Divinely Yours Read online

  Praise for Karin Gillespie

  “Witty and smart, entertaining and lyrical, in Love Literary Style author Karin Gillespie explores all facets of love and language through her evocative characters and charmingly delicious plot.”

  — Laura Spinella,

  Bestselling Author of Ghost Gifts

  “An intelligently written novel packed with Southern wit. This is a story book clubs will devour. It’s warmly humorous, thought-provoking and shines with emotional depth.”

  – Amy Avanzino,

  Author of From the Sideline

  “Cheeky and charming, Gillespie’s sweet, outlandish fable is as much a sendup of books, authors, and the publishing industry as it is a love letter to it all.”

  – Phoebe Fox,

  Author of Out of Practice

  “Funny, empathetic, and wise. Gillespie shines a light into dark corners we need to examine, but somehow manages to entertain us at the same time. A fantastic read.”

  – Susan M. Boyer,

  USA Today Bestselling Author of Lowcountry Bordello

  “A delectable page-turner with twists and turns at every corner.”

  – San Francisco Book Review

  “Gillespie knocks it out of the park…[her] humor is as tender as it is sharp. At first, Toni Lee’s figures of speech zip by like jerky ducks in a shooting gallery; but as she orients herself her aim improves. By the time you fall in love with her, bells are ringing all over the place…It’s got everything: gymnastic sex, moonlight and madness and love and romance.”

  – The Augusta Chronicle

  “With a flair for timing and a cheeky southern turn of phrase…Brace for a wild ride chock-full of Southern wit and down-home advice from a clutch of quirky characters you will hope to see again soon.”

  – Booklist

  “A winner of a first novel, filled with Southern-style zingers and funny folks.”

  – Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  “The characters are the kind of steel magnolias who would make Scarlett O’Hara envious.”

  – The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Laugh-out-loud antics as...Gillespie continues her entertaining Bottom Dollar Girls series…Certain to please women’s fiction fans of all ages.”

  – Romantic Times (Top Pick)

  “As tart and delectable as lemon meringue pie...a pure delight.”

  – Jennifer Weiner,

  Author of Good in Bed and In Her Shoes

  “A fine romp of a book, well-written and thoroughly entertaining.”

  – The Winston-Salem Journal

  Books by Karin Gillespie

  GIRL MEETS CLASS

  LOVE LITERARY STYLE

  DIVINELY YOURS

  The Bottom Dollar Series

  BET YOUR BOTTOM DOLLAR (#1)

  A DOLLAR SHORT (#2)

  DOLLAR DAZE (#3)

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  Copyright

  DIVINELY YOURS

  Part of the Henery Press Chick Lit Collection

  First Edition | September 2017

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2017 by Karin Gillespie

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-263-4

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-264-1

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-265-8

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-266-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my husband, David Neches,

  who consistently makes my life heavenly.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Henery Press is an amazing, forward-thinking publisher. I’m so grateful to them for their helpfulness, accessibility, and accommodating nature. Thanks to Rachel Jackson whose editorial skills are some of the most honed in the business and whose cheerfulness is unflagging. Thanks to Kendel Lynn who is always optimistic and warm, and just an overall wonderful person. Thanks to Art Molinares who’s always genial and always makes time to discuss any pressing business needs. Thanks to Erin George for her organization of those fun Facebook hops, and I’m also grateful to Amber Parker for her marketing abilities and flawless execution of group giveaways.

  Thanks to Dr. Les Betrand for walking me through some of the orthopedic info I needed while writing this book.

  One

  The red light on Skye Sebring’s computer blinked rapidly, announcing the arrival of her first client of the day. Within seconds a girl with darting eyes entered the cubicle. She wore a spiked leather wrist cuff and a t-shirt with the logo “Hustle or Die.”

  Skye barely made note of the vivid splash of red dripping down the front of the girl’s shirt. In her line of work she saw more blood-soaked and broken bodies than an ER physician. Her main concern was the young age of her client. She didn’t have a lot of experience processing teenagers, and this one looked like a handful.

  “Welcome, Chelsea,” Skye said. “My name’s Skye Sebring. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

  The teen swept a suspicious gaze around the cubicle, taking in the utilitarian wooden desk, the metal wastepaper basket, and the bare walls. Skye had just been reassigned to a new cu­bicle and hadn’t done anything to fix it up yet. Usually she had a couple of cheerful posters hanging—photos of blue-eyed kittens or smiling dolphins seemed to have a calming effect—and she generally kept a dish of Hershey’s Kisses on her desk.

  “Where the hell am I?” the girl said.

  “Not Hell, thank goodness. You’ve arrived in the Hospitality Sector of Heaven. Sorry it doesn’t look very celestial around here.”

  Chelsea slouched against Skye’s desk, her hands jammed into the pockets of a pair of scruffy blue jeans. “If this is heaven,” she said in a low measured voice, “where’s Morri­son?”

