Midlife in Glimmerspell, Page 2

  “I’m all about upcycling.” Charlene gives a frantic nod. “It’s, like, really good for the environment. Anyway, he proposed last night, and, of course, I said yes. And now, I guess we have a wedding to plan.”

  “Last night?” My voice hikes to unsafe levels again as I look to the dingbat proudly wearing my ring, my robe, and let’s face it, most likely my husband’s bodily fluids. “But I made you beef stroganoff from scratch. Harold and I watched that silly rom-com with you until midnight!”

  She rolls her eyes. “And believe me, we never thought you’d go to bed. But once you left, Harry didn’t waste any time. He dropped to one knee and I said yes.” She waves me off. “And don’t think we didn’t appreciate the stroganoff. It was so totally romantic what with the candles on the table and everything.” She presses a hand to her chest as if reliving the romance, and I’m suddenly moved to strangle everyone in the room including myself. “I guess we’ll tell Harper the news once she gets home from school. No need in keeping it a secret. Especially since she’s about to be a big sister.”

  “A big what?” My voice echoes around the room like a hurricane about to blow the roof off.

  “That’s right.” Charlene wraps her arms around Harold’s naked flesh. “We weren’t even trying! Can you believe it? I guess I must be super fertile.”

  Super fertile.

  I shoot Harold a look. It took us three years to have Harper and not a single baby soul followed suit. I was at war with my ovaries, my uterus, doing everything humanly possible to give Harper a sibling, and here Charlene jumps into bed with my husband and makes it a reality. How dare she. How dare he.

  How I hate these two idiots in front of me right now. And to think they’ve had the nerve to procreate.

  “You need to go,” I grit the words from my teeth. “Both of you. You’re not safe here. The Grim Reaper is peering through the window, and he’s about to do what he does best—slaughter on sight.”

  “Oh my God!” Charlene wails as she does a little tap dance. “Is there a killer on the loose?”

  “There’s a killer on the loose, all right.” I bite the air between us. “And that killer is me! Now put your own damn clothes on and get the hell out of my house!”

  She zips up the stairs before I can rip my robe right off her body. I would have done it, too, but I’m not in the mood for her thin, perky body to mock me.

  “And you”—I dig my finger into this virtual stranger’s greasy chest—“you have five minutes to collect all of your worldly belongings. I’m having the locks changed in an hour. And then I’m spending the rest of the afternoon retaining a top-notch divorce attorney. I’m putting the house up for sale and taking half of that stupid hardware store—because it’s mine.”

  “You can’t take the store. That belongs to my family.” The veins in his neck jump once again as if he means it.

  “I was your family, you moron! There’s not a judge in the land who won’t agree with me on that one.”

  His eyes bug out, and I can see the financial fear taking over.

  “That’s right, Harold,” I seethe. “Be afraid. Because I’m about to make your life a living hell. You’ll regret the day you ever laid eyes on that hussy, and I’ll make sure you’ll regret the day you laid eyes on me, too. And don’t think for a minute I’m not trading your ridiculous last name for my old one.” I spot Charlene poking her head our way from the landing and sniff. “And if you were wise, you’d keep your last name, too!” I howl at her. “Although Plowmen isn’t all that much of an improvement. Actually, it’s kind of prophetic when you think about it. But the two of you don’t think, do you? Now go on, get!” I stomp my foot in Harold’s direction and Charlene scuttles off once again, but my obnoxious idiot of a soon-to-be ex doesn’t budge an inch.

  “You won’t have enough money to buy another place,” he says. “We’re not selling the house. You and Harper will continue to live here.”

  “After you’ve defiled it? There isn’t enough holy water or sage to cleanse this house of the sins you’ve committed. A fire couldn’t cure the diseases you’ve bestowed upon it!”

  “You’ll be homeless if you leave,” he barks back. “You’re going to work at the hardware store and keep the house. I’ve already thought this through.”

