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

by Robyn Peterman

“I’ll be fine. I promise,” I told her, running my broken hands through the silky golden mist surrounding her. “I may have helped you, but you helped me far more, my friend.”

  “Will you remember me?” she asked as the light around her intensified.

  “Always. I will always remember you, Lindsay.”

  “The only way a person lives on is in the memories of those who loved them,” she said with a serene smile on her lips. “I love you, Daisy. Thank you for loving me too.”

  As she began to fade away, my tears came quickly. I knew this was the last time I would ever see Lindsay. Endings were hard even when they were beautiful and meant to be.

  I stood and watched until the golden light disappeared, taking Lindsay with it. I had no clue how long I stood there. A small grunt from Steve pulled me back to reality.

  Walking to the bed, I laid down next to him and whipped off a quick text to Gram to let her know I was home and I was fine. Closing my eyes, I pushed away everything except the smile on Lindsay’s face as she faded into the light.

  I helped put the smile on her face. Gideon couldn’t make me lose my confidence as a woman. I was in charge of that. Confidence in myself as a woman had never been my strong suit, but I would work on it. However, I had confidence in myself as a person—a loyal, loving, good person.

  The proof was in Lindsay’s smile and all the others who had left before her.

  Gideon could screw himself. I certainly had enough devices in the house to make that a reality. I smiled at the absurd thought. I would throw all my vibrators away tomorrow. The fact that Tim had manhandled my electric boyfriends made them useless. Tim’s face was now permanently attached to those vibrators.

  Was that Tim’s dastardly plan? Did he know his cooties on my toys would make me throw them out? I’d save that discussion for another time—a far, far, far distant time. Right now, I wanted to take a long nap next to my best friend.

  I knew in my heart that Steve would be leaving me soon too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It's perfect.

  Gideon loves me and Steve is alive and well. We all dance and laugh as the sun, moon and stars light the sky. I don't think I’ve ever been so happy. The celebration takes place in a beautiful world I’ve never visited—cascading flowers in every shade of gold imaginable and rows and rows of cookies made by June. The fireflies wear pink sequined ballgowns while a quartet of puppies play classical music with kazoos.

  My dress is scandalous—bright sparkling gold and very sexy. Steve has chosen it to match my eyes. Gideon is very appreciative of the exposed side boob revealed by the low-cut creation. Gram boogies with Bob Barker on a table and looks better than she has in years. Gram hoots and hollers as Bob does a lively can-can number with Dip Doody as his backup dancer.

  I laugh until I cry… and then, in slow motion, Gideon drops to one knee in front of me. The crowd of at least a million guests and ghosts quiets and watches with joyous anticipation. My heart beats so loudly in my chest, I am sure the entire Universe can hear it.

  “Daisy?”

  “The answer is yes,” I muttered sleepily with a smile on my lips.

  “Daisy, wake up,” the voice insisted.

  It wasn’t Gideon.

  I’d had a dream… or a nightmare depending on how I wanted to look at it.

  “Daisy.” The voice sounded more urgent now. “You have to wake up. Please.”

  The voice belonged to Heather. My eyes shot open and my body jack-knifed forward.

  “Shit. What day is it?” I asked, glancing wildly around the room.

  Steve was fine. He lay peacefully beside me on the bed. It was dark outside and I had no clue how long I’d slept. Heck, for all I knew it had been a week.

  “It’s Friday,” Heather said, pale and agitated.

  “Okay.” I rubbed my eyes and checked the bedside clock. “I only slept about three hours.”

  “We need to talk,” Heather said.

  “You’re telling me.” Standing up, I took off the postal uniform, stepped into comfy yoga pants and grabbed a sweatshirt then searched for my tennis shoes. “Gideon is back and has no clue who I am. Lindsay went into the light, which made me happy and broke my heart at the same time. Hell is some serious strange and Gideon doesn’t know me.” I paused and scrunched my nose. “Wait. I said the thing about Gideon twice.”

  Heather nodded and began to pace the room. “I need to—” she began.