  “Morrison?” Skye shuffled through the papers on her desk. “Is Morrison a relative of yours, Chelsea?”

  She jerked a corner of her mouth downward. “What about Hendrix or Cobain?”

  Skye studied the girl’s information sheet. “Sorry, Chelsea. I don’t see any of those people in your record. There is, how­ever, your great-aunt Ethel, who’s very anxious to see you.”

  “Aunt Ethel?” Chelsea’s hair had a severe part in the middle, and was so fine and pale it looked like sheets of cellophane. “The one who sent me a Little Mermaid sleeping bag for my last birthday? That Aunt Ethel?”

  “The very one.” Skye chuckled. “Unless you have more than one Aunt Ethel.”

  “What’s so funny?” Chelsea said. “I’m taking a dirt nap, and you’re laughing?”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make light of your current situation. About your aunt Ethel�
�”

  “I don’t want to see her.” Chelsea punctuated her statement with a stomp of her clunky tennis shoe.

  “It’s just that you died so young, there really isn’t anyone else—”

  “And whose fault was that?”

  Actually, it was Chelsea’s fault. According to her death report, the thirteen-year-old had been practicing skateboarding stunts in a church parking lot and had sailed over a brick wall, falling onto the blacktop below. Chelsea would almost certainly have avoided her fatal acute subdural hematoma had she been wearing the hundred-dollar helmet her mother bought for her. Instead, she’d filled the helmet with ice and used it to cool a half-liter bottle of Mountain Dew.

  “Chelsea, I know you’re upset—”

  “No kidding. I’m worm food.”

  “Being dead isn’t the end of the world, Chelsea. In fact, it’s a wonderful new beginning. Heaven is very...” Skye cast around in her mind for some current teenage slang. “…epic?”

  Chelsea shoved a balled fist in the crook of her waist. “So what’s there to do here? Play harps?”

  “That’s a common fallacy, Chelsea. Let’s go over this pam­phlet, ‘What to Expect When You’re Expired.’”

  Skye held out the pamphlet, but the girl ignored it. “Can’t you just give me a straight answer? What are you hiding from me?”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  The newly dead were a notoriously suspicious bunch, always half expecting Satan to leap from behind the desk like a rubber snake out of a can.

  “You can do whatever you want in Heaven. It’s surprisingly unstructured.” Skye picked up the remote for the television. “I have a DVD that will answer—”

  Chelsea startled Skye by snatching the remote from her hand and lobbing it across the cubicle. “I don’t want to watch some stupid DVD.” Her kohl-lined eyes glittered like chips of mica, daring Skye to challenge her.

  Page seven, paragraph four of the Hospitality Handbook had several specific suggestions for dealing with belligerent clients:

  Speak in soothing, even tones.

  Validate your clients’ feelings with active-listening techniques.

  If a client cannot be calmed by other means, ad­minister a dose of Tranquility In a Can. (Should be kept in right-hand desk drawer at all times.)When faced with client insubordination, Skye generally skipped the first two directives and went right for the TIC. Why put up with unpleas­antness when tranquility was so close at hand?

  Skye eased open her desk drawer, but the canister was missing. She’d forgotten to stock the drawer when she’d switched cubicles. Now she was forced to reason with the girl.

  “That wasn’t very nice, Chelsea, but I understand this is a big change for you and—”

  “Get me out of here now!”

  “Chelsea, please, if you’ll just—”

  The girl’s pale skin flushed crimson; spittle dotted her bottom lip.

  “Shut up. I hate you!”

  “I realize you’re dead,” Skye said calmly. “But I didn’t kill you. Would you stop being such a pain in the ass and let’s get on with this, please?”

  The girl’s eyes grew so wide Skye could see the gold flecks in her irises.

  “You said ass,” she whispered.

  All traces of toughness drained from her body, leaving behind a wide-eyed child with a quivering lower lip and a nose on the verge of running.

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “You’re allowed to call me a name?”

  Skye glanced at the ceiling. “I don’t see any lightning bolts.”

  Chelsea tugged at her pimpled chin. “And people in heaven swear?”

  “Damn straight we do.”

  “Thank God.” She bit her knuckle and glanced around the cubicle. “Oops. Do you think He’s eavesdropping?”

  “He happens to be a She. And of course She’s eavesdrop­ping. They don’t call Her omniscient for nothing.” Skye opened Chelsea’s file and made a brief notation. “Hopefully She won’t hold this ugly little incident against you.”

  Chelsea dropped into a swivel chair in front of Skye’s desk and twisted back and forth in it as if it were a piece of playground equipment. “I’d never fit into a place where everyone’s a goody-two-shoes. You’d have to send me to you-know-where.” She winced as she pointed at the floor.

