Page 12 of Someone Save My Midlife Tonight

Candy Vargo was perplexed. Heather’s brows shot up, and she stared at Jennifer with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Tim tapped his pursed lips with his pointer finger as he mulled the suggestion. Tory walked over to the Book of Immortal Laws and began to flip through the pages. Only Gideon seemed positive about the potential plan.

“Not sure a conviction would stand,” he said. “However, forcing the Higher Power to come to us instead of waiting like lame ducks for It to show Its hand puts us at an advantage.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Candy Vargo said. “Still don’t tell us why It wants our baby girl.”

I shrugged. “If we can get a conviction, we can offer a plea deal if It will come clean about Alana Catherine. That way the balance isn’t thrown off by ending the Higher Power and we know why It wants my baby.”

“Devious and ballsy,” Heather said. “I like it.”

“Tribunal,” Tory stated flatly, pointing at a page in the book. She read aloud. “Any Immortal may call a tribunal on another Immortal for cause. I’d say pulling the dead out of the Light in order to steal Alana Catherine is cause.”

“Fine point well made,” Tim said, smiling at Tory. “However, I’m unclear how we can prove it. Technically, it’s hearsay from Daisy and Gram.”

“Gram’s testimony won’t hold up,” Heather said. “One, she’s dead. Two, she’s not Immortal. Umm… which is a given since she’s… you know… dead.”

Candy Vargo gave Heather the eyeball. “You call yourself a lawyer? Do you want me to punch you in the head or do you wanna punch yourself, dumbballs?”

Both women began to glow. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Ain’t nobody punchin’ nobody,” Gram warned. “I am dead, and I ain’t Immortal. I think we got other ways to handle this mess.”

“Such as?” Gideon asked.

“Well, now, since it’s been established that I’m dead, we could let my great-grandbaby dive into my mind. She’s a Death Counselor. That way we could have us a little chat and I could find out what she was gonna say before Fake Bob Barker/ Fake Monty Hall sent us back to the mortal plane.”

It was the most logical suggestion I’d heard so far and it didn’t involve Shitty Ritchie. But… and there were a lot of buts. “It’s risky. Very risky. Technically, I’m still the Death Counselor. Alana Catherine is thefutureDeath Counselor. It’s unclear if she can mind dive. Gram, you never mind-dived when you were the Death Counselor. I don’t think my mom did either.”

“True that, Daisy girl,” Gram admitted.

“Plus,” Gideon added, uncomfortable with the idea. “Even if Alana Catherine entered Gram’s mind, there’s no guarantee that she could get out.”

Heather chimed in. “I think there are too many unknowns with this strategy. Since our little gal hasn’t done a mind dive, there’s a chance she could be out for weeks… or months… or…”

She didn’t need to finish. I knew whereshe was going. The plan was off the table. When my baby had been in utero, I was able to talk to her. Maybe, I could do it again. Probably not. I’d tried multiple times since she’d been born. She’d even told me that when she arrived, she wouldn’t be able to talk to me again. She’d be a baby and have a normal baby life. Granted, her life hadn’t been normal so far, but she was definitely a baby.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“What can be done that’s proactive?” I asked. Being lame ducks, as Gideon had put it, didn’t sound smart.

“I got another idea,” Jennifer said.

She’d had the best idea so far. I was all in to hear another. “Shoot.”

She popped open a new bottle of wine and poured everyone a glass… and a double for herself. “My therapist, Myrna, says that when I’m stressed out, I need to find a way to laugh that doesn’t include alcohol or gettin’ married again. Laughter’s an excellent stress relief. In my estimation, I’d say we’re all a big powder keg ready to blow.”

No one was rude enough to point out that she’d just poured herself two glasses of wine.

“Word, mothersharter,” Candy agreed.

“So,” Jennifer said with a grin and a wink to Tim. “I’ll start. Speaking of lawsuits…”

“Are we tellin’ jokes?” Candy asked, confused.

“Nope,” Jennifer said with a chuckle. “This crap is true. There was an idiot who went to a girlie bar. The dummy sued the strip club claiming the dancer’s bouncing bosom had given the jackass whiplash! Said it caused him mental and physical anguish, if you can believe that junk. Wanted fifteen thousand dollars for his distress. Of course, he was denied in court and shocked as all get out that he was banned from the Big Sean’s Booby Barn for life.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it.

“Oh yes!” Tim said, rubbing his hands together with glee. He and Jennifer were our go-to people for gross or bizarre facts. Their font of unnecessary knowledge was mind-boggling. “I do believe there is a record of a gentleman who desired to swim with killer whales at Sea Universe. He, in all his glorious wisdom, snuck into the park after closing time and made all his dreams come true. However, there was a caveat… the killer whale lived up to its moniker and our gentleman friend ended up sleeping with the fishes—pun absolutely intended. His devastated family sued Sea Universe, claiming that the stuffed whales sold in the gift shop made the killer—and I repeat, killer—whales seem gentle and friendly. Suffice it to say, they lost.”

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