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CHAPTER FOUR

Cara left, promising to follow my advice. I wasn’t sure how I felt. I didn’t like cheaters, but it sounded like her boyfriend had conned her into a relationship. Should she have left after she found out he was married? Absolutely. But love made people do funny things, and not always ha-ha funny. I stared at the charm, then cautiously slid it back into the plastic bag and tucked it behind the counter.

As I cleansed the space to prepare for my next reading, I got a text from Crystal.

hey, come over. i made caramel blondies and you’ll love them. how’s it going?

I needed more coffee before the next reading, so I grabbed my wallet and darted next door. Crystal usually gave me free coffee, but I always offered to pay. It was ten before eleven when I peeked through the doors of the Mocha Express. Karina was wiping down the counter, and though the shop was busy as usual, there wasn’t a line. I looked around for Crystal and was about to ask Karina where she was when Crystal popped out from the back.

“Hey, you made it!”

“I’ve got ten minutes,” I said. “I need a double caramel latte, and I want one of your brownies.”

“How’s your morning been so far?” she asked.

“I can’t talk about it here, but…it was a doozy.” I pulled out a ten from my wallet. Crystal started to wave it away, but I said, “No, let Karina handle it. Keep the change,” I added to the younger woman.

“So,” Crystal said. “Nightshade contacted me today. She’s set a time for my quest. I admit, I’m a little nervous after how dragged out you looked.”

“I wish I could tell you what happened to me. After you go through your quest, I’ll be able to. But…I guess I can say this. I was scared, but Reese was nearby. What happened to me was extremely magical. Now, I wouldn’t change a thing that happened. I think.” I smiled at her. “You’ll do fine. When do you go out?”

“Saturday night.”

“Then Astra and I’ll wait for you. Come over to our house afterward and we’ll make sure you’re fed and have a warm bed to fall into.” I glanced at my phone. “I’ve got to get back,” I said, as Karina handed me my latte and the bag with the brownie in it. “Love you!” I blew her a kiss and hurried out the door.

“Love you, too,” Crystal said.

I hurried back to my shop. While my next reading wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes, I wanted some time to write up a couple ads for my page on the TouchLine website. I’d finally bit the bullet and started a business page. Of course, with algorithms being what they were, I knew better than to expect a deluge of business. You had to pay to play these days.

As I pulled a notepad to me—I loved old-fashioned pen and paper—and began to jot down ideas, the bells on my door chimed. I glanced up to see the mailman.

Terry was an older man, around sixty, who worked for the post office. He was pleasant enough, and he always had a smile for me. But today, he silently handed me the mail and turned away.

“Terry, are you all right?” Something was off, I could sense it.

He paused, but he still faced the door. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Terry, I’ve seen you almost every day for the past month, and you always have a cheerful ‘Good morning’ for me. I’m just a little worried.”

He paused again, then said, “My husband is sick. He’s in the hospital. We didn’t even know anything was wrong until he started getting nasty bouts of coughing. Turns out, he has lung cancer. He smoked for years before we met, and even though he stopped, it seems to have taken its toll on him.” He looked so bereft that I steered him over to a chair.

“Sit down. Talk to me.”

As he set his mailbag on the floor and sat down, I brought him a bottle of sparkling water.

“Here, drink this.” Worried, I handed him the bottle. Something was seriously wrong.

He took a long sip, then leaned back. “He went in for a checkup a week ago. He has stage four lung cancer. Directly related to the thirty years he spent smoking up a storm.”

My heart went out to him. Terry was a sweet guy. “I’m so sorry. If you need to talk, I’m here to listen,” I said, not wanting to pry, and yet realizing he might need to talk over things. I had no idea what kind of a support system—how many friends, or family members—he had, but I wanted him to feel like somebody cared.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m a bear shifter. I wasn’t exactly expelled when I came out, but I finally resigned from the Clan. It was made abundantly obvious they didn’t want me around, influencing the young. You know, even the wolf shifter Packs are coming into the modern age. Slowly, but they are changing. Bear shifters are some of the oldest shifter groups and you’d think we’d learn how to adapt, given we’ve existed since…well…the days of the cave bears. But I suppose that we’re so grounded in the past, it’s hard to let go.”