  “Hold that thought,” I said, cutting her off. “Tim told me I was out for a week even though it only felt like I was gone for a few hours. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. That’s correct.”

  “Wow,” I said, stuffing the heinous uniform into the dirty laundry basket. I wanted to burn it, but I knew Tim would get his feelings hurt. However, after the vibrator debacle, I wasn’t sure I cared about Tim’s feelings. “So, the Grim Reaper basically ripped my heart out of my chest and tore it to shreds, called me Messenger, and saw all my vibrators.”

  Heather’s mouth fell open in confusion.

  “Yep. Just so you know, Tim does x-ray and steal mail. He likes to rehome sex toys because he thinks married women shouldn’t own vibrators. Can you believe that shit? He housesat for me while I went to Hell and felt the need to rehome all my vibrators to the coffee table. Embarrassing, but whatever. At least my battery-operated boyfriends don’t call me Messenger. I will never ask Tim to housesit again.”

  “Okay,” Heather said, sitting down heavily on the chair by the bed. “Just so you know, I was here a lot this past week to check on you and keep everyone away.”

  “God, I didn’t even think of that. Thank you,” I said. “That could have been bad. Did Jennifer, Missy or June come over?”

  Heather sighed and ran her hands through her hair, making it stand on end. “All of them.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That you had a major migraine and I had it covered,” she replied. “June dropped off enough cookies to last a year.”

  I laughed. Heather didn’t.

  Odd.

  “And umm… about Gideon,” I said, chewing on my lower lip. “It’s for the best that he doesn’t remember me. It clearly wasn’t meant to be. I don’t want anyone to say anything to him about me… or rather, us. He’s an asshole. He was extremely dicky in Hell. And I’m really… you know, fine. I mean, I will be soon. He blackmailed me into staying here and he’s treating me like hired help. That will kill my feelings for him dead in about three days… or years. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I went to get him for Steve, not me.”

  “Daisy,” Heather said. “You need to stop talking. Please.”

  “I’m so sorry. What did you want to tell me?” I asked, feeling guilty that I’d talked about myself while Heather was clearly upset.

  “Sit down,” she said, pointing to the chair next to her.

  The tone of her voice made the hair on my neck stand up.

  “No,” I said, feeling a little panicky. “I’ll stand. Is it something about Steve? Did Clarissa come back?”

  “No. Not about Steve,” Heather said, sounding exhausted.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Then who?”

  “Daisy.” Heather walked over to me and wrapped her arms around me. “Gram died this morning. I’m so sorry.”

  My skin went hot then icy cold, My mind raced so fast I couldn’t follow my thoughts. My knees buckled and the sound that left my mouth was inhuman. I’d made the same sound a little over a year ago when the police had shown up at my door to tell me Steve had died in a car accident.

  “Daisy,” Heather said, letting her tears flow as she led me to the chair by the bed and sat me down. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Has to be a mistake.” My side-vision grew gray and it was difficult to suck air into my lungs. “Someone else. Wrong person,” I wheezed.

  Heather clapped her hands and produced a paper bag out of thin air. “Breathe into this,” she insisted, placing the bag over my mouth. “Just breathe, Daisy.
I’ve got you.”

  Taking several breaths, I calmed down for a moment until the meaning of Heather’s words exploded in my head again.

  “No, no, no,” I cried out, tossing the bag aside. I stood, only to drop to the floor and pull my knees to my chest.

  I dealt with death every day. All the time. Death shouldn’t shock me or undo me. It was a natural part of life.

  But I dealt with the already dead. Except for Steve, I hadn’t known any of my squatters before they’d died. They hadn’t loved me when they’d been alive. They hadn’t sacrificed their lives to raise me when my mother had killed herself. They hadn’t walked me down the aisle when I’d gotten married. The dead who I helped hadn’t bandaged my scrapes and sung me to sleep.

  The dead didn’t smell like Ivory soap and dime store perfume.

  “Was she alone?” I asked in a hollow voice.