  “Oh?” I balk. “I’ll sleep in the bed you shared with Little Miss Slut, and I’ll work at the hardware store while she walks around like she owns the place—while her belly grows as big as yours? No thank you!”

  “You’re forty-five, Billie. You’ve never held down a real job, and have no skills to offer the world. You can keep your position at the hardware store. You’re going to need it. You’ll thank me for it later.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “I’m pretty sure I won’t thank you for anything later. And maybe I have no skills to offer the world because I foolishly gave them all to you! Newsflash, Harold, I’m not keeping the house or the job. I’m starting over. Harper and I are moving out of Mulberry Lake as soon as possible.”

  “And where do you think you’re going?” His chest bucks as if I were spouting a pipe dream, and maybe I am. “Look, I’m sorry it went down like this, Billie.” His eyes soften as he looks my way. And for a fleeting moment, I feel a pang of grief for what we once were. “But you said you weren’t coming back until noon. We thought we had more time.”

  “So this is my fault? Get out!” I riot as I slap him silly across the chest.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” He doubles down on his lunacy. “You can’t make it in this world without me, Billie. You’re staying in this house and you’re working for me.” He takes off upstairs while I head down the hall for the bathroom, lock myself inside, and sob for an hour straight.

  Harold is right. I have no marketable skills. I’ll be jobless and homeless.

  My sweet nieces come to mind, and then it hits me.

  I won’t be homeless at all. I know exactly where I’ll go.

  Harper and I are moving to Glimmerspell.

  March

  In the span of almost two months, I’ve broken three vases, all of which suffered a noble demise as I attempted to throw them at Harold’s ridiculously tiny pinhead, but seeing that he does, in fact, have the aforementioned pinhead, none of them actually reached their intended target.

  The house is still on the market—a sluggish market according to our realtor, a hot twenty-something that Harold had the nerve to ogle when we met to sign the paperwork.

  Clearly, there are no boundaries to the level in which he will stoop to cheat on me. Although I no longer consider his brazen yet foolish, and might I add, lewd actions cheating because Harold Boobe and I have already divorced in my mind and heart where it truly counts. But the real deal still needs a few pokes and prods—and an exorbitant exchange of some serious cash to our individual attorneys before we’re officially torn asunder.

  I glance down at the center console, at one of the ten lists I’ve made for the day, and nod at number five—move to Glimmerspell. I have to write everything down these days or I risk forgetting all about my many errant trains of thought. Just last week I put an orange into the toaster oven, the mail in the fridge, and stepped out of the shower only to find the water running two hours later. It’s safe to say I might need more than a list to keep me on track, I might need a bona fide handler, or a straitjacket. Both maybe.

  Morgan, my one and only living niece, says I have a serious case of brain fog, which could be attributed to both the trauma in my life and the fact I’m peri-menopausal. I blame both of those malfunctions on Harold because I’ve decided that from here on out he’ll be the scapegoat for all my future problems. It brings me a level of comfort to know any and everything that goes awry from now on will somehow be his fault.

  Regardless, our attorneys will be conferring shortly, followed by a formal meeting with a judge, and that’s when the magic happens. The big D. The bonfire of the marital vanities. The apex of my time spent with Harold Boobe will finally come to a
crashing conclusion, our marriage license dropped into a vat of legal acid and dissolved for all to see—boiling alive to a certain death in the bubbling cauldron of my heart.

  The runaway train has left the station—destination Splitsville—and Harper and I are moving onward and forward in our new lives. She took the news of the divorce as well as any sixteen-year-old could, a little crying, a little cussing, and a helluva lot of self-righteous anger toward her boob of a father.

  “Okay, Harper.” I blow out a breath as I look at my beautiful daughter while gripping the steering wheel. “Glimmerspell, here we come.”

  It’s as if all of Maine transforms into a magical land from some far-off fairy tale as we fast approach the covered bridge that leads into that fabled town. The bridge has a rustic covered wooden roof with a heaping pile of snow over it. The river that runs beneath it is frozen solid for the most part but still manages to glisten even in this dull light.

