It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death #1) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,13

or somewhere appropriate like that.”

Silence.

The movies were probably a bad idea and the graveyard comment bordered on bad taste. I didn’t need them getting pissed off. Honestly, I was lonely in the big rambling house since Steve died. Maybe I’d conjured up imaginary dead friends to keep me company.

“I’m crazier than a fish with tits,” I muttered, repeating one of Gram’s favorite phrases.

I was pretty sure some of the ghosts laughed. At least I was entertaining to someone, even if they were dead. Living alone was hard after sharing my life with a partner for so long.

The farmhouse had been a dream of Steve’s and mine. We’d bought it ten years ago and had spent the last decade fixing it up. It sat in the middle of twenty acres surrounded by lush forest. Steve was a far better decorator than I was, but I was a pro with a hammer and a gallon of paint. The hours spent improving our dream house were some of the best memories I had of my husband.

I’d also had dreams of filling our home with our children and dogs from shelters. Sometimes dreams didn’t come true. With our issues, kids were not an option.

And then Steve died. The end.

Pushing the sad thoughts away, I eyed my attentive audience.

“I’m going for a run,” I explained. “When I get back, everyone will be gone. We clear? Oh, and if anyone left a body part lying around, you need to take that with you. While I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can see you guys, a random nose or foot lying around would freak my guests out. You feel me?”

Again, no one said a word. I didn’t expect them to. If they had, I might have fainted. It would mean I’d gone from simply cracked to completely certifiable. I was fairly sure my transparent buddies understood not to leave their appendages lying around, but I’d take a walk around the house before the girls came over, just in case.

Realizing I was an idiot, I smacked my forehead. I had the rest of the day in front of me and I’d forgotten to take any work home. There was no way in hell I was going back to the office. Running into the pretty-boy lawyer was not good for my sanity.

And considering I only had a little of that left, I could take no chances.

“Absolutely not,” I huffed as I began to sprint the last mile of my run.

I noticed a few of them on mile three of my usual five miles. The dead dude who was so supportive when Stan was talking smack this morning led the pack. They floated along beside me squealing with laughter and moving their legs like they were running. They weren’t. They couldn’t. At one point during the uphill part of my run, I was jealous that I couldn’t float like they could. I needed to stop hanging out with people who should be taking a dirt nap.

“You can’t come on my runs,” I tried to explain, swiping the sweat from my face as I increased my pace. “This is my alone time to think.”

Laughing guy winked at me. I mean, I think he did. His eyes were so sunken into his head, I wasn’t sure. Not to mention, I wasn’t exactly positive he had eyelids.

“Seriously,” I complained as I noticed I was now running with at least thirty dead folks. “This isn’t working for me.”

Stopping abruptly and bending over to catch my breath, I placed my hands on my knees and stared at the ground for a long moment. What did it matter if they ran with me? Maybe the exercise was good for them.

Glancing up, I grinned when I noticed laughing dude was in the same position as me.

“Do you have a name?” I asked in a whisper.

He looked at me and moved his mouth frantically. Sadly, nothing he said made any sense.

Sitting down on the ground in the middle of the forest, I laughed when my posse of spirits joined me.

“Would a Ouija board work?” I asked, wondering how I was going to get one of those. There was no way I would buy one in town. People would think I was trying to communicate with Steve. I didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. I’d just recently stopped feeling sorry for myself.

I had chosen to live life, not hide behind my grief. The dream I’d had where my dead husband read me the riot act had