“Daisy?” the man questioned hesitantly.
Chill bumps broke out all over my body. My breath grew short and my vision blurred. I grabbed the wall so I didn’t fall to the floor. Tears of confusion filled my eyes and I choked back the scream that was lodged in my throat.
“Steve?” I whispered on a sob.
“It’s me, Daisy.”
The wall couldn’t hold me—a steel rod in my back couldn’t have kept me upright. I instinctively flipped the light switch as my knees buckled and I slid down the wall to the floor.
The man I’d mourned for a year now sat on our couch—the couch he’d picked out. My best friend for the past twenty years and my husband for the last fifteen had come home.
Swiping the tears from my eyes with my hoodie, I pinched my thigh hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t. I would now have a bruise on my leg that would match my knuckles.
Steve didn’t look good. His left arm was wrapped across his chest, gripping his right shoulder. My guess was that his right arm had detached. It took everything I had not to gasp. A photograph of us sat on the end table. Looking at what he’d been and seeing him now broke my heart.
In life he’d been so handsome, with dark curly hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He was only a little taller than me and his body was lithe like a runner’s. Running was something we’d loved to do together. I was tempted to tell him about my twelve-mile run, but it felt wrong. He couldn’t run anymore.
His once beautiful blue eyes sat back in hollowed-out sockets. His eyes were a sad representation of what they used to be. He was wearing the suit he was buried in, but it didn’t fit him right anymore. The fabric hung on his gaunt frame.
“Where have you been?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’m dead,” he replied, confused by the question.
I nodded. “I know that, baby. I meant, where were you before you came here?”
Steve pressed his lips together and made a sound in his throat that I would recognize even blindfolded. He’d made the noise a million times when he was thinking. I’d always teased him about it. He’d said it was his pensive sound—made him appear smarter.
“I don’t know, Daisy,” he said. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “It’s not important.”
Looking down at my shaking hands, I felt awful for not going right to him. But I was so saddened by the state he was in, I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d lose it.
Wait. How was I able to talk to him and how was he able to talk to me? This wasn’t how it worked.
My head jerked up, and I gaped at him. “We’re talking,” I said, shocked. “How are we doing that?”
Steve smiled. It was macabre but somehow beautiful. “Why is that strange? We always talked, Daisy.”
“I know,” I said with a small laugh. “But I can’t talk to other… umm… the others like this. I have to use a Ouija board or slip into their minds.”
Steve shrugged—or he tried to. His arm slipped and he grabbed it in embarrassment. I turned my head away so he didn’t think I noticed. Both Donna and Karen had joined him on the couch. Donna was aware of him. Karen was not.
“I don’t have an answer for you, babe,” Steve said, glancing down at the dogs. He smiled. “You finally got your pets.”
“I did,” I said with a smile, slowly getting to my feet. “Donna can see you but Karen can’t.”
“I take it Donna is the one wagging her rear end?” he inquired with another smile.
“Yep. She’s unique.”
Steve stared at her for a long moment. I could tell he wanted to pet her, but wouldn’t risk his arm dropping to the floor. I didn’t have the heart to tell him his hand would go right through her. He was dealing with enough at the moment.
“Donna’s not a dog,” Steve said, still smiling at her as she turned little circles on the couch to impress him
“What is she?” I asked, amazed he could tell. I’d had my suspicions, but honestly, I didn’t care what she was. She was mine.
Steve shook his head carefully. “I’m not sure what she is, but she’s not a dog.”
I crossed the room, gently pushed Karen over, and sat next to Steve. He was still confused, but seemed more peaceful now that I was near.
“I’ve missed you,” I told him.
“I’ve missed you too, Daisy. How have you been?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. The truth would probably upset him, but I was a terrible liar and he knew it.
“I’ve been okay. It’s been a rough year,” I admitted.
“I died a year ago?” he questioned, perplexed. “It’s been that long?”
Biting down on my bottom lip, I nodded jerkily. All of the other dead had known when they’d died. None of them had been as confused as Steve seemed to be.
He glanced at his unattached arm and sighed. “I’m not sure why I’m here right now. I…”
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him, forcing my tone to sound happy and light. Since I had no clue how long he would get to stay, I needed to stop being careful. The awkwardness was ridiculous. I would treat him being here as a gift—a precious gift. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of tubes of superglue. Resting my hands on the edge of the countertop, I stared at my reflection in the window above the sink. What was happening was unreal, tragic, amazing, and heartbreaking yet somehow perfect. Even if it was only for tonight, I would be present and thankful for a little more time.
Tucking the glue into my pocket, I smiled at my reflection. It was surgery time. I’d repaired people I barely knew. It would be an honor to make my husband as whole as he could be again.
“I’m going to glue your arm back on,” I said with a smile as I walked back to the couch and sat down. “Won’t hurt a bit.”
Steve laughed and then groaned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he said sheepishly.
“Give me your arm,” I instructed.
“Seriously?” he asked with a wince.
“Very. I’ve been fixing people for a week now. I’m good at it. I promise,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Other dead people?” he asked.