  Glimmerspell is infamous for its lackluster days and its seemingly eternal nights. The snow has a tendency to stick right through August some years and starts up again as early as September. It’s essentially a winter wonderland all year long. The storm clouds always seem to linger up above, and the sun is just a rumor in this part of the world.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, and the skies are purple and bruised as another storm gets ready to dump more of that fluffy white stuff our way. And everywhere you look, the evergreens, the tiny cottage-like houses, the woods, and the riverbanks are all blanketed with a fresh dusting of powder.

  A large wooden sign sitting next to the covered bridge reads Welcome to Glimmerspell! Where there’s a bit of magic just around every corner!

  “And here we go,” I say as we tread slowly inside and my tires hum and vibrate as the covered bridge steals the light.

  “Honk the horn, Mom! It’s good luck!” Harper bounces in her seat while clutching her favorite stuffed animal, a purple bear that smells like berries and aptly named Berry. She might be sixteen on the outside, but she’s still all of six where it counts. Although Berry is a secret best kept between the two of us, lest I lose my life over it—per her incessant threats.

  I do as I’m told and we laugh and honk our way through the bridge until we come out on the other side, and I pull over for a moment as we both exhale a collective sigh.

  “Wow,” she moans as she struggles to take in all the magic before us at once.

  “It never gets old,” I say as we take a moment to soak in the beauty of this enchanting little town.

  Glimmerspell is set in mountainous terrain at an elevation higher than Mulberry Lake but not by much. The neighboring towns are still easily accessible within twenty minutes. But Glimmerspell is by far the most secluded, some might say secretive town in all of Maine, maybe even the entire Eastern Seaboard.

  “I love it.” Harper shakes her head. “It was totally worth tanking eleven years’ worth of friendships and an almost boyfriend.” She shrugs as she stares out the window. “And in a weird way, I think I mean it.”

  Harper is a head taller than me, we share the same dark hair—mine touching down at the shoulders and hers touching down just shy of her tush. She has dainty features, high full cheeks, bowtie lips, and we share the same lavender blue eyes. They’re a common trait of the Buttonwood women, and as of yesterday we are officially just that.

  “To new beginnings,” I say. “Just two Buttonwood women looking to start all over again. Here’s to being smart, sensible, and sassy together.”

  And to swearing off romance forever—at least for me. I don’t need men anymore. It’s time to figure out who I am. Who I’m going to be. Who I’ve been all along.

  “And here’s to becoming vampires.” She takes a sip of the latte we picked up on the way over and winks my way. Harper is as sassy and sarcastic as they come, as evidenced by the fact she threatens me with a teen pregnancy every now again. But she just likes to get me good and rattled. And those very threats are to blame for what Harper has dubbed the tinsel sprouting out of my head. It’s safe to say she’s well-rounded when it comes to keeping me on my proverbial toes.

  “Ixnay on that whole vampire thing,” I say as we turn back onto the road and head for Main Street. “And if any boy promises you immortality by way of taking a bite out of your body, I officially give you permission to drive a stake through his heart.” I wrinkle my nose at the windshield. “On second thought, ixnay to taking a stake to the pervert’s heart, too. You’re not allowed to go to prison. You’re one of my favorite people, and I’d like to keep you around.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. If anyone goes to prison, it’ll be you. I’m shocked you’re not already serving hard time in the pokey. I would have driven a stake through both of their tiny wicked hearts. I plan on giving you-know-who the cold shoulder for the rest of my life, just the way you are.”

  You-know-who would be Harold the boob. And I never suggested she give him the cold shoulder. Harper came up with that beaut all on her own. Although I’ve been known to ice him out a time or two in the past. Harper was obviously paying attention to how I reacted to things back then, and I’m guessing she’s doing the very same thing now.

  To be honest, Harper is exactly why Harold and Charlene still have breath in their lungs.

