Page 57

“Mmm,” she hums. “Was engaged to a man from South Carolina in my younger days. He had a gorgeous voice, too. Are you seeking insight into your relationship, gentlemen?”

Sterling looks up at you, shrugging incrementally. You, yourself, were unaware that there were different types of readings. In the name of Sterling’s happiness, you are going to make an effort to temper your skepticism about this whole undertaking.

“Sure,” you say. “Tell us about our relationship.”

“I’m thinking you want the tarot cards,” she muses. “A three-card spread. How does that sound?”

It all sounds the same to you, but Sterling approves.

She walks you back to the small table, and fetches a third chair from the side door, which seems to lead to an office or storage room.

All the chairs are small for your big body, and you’re more than a little afraid of crushing yours under your weight.

You sit gingerly next to Sterling on one side of the table, your thigh brushing his.

From a small cupboard behind her, Caroline produces a yellow box of cards.

“So, we’re looking at your relationship,” she announces. “Any aspect in particular that we’d like to examine?”

“Things are going really well,” Sterling says. “Will they stay that way?”

Caroline withdraws the cards. They’re bigger than the kind you use for rummy, the backs printed with a tartan pattern.

“Remember,” she says, “we don’t want to ask yes/no questions.

Focus on open- ended meditations.” She passes the deck back and forth between her hands. “Have you two been together for long?”

“A year,” you say.

“Okay,” she says. “So I’m guessing you’ve figured out how compatible you are, and in what areas. A year is a tremendous milestone, but still early in the journey of life. Why don’t you ask where your relationship is going?”

“That sounds good,” Sterling nods.

She handles the cards smoothly, like they are an extension of her hand. “Would you like to shuffle them? Or would you prefer that I do it?”

Again, Sterling glances in your direction.

“Don’t look at me,” you say. “I can’t shuffle to save my life. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Me neither,” Sterling says.

Caroline shuffles deftly, then hands them to Sterling and tells him to cut the deck. She lays three cards down between herself and you two.

“The first two cards each represent one of you, and what you bring to the relationship,” she says. “The last one represents the culmination of your energy, and the answer to your question.”

She turns the cards over. The first one is a man in a striped gown and red hat surrounded by golden cups. The second, a knight with a sword on a charging horse. The last one is a tower being hit by lightning and bursting into flames. Two people are falling from its parapets onto the rocks below.

“I don’t like the looks of that one.” You point to the last card.

Caroline shakes her head. “No cards are one hundred percent positive or negative. It depends on a number of factors, yeah? Let’s look.

” She points to the first card. “This is the Nine of Cups. This is a man who is financially and spiritually fulfilled. He’s come a long way to reach satisfaction, and he’s grateful for what he has. ”

You say nothing. That sounds dimly like it could be you or Sterling. You’ve heard about this; how readings are vague enough that the listener can project almost anything they want onto the message.

“I can see that you are right, and the relationship is going well,” Caroline continues. “This is a card that represents wishes fulfilled. This man got what he wants, and he knows it.”

Beside you, Sterling pats your leg. Encouraging. See? This isn’t so bad.

She’s moved on to the second card. “Knight of Swords. He’s someone who is vital.

Full of life. He’s going to barrel forward towards his goals without too much heed for the potential consequences.

This is a suitor who has a hard time getting emotionally intimate.

He needs to be clear and direct with his needs, or he’ll storm right past true love. ”

You are getting distracted by the incense fumes in the shop.

You’ve located one burner, with a cluster of half-burnt sticks.

Long strings of ash hang from the ends. You’re having trouble placing the exact scent.

It’s overly perfume-y, too much of a good thing.

Why couldn’t they burn just one stick, or maybe two?

Maybe it’s to give people a headache so they don’t think too hard about the rubbish that’s being told as fortunes.

At least there’s only one card left. You want to lean back in your chair, but you don’t want it to collapse.

It’s stuffy in the shop. Sterling is fixated on everything Caroline says.

“This last one, though.” Caroline fixes her mismatched eyes on both of you.

“The Tower. That’s generally not a good omen; Xavier was right.

A challenge is coming. I can’t tell you the nature of it, obviously, but it will shake your foundation.

The positive news is that it looks like your relationship has the strength to weather it, if you focus on good communication.

Do you mind me asking what your sun signs are? ”

“I’m a Taurus,” Sterling says. “Kai is… you’re a Cancer, right?”

“Uh-huh. ”

“Oh-h-h.” Caroline folds her hands on the table. Her nails are painted turquoise. “That makes sense. Sextile alignment. Earth and water.”

“What does that mean?” Sterling asks.

She smiles softly. “It’s one of the most harmonious matches in the zodiac. Tremendous compatibility. Some would say that Taurus and Cancer are soulmates.”

Sterling is eating up the sappy bullshit, but you’ve had about enough.

Of course she’s going to say that you are compatible!

After some ambiguous twaddle about challenges and good communication, or whatever.

You could have made all that up yourself.

Caroline seems nice enough, but she’s out to make money.

That’s fine, but you don’t want to break the lady’s chair.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” you say politely, standing up. Your hips are cramped after only a few minutes of sitting on the stupid seat. “We have a lot to think about. We really appreciate your time.”

At the counter, Sterling pays cash for the reading—￡50, which is highway robbery, in your opinion—and counts out a generous tip. As he’s putting his wallet away, Caroline is watching you with her peculiar eyes. Despite her friendliness, it gives you a chill .

“Do you have a card?” Sterling asks. “In case I can refer any friends when they happen to be in town?”

She smiles. Produces a lavender business card. “Word of mouth is the best publicity,” she says, “especially when it comes from someone so well-connected. I appreciate it, Mister Grayson.”

Sterling looks up sharply. “You knew?”

“Of course I did.” There’s her musical laugh again. “No worries, though. I consider myself a professional. Your secrets are safe with me.”

He looks disappointed, and fidgets noticeably with his hat as he steps away from the counter. Like that will improve his disguise.

You nod your head, and are about to turn away, when Caroline grabs your wrist.

“He’s worth it, Mister Reinhart,” she says.

It’s like her weird eyes can see right through you.

“I know that you know that. But hang on tight. Even with what’s coming.

There’s always beauty after a storm.” She winks at you cannily—the green eye.

You aren’t quick enough to hide the shudder that goes through you.

On the sidewalk, you help Sterling back into his coat.

“What did you think?” he asks .

“I think it was bullshit,” you say honestly. “Especially once she said that she knew who we were? It’s just touristy nonsense. Probably has a set of five or six scripts to rotate for every rube that goes in there. My Nana would call it horse-pucky .”

“I think I’d like Nana Reinhart,” Sterling laughs. Once his arms are in the sleeves, he twines his elbow with yours, and you’re off again. Not another word is said about what happened in the psychic’s shop.

The next morning, Muriel comes by to say goodbye before you leave. There are tears in her eyes as you hug her goodbye. You almost have to bend in half to do it. You add her to your private socials, the ones you keep for friends and family under a fake name, and promise that you’ll keep in touch.

Just like that, the house seems like what it is—a rental.

The women in the portraits feel like strangers; the clock tolls through rooms that have nothing of you left in them.

The cleaners are on their way. Sterling has been instructed to leave the key in the mailbox.

Cal has already departed, taking Apollo and Artemis to the plane.

Even with all its furniture, the place feels hollow.

“It was a good few weeks,” Sterling says, as if he’s reading your mind again.

The sadness is already creeping in. You’re flying first to New York, where Sterling will get off, and then home to Miami. The little cocoon of privacy and sex and alone time that you shared in Europe is over. You miss him already, and he’s still right beside you.

“Yeah,” you say. “It has.”