  “No,” Heather said, lying down on the floor next to me. “Jennifer was with her. It was peaceful.”

  “Did she… umm… did she know?” I asked, despising myself for not being with her.

  “I think she did,” Heather said, brushing my hair off my tear-drenched face. “She told Jennifer to let you know you were the light of her life.”

  Gram’s message brought on a whole new slew of tears.

  “And,” Heather said as a tiny smile came to her lips. “Gram said when she got to Heaven, she was going to bang Richard Dawson.”

  “What about Bob Barker?” I asked, laughing a little through my tears.

  “Not dead yet,” Heather said, pulling a tissue from her pocket and handing it to me. “Said she’d bang him when he got there.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, holding on to Heather like a lifeline. “I can’t think.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said, gently pulling me to my feet. “You have friends.”

  I nodded and glanced over at Steve. He’d heard everything. He’d loved Gram something fierce and she’d loved him right back. Walking over to the bed, I leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  “I’ll be okay,” I whispered. “Not today and not next week, but I will be okay. I promise. Gram would be pissed otherwise. She’d yank my tail in a knot.”

  “Dausseeeeee, ssssoooorrry,” Steve said.

  “Me too,” I told him as a sob of anguish came over me.

  “What the hell is happening in here?” Gideon demanded as he burst into my bedroom.

  He took one look at me then turned his fury to Heather.

  “What did you do to her?” he snarled.

  “I did nothing to her,” Heather said flatly. “Too bad the same can’t be said for you.”

  “Answer my question,” Gideon snapped.

  “Get out,” Heather said in a voice so icy it made me shiver. “You don’t even know who she is. Get the hell out of here. You’re not wanted.”

  “Fuck you,” Gideon hissed as he crossed the room, stood next to me and put his hand on my back. “Daisy, what happened? Tell me.”

  The look in his eyes was one I remembered well. His touch warmed me all over. It was full of love and concern… and destroyed me almost as much as Heather’s news.

  My eyes narrowed to slits. I shook his hand off. I wanted to scream. “You know me?”

  Gideon’s chin fell to his chest. He said nothing.

  “You know who I am?” I demanded in a shrill voice. “You remember me? Did recognition hit you upside the head just now or did you know all along?”

  Gideon stayed silent.

  “You know what?” I snapped, standing up and pushing him away. “I deserved your anger. I may have even deserved your hatred for what I did. But do you really think I deserved you turning me into nothing?”

  “Daisy, I—” Gideon began.

  “No,” I shouted. “Just no. You knew my insecurities as a woman… as a person, and you went right for the jugular. I screwed up with you. I’ve regretted it every second since I sent you away. It was the biggest mistake I’d made in my life.”

  “Let me explain,” he said.

  “No. I’m done. Maybe I got what I deserved,” I said wearily, yanking on my tennis shoes. “My intention had been to apologize to you. I didn’t think you’d accept it or that I even deserved your forgiveness. I’ve been dealing with a whole lot of impossible lately. I was blind because I couldn’t find any other logical explanation. I didn’t trust you. I should have asked more questions. I didn’t. I’m sorry. The end.”

  “What I did was wrong too,” Gideon said, running his hands through his hair as his lips compressed into a flat line.

  “You think?” Heather snapped.

  “Heather, I’ve got this,” I told her, glancing over at my friend with a small, grateful smile.

  She had my back, but this was my battle.

  “How long would you have kept the charade going?” I asked Gideon. I didn’t yell. I wasn’t mean. I simply wanted to know. “Another day? A week? Forever? What would have made you feel like you’d won? Watching me break?”

  “No,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

  “Trust goes two ways,” I said, devoid of all emotion. The world no longer held color for me. It was gray and sad. Too much was happening and my self-preservation mode kicked in. “I didn’t trust you. I was wrong. I’m sorry for that. However, you win. I feel nothing. I’m empty.”

  “Daisy, I’m sorry,” Gideon said, approaching me warily. “I was stupid. I was completely thrown when I saw you in the darkness. I wanted to hurt you the way you’d hurt me. I didn’t think. I just acted. I wish I could take it all back.”

