A Ghoulish Midlife (Witching After Forty #1) - Lia Davis Page 0,1
a quick sale. Then, I could go back home and decide what to do from there.
So, here I was. But before I went to my family home, I needed a few things. The house was totally devoid of all foodstuffs, so I had to get enough to tide me over until I figured out how long I’d be in town, which depended on how much work the old Victorian needed.
There was no telling what sort of condition it would be in. After all, it’d been empty for a year with no magic to keep it alive. Aunt Winnie’s magic had kept the beautiful three-story gothic building in tip top shape. It also gave the house a personality that I loved. Without Winnie, it would be cold and normal. Normal was so overrated. And boring.
As I grabbed a buggy and headed around the produce department, picking up enough of my favorites for just a couple of days, I wished Aunt Winnie had left me enough money with the house to have a caretaker oversee the property. Instead, it had been boarded up for a year.
Regular houses didn’t do well sitting empty. Magical houses usually died without a witch nourishing them.
As I looked at the apples, I fought my sadness. It could’ve been a lot worse. At least I still had my baby, Wallie. So, I focused on the mission—sell the house and make enough money to get back to what was left of my life. To the home my son grew up in. To Philadelphia.
That didn’t mean it would be easy to sell the home that had been in my family for a couple of hundred years. If I was correct, the house had been built before the town even officially became a town. I’d never really paid too much attention to the history of it or anything. Maybe I should’ve.
“Ava? Ava Howe?”
Cringing, I closed my eyes briefly and prayed to the goddess to give me strength. I knew that voice. And it belonged to the absolute last person I wanted to run into tonight. Or ever. I was grimy from the long trip, not to mention exhausted. I needed a sandwich and an enormous glass of wine. Or a whole bottle. Definitely, I’d deserve a bottle after facing my number one high school nemesis.
Turning, I plastered my best PTA-mom smile on my face. “Olivia Lockhart.” I flipped my long brown hair over my shoulder and prayed I’d be able to extract myself as soon as possible. But high school was a long time ago. We were adults now. It would be fine.
“It’s Lockhart-Thompson now.” With one hand on the top of a little boy’s blond head, she held out her other hand to show me a big ring. Geez, a huge ring.
Of course, I’d known she’d married Sam Thompson about five years before, just in time to have their son, Little Sammie.
Sam and I had been best friends for as long as I could remember, even after I moved away. We kept in touch.
“Of course. I’m not used to you with that name, though I’m thrilled my Sam has found the love of his life.” I sincerely was happy for him. He and Olivia hadn’t been friends in high school, and then afterward, Olivia had married and divorced. After her divorce, she and Sam ran into one another when Olivia was rear-ended, and Sam picked up the call.
And he’d fallen hard. I’d been a bit dismayed that my best friend was in love with the biggest busybody Shipton Harbor High had ever seen, but who was I to pooh-pooh on his happiness?
Olivia, however, damn well knew my last name. I’d just seen her a year ago at Aunt Winnie’s funeral. “I’m Ava Harper now. And for the last twenty-odd years.” I might’ve been widowed, but I’d kept Clay’s name. I’d kept anything that had reminded me of him, even though he’d died five years ago. Right after Sam and Olivia got together, actually. That was a hard and dark time for me, but I somehow managed to be happy for my BFF. And in return, Sam listened to me through the tears and then the anger of grief.
Olivia put her hand over mine on the handle of my cart. Her sympathy seeped into my hand, and to my surprise, it felt genuine. That was new. The last time we spoke, Olivia had wanted to burn me at the stake. Or on a cross. Then again, that was right after she’d