  If I killed Harold, the odds of Harper killing her own cheating husband one day would go up magnificently. And as much as I love spending time with her, I’d hate to have her as a cellmate. It’s sort of counterintuitive to that whole launching her into the world as a functioning member of society thing. And because of that, all of our mother/daughter homicidal dreams will have to go up on the shelf for now.

  “Yeah, well.” I shrug her way. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder, so you’re out of luck. You can’t use me as an excuse. I may not be too thrilled with what happened, but no matter how big a pile of manure that man steps in, it doesn’t take away the fact he’s your dad. Legally, you’re still his charge. Just give it some time to get over the pain and anger, and soon you’ll be playing basketball with him out on the driveway again.”

  “We don’t have a driveway, or at least we won’t soon. And besides, Dad and I have never done that and you know it. Don’t worry about my relationship with him. I’m almost eighteen, and soon I’ll legally be able to cut whoever I want out of my life.” Her lips twitch with a smile. “If I were you, I’d be on my best behavior because you might be next.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I say as we hit Main Street with all of its adorable old-world-inspired shops, and my heart warms just looking at them.

  The townies and the tourists alike are well bundled as they waddle up and down the cozy street in clusters, bustling to and fro while clutching their purchases.

  Harper was immediately on board with the idea of moving to Glimmerspell. I’ve always had a soft spot for this magical town, but I’m ashamed to admit, we haven’t been out this way in so long. My nieces, Mabel and Morgan, had always driven to Mulberry Lake for holidays and visits.

  My brother, Darrel, and his first wife, Millie, initially moved from Mulberry Lake to Glimmerspell about twenty-five years ago when their twin daughters were just two. Millie passed away when the twins were eight, I think, and then eventually Darrel went on to remarry. Unfortunately, Darrel and his second wife, Leanne, passed away a little over a year ago. They lost their brakes and their car tumbled down a mountainside. And the tragedies don’t end there.

  A chill rides through me as I think of my poor nieces.

  My sweet niece Mabel was murdered just last month out in Cider Cove, a small town right here in coastal Maine. The person responsible has already been arrested and is awaiting trial. As soon as I heard of the tragedy, I wanted to come out to Glimmerspell, but Morgan said not to, that she was still in Cider Cove taking care of things.

  After the suspect was caught, Morgan came out to Mulberry Lake and we had a service for Mabel at my church, upon my insistence. Since Morgan’s parents passed, my mo
ther and I had tried our best to be there for the girls. My father passed away nearly a decade ago, so there was just my mother, my sister, and me who could be there for them. Their mother’s family had scattered across the country and lost all touch with the girls when they were young. But I’ve always made myself available to my nieces. At the time of Mabel’s murder, my mother was at a technology free resort in Hawaii, but I moved heaven, earth, and a few primitive communication methods to get her to come back for the service.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her of my impending divorce, but Harper did and my mother was officially the first to say I told you so. It’s safe to say she’s never been a fan of Harold’s.

  Harper leans hard as she inspects the businesses that line the street. It’s been almost three years since I’ve been in Glimmerspell, and almost twice that long for Harper. But now that I see how charming it is, it’s clear I’ve deprived us both of a little magic our dull lives could have used.

  “Would you look at that restaurant?” Harper’s voice hikes with enthusiasm. “Rex’s Stake House? Mom they spelled stake as in the weapon you just suggested I use on my future vampire boyfriend. This is, like, for real.” She leans in to better ogle the establishment. “Good to the last bite! Blood Bank Bar inside.” She belts out a laugh. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “They’re not kidding,” I say. “From what I remember, this whole vampire thing is nothing more than a tourist trap. Poor Glimmerspell is all by its lonesome out here. The locals needed to find some way to drum up a little business.”

  “Wolfgang’s Bistro,” she reads as she looks to the establishment directly across the street. Both restaurants have an old-world feel to them, as does all of Main Street with its cobblestone sidewalks and stone-covered buildings. “Not a fly-by-night joint.” She laughs at the tagline. “That was a total dig at the vampires. I guess the vampires and the werewolves don’t get along.”