  “That’s the funny thing,” I said, walking straight up to him. “You can’t. Heather is right. You aren’t wanted here. You should go. And as far as our deal goes, I suppose that was a metaphor of sorts—you wanted to understand how someone so inconsequential could break down your wall?”

  Gideon shook his head and looked as defeated as I felt.

  “It’s called love. That’s how I broke down your wall. I loved you,” I said.

  “And you don’t anymore?” he questioned, searching my eyes.

  “I still do, but I’ll get over it. You’ve helped me tremendously with that. Thank you.”

  Picking up my purse and sliding my phone into it, I grabbed a wad of tissue and shoved it in the bag as well. I would need it.

  “I’m going to the… where is she?” I asked Heather.

  “The funeral home,” Heather said, staring daggers at Gideon. “Walton’s Funeral Home.”

  “I’m familiar with it.” I glanced over at Steve. “Too familiar,” I whispered sadly.

  “Who’s at the funeral home?” Gideon asked, startled.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, slipping into my coat. “But it’s Gram. She died this morning.”

  “When you were in the darkness?” Gideon asked, pained.

  I nodded.

  Gideon looked devastated. “I don’t know what to say, Daisy.”

  My name on his lips made my heart sing for the briefest of moments. I knew he wanted to comfort me. The thought was appreciated. The reality was impossible. It was something I couldn’t accept.

  “I’m going to say goodbye to Gram. When I get back, I want you out of my house.”

  “As you wish,” Gideon replied.

  “Heather, can you drive?” I asked. “Not sure I’m up to it.”

  “Of course,” Heather said. “You ready?”

  “No.” I let the tears roll down my cheeks. “But that’s irrelevant right now.”

  I didn’t look back at Gideon as I walked out of the room. I wasn’t going to look back ever again.

  Only forward from now on. One step at a time. It was that or fall apart like one of my squatters.

  Regrettably, I didn’t have anyone to glue me back together.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Walton’s Funeral Home was formal and very Southern in its décor—full of antiques upholstered in Pepto Bismol pink and lime green silk. Gram had hated it. I w
asn’t fond of it either, but it was the only game going in our small town. It had been owned and run by the Walton family for generations. The smell of lilac hung in the air and clung to my clothes. Looking down, I realized I was in a sweatshirt and yoga pants. Gram would have pitched a hissy fit if she could see me.

  Gram would never know.

  I hoped I didn’t run into any ghosts. Right now, it was all about me—no one else. I wanted to see Gram one last time and I didn’t want interruptions.

  Selfish? Maybe. I didn’t care. Heather understood completely without me saying a word and waited in the lobby. She was golden to me. I appreciated her more than I could explain.

  If I didn’t take care of myself to a certain degree, I wouldn’t be good for anyone—especially my squatters. I deserved some privacy with the woman who’d loved me more than anyone.

  “Right this way,” Goober Walton said, leading me down a hallway to a private room.

  I was pretty sure Goober’s name was Paul, but no one called him that. He was in his mid-forties and had been a few years ahead of me in school. He’d always been a sweet guy. I had a suspicion he was gay, but due to his hellfire-and-brimstone religious upbringing, like Steve, I doubted he’d ever acted on it.

  “My condolences on your grandmother’s passing, Daisy,” Goober said, kindly. “We will take very good care of her for you. She was a wonderful lady.”

  “Thank you, Goober,” I said. “She really is… I mean, was. Do I need to do anything right now?”

  Sadly, I was aware of what needed to be done to arrange a funeral. Goober had helped me with Steve’s only a year ago.

  “There’s a packet for you in the room. When you make your choices, let me know. Take your time,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Goober dealt with the dead. I dealt with the dead. Granted, my dead could talk, but…

  “Goober, do you like your job?” I asked.

  He smiled and nodded. “I do. I’m doing something good for people in a time of great pain and sorrow. I do it for those who have passed and for those who loved them. It’s a calling for me, Daisy.”