I paused for a moment. The truth will set you free, or at least keep you from getting busted for lying. “Yep. Other dead people. You should have gotten here a little earlier,” I told him, taking his arm and slathering the shoulder joint with superglue. “There were sixty squatters here. We’re down to ten now.”
“Eleven,” he corrected me as he watched in fascination while I reconnected his arm.
“Eleven,” I agreed with a smile.
“I can feel your touch,” Steve whispered. “It feels so good.”
My eyes filled with tears again and I nodded. We simply stared at each other for a while. Even though Steve was in a serious state of decomposition, I could still see him. He was beautiful.
“Why are they here?” he asked.
“Why is who here?”
“The others. The squatters,” he said with a chuckle.
“Oh. It’s kind of a long story, but I’ll synopsize it. Apparently, I come from a long line of Death Counselors. When the dead started showing up, it took me a little while to realize I wasn’t insane. Gram was one. My mom was one. Now I’m one.”
I paused and considered telling him that my mom didn’t die in an accident, but that wasn’t something I wanted him to think about when he left me. He’d also worry… about me.
“I help people move on.”
“Every single dead person comes here?” Steve asked, perplexed.
“God no,” I said with a laugh. “Just those who have unfinished business.”
“And you send them to Heaven or Hell?”
“No. I don’t,” I said, wondering if he believed now.
We’d both questioned the afterlife and religion in general while he’d been alive. Steve had grown up in a fundamentally religious house
hold—snake-handling, hellfire-and-brimstone religious. It had done a real number on him. He’d turned away from both his family and their religion before we’d ever met.
His parents hadn’t even been at our wedding… or his funeral. Maybe in death he’d learned something about Heaven and Hell that I didn’t know. I didn’t want to ask. Talking about religion had always made Steve antsy and stressed.
“Whether a person goes into the light or the darkness is determined by the life they led. I just help them find peace so they can leave.”
Steve pressed his lips together. Again, he made the sound that I’d missed so desperately. “I know why I’m here now,” he said, his chin dropping to his chest.
I sat silently and waited.
“I have unfinished business,” he said, raising his eyes to mine and giving me a small smile.
“I can help you,” I said, torn about letting him go.
I was aware that Steve should have moved on a long time ago, but I just got him back. He couldn’t leave again so fast. Taking a deep breath, I knew I had to do the right thing—for him.
“You just have to tell me what your unfinished business is and I can help you.”
Steve continued to stare at me as if he was memorizing my face. I couldn’t imagine what he’d left undone, but he’d died in an accident. There had been tons of things left undone. I was curious as to what had kept him from moving on. It had to be big if he’d stuck around this long.
“It’s you, Daisy,” he said, trying to keep eye contact, but unable to. “You’re my unfinished business.”
My stomach lurched and my mind raced with scenarios—good and bad. Had Steve cheated on me? No. That was ludicrous. I knew in my heart he was as faithful to me as I’d been to him.
Although… we hadn’t been intimate for years before he’d died. Maybe he’d found someone to give him what I wasn’t capable of, and I hadn’t known. It would tear me to shreds, but I’d forgive him.
Steve had stopped being sexually attracted to me early in our marriage. Neither one of us acknowledged it—just pretended like it wasn’t an issue. I’d tried so hard to make him want me, but after a while it was too difficult. Mortifying and soul-crushing were better terms. No matter how fondly I remembered the past, the truth was devastating. I had been extremely attracted to my husband, and he hadn’t felt the same about me.
Living like we did was hard for both of us—or it was for me. He’d stayed with me even though I was broken somehow. I was grateful that our friendship remained so loving and strong over the years. It held us together like the superglue I’d just used on his arm.
Steve could have left me at any time and I wouldn’t have blamed him. My heart would have died a little, but ultimately, I would have understood. I was defective as a woman.
I loved him. I still loved him. I would always love him. And I knew he loved me.
Cheating was not the reason he was still here.
“Can we talk a while about other things before you tell me?” I asked selfishly. If I solved something right now, there was a chance he’d move on tonight. That was too soon.
He looked up and gave me a relieved smile. “I’d like that.”
And we did. We talked and laughed into the night until the sun rose. It filled me up with all the things I’d missed so desperately. Mostly it was reminiscing. Our shared past was a safe place to stay. Although, I’d told him about Gram slowing down and being in the nursing home. That made him sad. He didn’t want me losing anyone else in my life. Once Gram was gone, that was it as far as my family went.
Steve was curious about the other dead in the house, but he didn’t ask too many questions and I didn’t offer up any unsolicited stories. He was thrilled I was going to work with Heather. She had been a dear friend to both of us. His laugh of delight made me feel incredible when I told him about my running and how fast I’d made it to Heather’s house.
This was what I’d missed the most. Steve was my person. He was the one that I could share everything with—the one who passed no judgment and just offered loving support.
Who knew I’d get one more chance to be with the man who’d been my entire world?
Missy had been correct. Forty was turning out to be a far better year than thirty-nine had been.