“We do have to adapt,” I said. “Do you need anything?”

He shrugged, then deflated. “Honestly, I’m doing my best to be there for Lin. He doesn’t have long, and I want to spend as much time with him as possible. I used up all my paid leave already, taking him to doctor appointments, staying home with him when chemo made him so terribly sick—chemo’s rough on shifters, especially bear shifters. Since I’m the breadwinner, and we need my insurance…it’s just been difficult. I don’t like asking for help but…”

I nodded, jotting down some notes. “Let me see what I can do, Terry. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do whatever I can. Give me your number, please.”

After a moment, Terry gave me his information, and I detected a faint sliver of hope in his eyes. “Thank you, and whatever happens, may the gods bless you for your kindness.”

“It’s not pity, don’t think that,” I said. “I’m just trying to be a good neighbor, a good friend, and someone who helps make her town a better place to live.”

* * *

Before my next appointment arrived, I called Astra.

“Who do I talk to about starting…I don’t know—something to help my mailman?”

“What are you talking about?” Astra asked.

I told her what had happened. “I want to make things a bit easier for Terry. He seemed so forlorn, Auntie. He needs support.”

“I know Terry. He’s been around for a long time. If he needs help, people will come through. He’s had just about every mail route in town in the time he’s worked for the post office.” She paused, then added, “Let me spearhead this. I can get it moving.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it, and I know Terry will, too.” I hung up, relieved. Over the past few weeks since I’d pledged myself to Aphrodite, it seemed like my emotions had ramped up. I felt things more keenly, and at times, I was having a hard time keeping it together.

As my second client of the day arrived, I tried to shake off my concerns and faced him with a smile. “Hello, I’m Maisy Tripwater. Welcome to Married At First Bite. Please have a seat,” I said, motioning to the chair opposite mine.

The man sat down. He was long, lanky, well-dressed, and had an air of authority about him. His hair was neck-length, sort of in an early Beatles style. There was also something I couldn’t quite pinpoint—he felt...

Like he’s faced death…

The thought jarred me and I straightened.

He took out a notebook and set it on the table, along with a pen. “I’m John Birchwell. I’d like a reading,” he said.

“What can I do for you? What are you looking to find out? I use the cards or my crystal ball, or both, depending on the question.” When he’d called, he hadn’t actually mentioned the reason for the reading.

John shifted, smoothly crossing his legs. He folded his hands on his lap, reminding me of an old-fashioned English professor. “Ms. Tripwater, I want to find out if my late wife is all right. She died last year.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my heart sinking. It was hard to read for bereaved spouses, because I tended to identify with them too closely. I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re concerned?”

He rubbed his chin, and it was then that I saw the weariness in his eyes. “I’m having trouble sleeping and eating. I’ve lost ten pounds the past week. I’m definitely not on a diet, but I just can’t seem to work up an appetite. I’ve only managed two to three hours of sleep each night the past week. I keep dreaming that my wife is trapped somewhere. I hear her screaming for me to help her, but I can’t find her and I wake up in a panic. It’s so bad that I don’t want to go to sleep, I’m so afraid of my dreams.”

I picked up my cards and held them for a moment, then handed them to him. “Shuffle four times, knock on the back of the deck three times, then hand them to me.”

As I waited, he did as I asked. After he gave them back to me, I began to lay them out, focusing on what his dreams were trying to tell him. The cards began to form a pattern, though I wasn’t sure what it was yet. But I could feel the connection between them strengthening, weaving a pathway for me to follow.

I sat back, eyeing them. After a moment, I said, “She was sick, wasn’t she? Or…she got sick, really quickly.”

He nodded. “She died while I was away on a business trip. It was quick—she had a hidden allergy. We never knew she was allergic to shellfish. I don’t eat it because I’m Jewish, and she didn’t eat it because of me. I told her she could, but she wanted to keep the kitchen free of it, since I eat kosher meals. But while I was gone, she went out to dinner with a friend and I told her to enjoy herself, to try something she usually doesn’t try. I never thought it would end up like this.”

