down.”
I laughed. Of all the things discussed in the last hour, she was most appalled by the unfortunate state of my purse. Knocking the Southern out of a Southerner was one thing that was not possible.
“Thank you,” I said, still laughing as I opened her closet door and took a pretty bl
ack leather bag and a sharp-looking brown one. “I’ll bring them back.”
“Heck to the no you won’t. Those are yours now. I don’t need them anymore,” she informed me with a shake of her head. “I’ll sleep much better knowing you’re not walking around in public with a crappy bag. That’s not acceptable in Georgia. Might even be against the law.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want to end up in the pokey for breaking the Ugly Purse law.”
“Speaking of not ending up in the pokey, did you hear about little Lindsay’s murderin’ brother dying from bees?”
I nodded and raised a brow. “Karma worked quickly on that one.”
Gram paled and put her hand to her mouth. “You sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”
I nodded my head. “Yep. And the weirdest part is, I’m not sure I’m angry about it. Appalled? Yes. Freaked out? Absolutely. Angry? No clue. I’ll tell you this though, I don’t want to ever be on Candy Vargo’s shit list.”
“Boysireee,” Gram said. “Karma is a bitch.”
“Cliché intended?” I asked.
“One hundred percent.”
“I love you, Gram,” I said, trying to hold back the tears that begged to flow.
I was fully aware that this might be the last time I saw my beloved Gram.
“Love you more, child. Loved you something awful since the day you were born. Gimme some sugar, and then skedaddle before we both start blubberin’,” she said, staring at me as if she were memorizing my face. “I expect to see you tomorrow night… safe and sound. And you best be carryin’ one of those new purses.”
“Deal.” I prayed I was telling the truth. Coming back for Gram and Steve was on my agenda. I had no plans to fail either one of them.
But only time would tell.
Chapter Thirteen
“Have you always been a dick?” I inquired, glaring at a smug Tim as he marched around my front yard and examined the tree I’d punched and knocked down.
The beautiful, broken oak would probably be in the yard for a while. Calling the tree removal company was low on my priority list at the moment.
Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two Page 13