Chapter Twenty
“Oh my God, Steve,” I said with a laugh as I peered bleary-eyed out of the window at the rising sun. “I need to sleep a little.”
“Don’t you have to go to work?” he asked, testing his arm that I’d repaired hours ago.
“Umm… no. Not today. I have the week off.” There was no way I was going to tell him it was because Clarissa wanted me out of the way due to the arrival of Gideon. Gideon the Grim Reaper was a subject I wouldn’t touch with Steve. It felt all kinds of wrong. Plus, it was a non-issue. Gideon wasn’t my person and he never would be. “I’m going to grab the afghan and nap on the couch. Sound good?”
“Daisy, I’m gay,” Steve said so softly that I was sure I’d heard him wrong.
My back faced him and my hand was on the afghan. All sorts of riotous emotions gripped me much more violently than I gripped the afghan. What the hell rhymed with gay? What else could my dead husband have just said? Daisy, I’m stray? Daisy, I’m gray? Pray? In decay? In disarray? He did not just tell me he was gay.
Plastering a smile on my face that didn’t reach my eyes and felt brittle on my lips, I slowly turned and faced him. “I’m sorry. I think I misunderstood.”
Steve looked positively devastated. “You didn’t. I’m gay.”
“Since you died?” I asked, completely confused.
He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No. Always.”
My head began to throb and the walls of the house felt like they were closing in. Steve had a great sense of humor. Was this a joke? It was a joke. It was a bad joke, but I didn’t want to get pissed off if his sense of humor had become skewed in death.
“Right,” I said, shaking my head and forcing out a laugh that sounded tinny and rung false. “Good one. You almost got me.”
Steve said nothing. He didn’t join me in my fake laughter. He appeared pained and terribly sad.
“You’re not joking,” I whispered, wrapping the afghan around my body for protection and seating myself carefully on the love seat across the room from him. The irony of the piece of furniture I’d chosen to sit on didn’t escape my notice.
“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”
“For being gay or for marrying me and knowing you were gay… are gay… were gay… whatever,” I snapped as my voice rose and sounded like it was coming out of someone else’s mouth.
Sitting felt suffocating. I stood and began to pace. I stayed on my side of the family room.
I was afraid I would damage Steve if I got too close. There wouldn’t be enough superglue in the state of Georgia to fix him if I got my hands on him right now.
How was this happening? How did I not know? I wasn’t one of those women who went through life with blinders on.
Was I? Apparently, yes.
“For everything. I’m sorry for everything. I couldn’t accept it,” Steve said hollowly. “I didn’t want to be that way. My parents threw me out of the house when I was fifteen. Told me I was going to burn in Hell for all eternity.”
“How did I not know this?” I shouted, feeling out of control and sick to my stomach. “How?”
Steve said nothing. What was left to say?
“Was I a joke to you?” I demanded, pacing like a madwoman. “Was our whole life together a joke?”
“No,” Steve said in a broken whisper. “Never. I loved you and I always will.”
“Yet you let me think there was something wrong with me sexually for twenty years?” I ground out between clenched teeth as I held on to my sanity by a thread. “You let me believe it was me. That I was broken and undesirable. Half a woman. A freak of nature because you were hiding who you were? And I realize the blame is mine too because I was t
oo stupid or in love with you to see it.”
Steve opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
I hated him. I hated me. Hatred raged through my body as helpless tears flowed from my eyes. I had to rethink everything now. All my memories were lies. Half of my life had been a lie. The unfairness of it made me feel like I was drowning. My naïve stupidity made me want to die.
“Oh my God,” I choked out as I leaned against the wall and pressed my cheek to the cool plaster. “Were you seeing other men while we were married?”
I didn’t want the answer, but I needed to know. Did I need to get checked for an STD?
“No, Daisy. I’ve never been with a man.”
“Ever?” I whispered, still unable to look at him.
“No.”
I felt even sicker. Why did I feel sorry for him when he’d knowingly destroyed me? Steve had made me feel like I wasn’t enough of a woman.
What the hell was wrong with me? Did I have no self-preservation instincts at all? Did my Southern manners own me?
“Why?” I whispered.
“Why what?” Steve asked.
“Why were you never with a man?”
Steve sighed and then stayed silent.
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” I said, tasting the salty tears as they continued to run down my cheeks.
I believed what I said. One of my best friends was a lesbian. Sexuality didn’t define a person—character did.
Steve’s character was sorely lacking to the point of being criminal.
“I couldn’t, Daisy,” he said flatly. “I just couldn’t.”
“Why?” I hissed, turning to glare at him. I wasn’t going to hide my pain. He deserved to see it after what he’d done. “Your upbringing? Are you going to blame the way you grew up as your reason for ruining my life?”
Steve was gutted. He grew more transparent as the conversation—or rather, come-to-Jesus, if you will—went on.
“When I met you, I fell in love,” he said cautiously. “You were the perfect woman.”
“Steve, don’t,” I said, holding up my hands. “Don’t lie to me anymore. We’re way past that now.”
It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book One Page 19