I could see where this was going, and it wasn’t pretty.

“It was a seafood restaurant, but instead of ordering fish like she would if we went out together, she decided to treat herself to lobster. She only ever ate it once in her life, I think, and it was fine.” His cool demeanor had vacated the building. “She took two bites of the lobster and her throat swelled up. Nobody had an epinephrine pen, or even Benadryl. They called the medics the moment they realized something was going horribly wrong, but by the time they got there, she was dead. The EMTs tried to revive her, but it was too late. She died on the restaurant floor, surrounded by strangers.”

He rubbed his head, closing his eyes.

Right then, I knew two things: there was absolutely no pretense here. He was mourning his wife, mired so deep in his grief that he had to look up to see bottom. I’d been there, I knew that look, inside out. I wanted to reach out, to take his hand and make it better, but nothing I could do would help in that manner. Grief was grief; you had to walk through it.

“Why do you blame yourself?” I didn’t even bother asking if he felt like he was to blame. That fear was already on his face.

“I encouraged her to step out of her box. She was all set to order the salmon mousse. She loves—loved—salmon. I felt like I’ve been keeping her from eating foods she might love, due to my own beliefs. And she changed her mind. She told me she might as well, if I didn’t mind.” His expression crumpled.

I stared at the cards. His anxiety and guilt were totally triggering his dreams. “John, take a deep breath. I want you to listen to me. I can answer your question right now.” I picked up the High Priestess card. “Your wife went through the Veil. She transitioned easily, and she’s already journeying on to her next phase of existence.”

He held my gaze, fear warring with hope. “How…are you sure? Then why am I having these dreams?”

“Because of your own guilt and fear. You did not kill your wife. She’s not haunting you. She’s absolutely fine, and she wants you to be free of these fears.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew they were the truth.

Apparently, they rang true and touched something inside of John. The tension began to drain out of his shoulders, but then, loss filled the void that his fear had occupied, and he began to cry.

I could feel his conflicting emotions, like a ripple in the ocean had turned into a tidal wave. And that made me understand something else. John had been covering up his grief with guilt. Guilt and fear were easier for him to face than the fact that she was gone. Without the guilt, without the fear, all he had left was his loss.

“You haven’t let yourself grieve, have you?”

“I… I don’t deal with loss well. I’ve spent the past year filling every second of my day till I haven’t been able to think. I work twelve hours a day. I volunteer at the pet shelters on weekends, I coach my neighborhood Little League. My next-door neighbor’s elderly, and I make sure he’s taken care of. I…” He paused, then rested his elbows on the table, cupping his head in his hands. “I’m not really living, am I?”

“All those are good things, but you’re deflecting, and the longer you deflect the grief, the worse your anxiety and fear will grow. Do you understand?” I wasn’t sure whether I was helping, but I just let the words form because they wanted to come out.

He nodded. “I miss her. I miss her so much.”

“And you’re angry at her, too. You’re angry because she chose to eat lobster.”

He winced. “I’m a horrible person. How can I blame her?”

“Because we always look for someone or something to blame in tragedy. It’s too difficult to accept that sometimes, life just happens. Sometimes, people fail us. Or they die on us and leave us to face the future alone. I understand. I’m a widow.”

He looked so wounded that I decided professionalism could suck rocks. I circled the table and gave him a gentle hug. “It will be okay. Now that you’re facing your emotions, you can work through them. You’ll always miss her, but you won’t be running from life anymore. I recommend you find a good therapist to help you through this,” I said. “I have a list of local therapists I can give you, if you like. They all have good reputations.”

I had put together a list of therapists when I realized that sometimes the people coming to me for readings would need more help than I could offer.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d like that.”

We sat and talked for a while longer, until I was sure he was fit to drive. He left, the list in hand, reassured that his wife was all right, and that he hadn’t killed her. If only all questions in life could be answered with a reading, and a glimpse into the heart.