Page 48 of Having the Time of My Midlife

“Whoopsiedoodle,” Gram said, wagging her finger at me. “You gotta use the buzzer, little missy. Alana Catherine, what’s the question?”

“What do you call a game show in a Chinese restaurant?”

“WOOHOO!” Gram yelled as she did a little boogie around her console. “That’s the correct question. Three to nothin’. Our baby girl is winnin’!”

I didn’t care if my baby girl beat me at games for the rest of her life. It would make me proud. However, Gram was smart to have us practice. I wasn’t good at this at all. “One more,” I begged. “Give me the chance to redeem myself just a tiny bit.”

“Not a problem,” Gram said, scratching her head to come up with another. “Try this one on for size! The answer is, The Newly Web Game.”

I slammed down on the buzzer and came in barely before my child. She winked and graciously gave me the floor.

“What’s a spider’s favorite game show?” I crowed, taking a bow before Gram could confirm my answer.

Alana Catherine clapped and Gram ran over to give me a high five. “Correct,” she yelled.

Our celebration was cut short by the harried woman with the headset from earlier. “For the love of losers,” she muttered, looking us up and down with disgust and dismay. “You three again? You couldn’t have changed your clothes?”

Her attitude was starting to chap my ass. While it would have been satisfying in the moment to have a vicious go at her outfit, I went right back to my Southern roots. Winning the long game was better than getting gratification in the short one. “Well, bless your heart. It must seem like we don’t know whether to check our asses or scratch our watches, but you know all about that since that’s obviously the way you live.”

She was confused. It was glorious. I kept going.

“And I don’t care what anybody says, it’s fine to think you’re pretty in your own way. And it anyone tells you that your biscuit isn’t done in the middle, just ignore it. They might be right, but rude is rude. You get me?”

“Umm…” The gal was at a loss for words.

I was not. Gram was loving it. She’d taught me well. “You know, you might be a little rough around the edges, but I heard there was one person who said you have got just the best personality.”

“What?” she asked, trying to figure out if I was complimenting her or insulting her.

“You just keep marching to your own drummer,” I told her, giving her two thumbs up and the most insincere smile I had in me. “Good for you! Good for you!”

I’d flustered her. She opened her mouth twice to come back at me. Twice, she closed it. As she turned to leave, she called out over her shoulder. “Five minutes until the show begins.”

The board lit up, and my head began to throb. There were only three rows. One row was labeled Sister Catherine. The next was labeled Agnes Bubbala, and the third was labeled Riddles.

The face of Sister Catherine popped up in my mind. My daughter’s middle name was in honor of the lovely woman. Before I really knew Sister Catherine, I’d nicknamed her the Tasmanian Devil. She was batshit nuts as a ghost and totally out of control. She’d been forty-seven when she’d died of cancer. It broke my heart how young she was when she’d died. She had no regrets. Said she’d lived a very full and happy life. She’d been a nun. At first, it had been hard to reconcile that the gal who liked to moon people and pop out of my silverware drawer when I least expected had been a woman of faith.

Through talking with each other and eventually diving into her mind, I determined that Sister Catherine had no unfinished business. None. Nothing. She was the one who realized she was here to help me. She was unselfish and all about others in life. She was the same way in death. It was with tremendous joy and gratitude that I named my child after her.

Sister Catherine’s final wish before she’d gone into the Light was to be mooned by all of us. It was the most bizarre and hilarious request I’d gotten from one of the dead. I was all in. Of course, Candy Vargo had been delighted to show her ass. Even Gideon very reluctantly agreed because of his friendship with the nutty nun. It was a moment in time that would be etched in my mind and heart no matter how long I lived.

Alana Catherine was named for my mom, Alana, and the infamous Tasmanian Devil who I adored. It was a good strong name for a beautiful and strong young woman… who used to be a baby less than a few hours ago. Part of me was desperate for her to still be a baby when we got back home. But part of me would miss the young woman I loved just as much as her baby version.

Glancing over at my daughter, I tried to memorize her face so that if she reverted back to a baby when we got home, I’d remember. She was staring at the board. I joined her.

Agnes Bubbla’s name was the next row over. The dead woman was someone I considered a friend. Agnes was a New York Times best-selling paranormal romance author. She was also Candy Vargo’s favorite writer. Candy had flipped her shit when she’d realized Agnes was with us. She’d driven Agnes nuts, but the woman was a good sport about it. She was kind-hearted and funny as heck. Her personal style had gotten stuck in the 1980’s—dyed blonde hair with bangs that defied gravity. Her terms of endearment still made me smile—puddin’, cupcake, sweet pea and pumpkin were my faves.

My dear Agnes had been murdered by the psychotic son of a bitch, Micky Muggles. She’d died of a heart attack caused by a potassium overdose. That bastard was gone now. He wasn’t in the Darkness and he wasn’t in the Light. He wasn’t even good enough for Purgatory. He was just gone, never to be heard from again. Hatred was a strong word and took energy. Normally, I did my best not to feel hate in my heart. But Micky Muggles was the exception. Him… I hated.

Agnes belonged in the Light. She might be dead but her books would make her as Immortal as a human could get.

Squaring my shoulders, I left memory lane behind and planted myself firmly in the present. I was going to win back Sister Catherine and Agnes. And after I’d fixed the tear in the Light, I would send them back home. Period.

A booming male voice came over the speaker, and the lights hanging over the stage brightened.

“This isJeopardy! Entering the studio… Well, crap. They’re already on the stage. Who’s running this shitty show?”

I glanced around to see who was talking, but no one but Gram, Alana Catherine and me were here.

---