  “Nobody’s perfect in Heaven. Well, maybe a few high-ranking angels in Headquarters, but they’re not very much fun at cocktail parties.” Skye laughed at her own joke. The teenager blinked blankly, the quip zooming over her shiny blonde head.

  “You’ll also be glad to know there isn’t a ‘you-know-where,’” Skye continued. “Just Heaven.”

  “No Hell?” Chelsea looked astonished. “Where do all the bad people go?”

  Skye dreaded such questions. The Hospitality Sector functioned primarily as a welcome wagon. There wasn’t time for lengthy discourses on complex theological issues.

  “There’s an FAQ in your orientation packet, which will answer your question better than I can,” Skye said. “For now, let’s just say that ‘bad’ people have a very hard time getting into trouble once they’re in Heaven. Nobody to kill. Nothing to steal.”

  “I thought Heaven would be like church,” Chelsea said. “I figured I’d have to hang out in a pew all day, singing hymns and saying prayers.” She caught her fingers in her long hair. “Do girls get their periods here?”

  “Absolutely not,” Skye said. “You’ll never have to worry about that bloody nuisance again.”

  Chelsea pouted.

  “Oh. Did you want your period?”

  The teen toed the carpet with the tip of her tennis shoe.

  “I’ve been waiting for it since I was eleven, and I’m the only one of my friends who hasn’t gotten it yet. I’d even picked out the tampons I wanted to use, Tampax Satin Teen in the pink and blue box.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I never imagined someone would actually want—”

  “What about cute boys?”

  Skye frowned. Teenage boys were surprisingly durable and didn’t make frequent appearances in the Hospitality Sector.

  “I may be able to scare up a couple of guys for you, but right now, let’s stream your orientation video, shall we?”

  She dimmed the lights and hit play. All orientation videos were customized for the client. The cubicle filled with a voice saying, “Chelsea, welcome. I know this is a scary time for you, my dear, but you’re going to adore Heaven. It’s a lovely place for little girls. In Heaven, all of your wishes can come true.”

  It was Chelsea’s Aunt Ethel. She held up a device that looked like a BlackBerry and jabbed at the keys. In a flash, an oversized teddy bear appeared in her arms. “Isn’t that a darling trick?”

  Chelsea almost tumbled backward in surprise. “How did she do that?”

  “She used a WishBerry.” Skye handed Chelsea a similar device. “In Heaven, you can wish for anything you want, and, abracadabra, it appears.”

  “Go ahead, Chelsea. Give it a whirl,” Aunt Ethel said from the screen. “Baby dolls, jacks, party dresses. Anything your heart desires.”

  Baby dolls? Skye raised an eyebrow. Aunt Ethel was going to have quite the shock when she reunited with her niece.

  “Can I try?” Chelsea asked.

  “Sure,” Skye said. “Type in whatever you want in the box.”

  “I know exactly what I want. My dream skateboard. A Flip New Wave HKD Red deck with Grind King trucks and Pig wheels.” Chelsea’s fingers flew over the keyboard of the hand­held computer, and in seconds, the skateboard appeared in all its glory.

  “Snap!” Chelsea said, running a finger along the edge of the shiny deck. “Wait until I show it to my skating buddy Horsemouth. He’ll have kittens.”

  It took a second for the reality of her situation to come crashing down upon her. Chelsea’s eyes glazed over and a panicked look crossed her face. Skye knew the “look” only too we
ll. It was when the newly dead realized they were not only dead; they were positively, absolutely, undeniably, and reliably dead.

  “Horsemouth won’t see it, because I’m...I’m...”

  Skye appeared at her elbow with tissue in hand. “It’s okay to say it aloud, Chelsea. Being dead is not as awful as you think.”

  Chelsea wrenched away from her. “Yes, it is. And I don’t want to be—” She stopped for a moment and her lips twitched into a sly smile. Immediately she gritted her teeth and scrunched her eye­lids closed. When she opened them, disappointment darkened her face. She banged the WishBerry with the palm of her hand as if it were defective.

  “It didn’t work,” Chelsea said.

  “Of course it didn’t. Heaven is your home now. You can’t go back to Earth.”

  “How did you know what I wished for?”

  “I’ve been doing this job for a while now.”

  “What about my mom?” Chelsea said. “And my little brother, Andy. I can’t see them either? They’re lost to me forever?”

  “Not forever. You can see them very soon on a special television channel we have in Heaven called Earthly Pleasures.”

  “Let’s watch it now.” Chelsea lunged for the remote on Skye’s desk. “I want to see if they’re okay.”

  “Not yet, Chelsea.” Skye gently pried the remote from her fingers. “Newcomers are barred from watching Earthly Plea­sures until they’ve been here for at least one week.”

  “Why?”

  “We want to discourage unhealthy attachments to those left behind. You have to understand, Chelsea. You and your family are now on two separate planes of existence.”

  “In other words, I’m plant fertilizer and they’re not,” Chel­sea said with a glum nod.