A Normal Midlife: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Cozy Mystery (Witching After Forty Book 12)(16 in Series)

A NORMAL MIDLIFE WITCHING AFTER FORTY BOOK SIXTEEN L.A. BORUFF LIA DAVIS CONTENTS 1. Ava 2. Olivia 3. Ava 4. Olivia 5. Ava 6. Olivia 7. Ava 8. Olivia 9. Ava 10. Ava 11. Olivia 12. Ava 13. Ava 14. Ava 15. Ava More Paranormal Women’s Fiction by L.A. Boruff About L.A. Boruff About Lia Davis 1 AVA A note from Lia and L.A.: The beginning will feel very familiar. Stick with it because not everything is as it seems. Welcome to Ava’s Normal Midlife. Much love, Lia and LA. After nine hours on the road with only one short bathroom break, I’d seen enough of the inside of my car to last me a long time. Not to mention driving alone was making me talk to myself, and I wasn’t that funny. Getting out of my Hyundai, I flung the door shut and frowned. Disappointment rolled over me at the sound of the car door clicking shut. Not at all like the sound older cars made when their doors slammed. With my hands on my lower back, I stretched and scanned the grocery store parking lot. There were exactly three cars, and the building was much, much smaller than I remembered. That was how things were when remembered from the perspective of youth, though. Everything seemed larger during childhood. Although, it could’ve been a result of living for so long in a big city where the buildings were gigantic compared to that of a small town. The last time I’d been in this particular small town was last year for my Aunt Winnie’s funeral. Why had so many of the people I loved died on me in the last five years? First Clay, then my favorite Aunt—two didn’t seem like so much until the grief layered in. With a heavy soul, I’d made the trip on my own then, too. I’d hated traveling without my husband, but he was gone now. A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it and took a deep breath. It’d been five years since I lost the love of my life. Well, the first love of my life. The second had left me several weeks ago for a dorm, parties, and medical books. Thinking of the little devil, I pulled out my phone and sent my college-age son a text. Wallie had insisted I message him the moment I arrived in Shipton Harbor. Nothing like having an overprotective son watching over me. Even if he was watching from Harvard University. Me: I made it alive. I think. Unless I died and my ghost drove the rest of the way. Wallie: Your ghost can text? That’s impressive. Will you haunt Aunt Winnie’s house for the rest of eternity? Me: That’s the plan. Wallie: Cool. I’ll make sure to visit on holidays. If med school kills me, I’ll be moving in. I laughed and replied: Oh, no way. You find your own house to haunt. Wallie: LOL. Love you. Me: Love you too. I’ll call you later. After locking the screen on my cell, I slipped it into my pocket and took another cleansing breath. The fresh scent of the ocean filled me. That was when I noticed the crisp, cool air that had wrapped around me like an old friend. I never used to like the cold, but for the last couple of years, I’d craved it. Hello, early hot flashes. With a sigh, I headed inside the store, wishing Clay were walking beside me. I grabbed the cart while I organized my grocery list in my mind, just as we'd done once a week, every week, during our twenty years of marriage. Another ache formed in my chest, tightening it. I closed my eyes briefly and pushed the loneliness away. Clay would’ve killed me if he knew I was still grieving him this strongly. We’d promised each other long ago that if one survived the other, we wouldn’t mourn. We'd find the strength to move on and learn to live again. I’d only agreed to the crazy pact because I'd genuinely believed we’d die within months of each other at the ripe old age of one hundred and two. It'd never occurred to me we’d part ways at thirty-eight. Still, a promise was a promise, and I'd try to keep it. That was why I’d returned to Shipton Harbor, to fix up the old house and put it on the market—hopefully, a quick sale. Then, I could go back home and decide what to do from there. Here I was in Shipton, but before I went to my family home, I needed a few things. The house was 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. As I grabbed a buggy and headed around the produce department, picking up enough of my favorites for a couple of days, for the hundredth time 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. Looking at the apples, I fought my sadness. It could’ve been a lot worse. At least I still had my baby, Wallie. 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 paid too much attention to the history of it or anything. Maybe I should’ve. “Ava?” The sound of the familiar voice of