Inside the store, she smelled incense that reminded her of the jasmine trees in the courtyard of the Garden of Eden. A woman wearing a turban and a purple robe sat at a table, shuffling a deck of cards. Miranda recalled the card reader she’d met in Santa Fe. I wish I’d asked her more about my life.
“I’d like you to tell my future,” she said to the woman in the turban.
The woman motioned for her to sit and handed Miranda the cards. “Shuffle these.”
When Miranda had finished shuffling, the woman told her to cut the deck. She did, then passed the cards back. The woman placed one face up on the table.
“The Queen of Wands,” she said, pointing at the card, which depicted a woman holding a long rod. “This signifies you. You’re a very creative person.”
Miranda giggled, remembering Lancelot’s description of a wand, and all the “wands” she’d held during the past few months.
The reader laid a second card on the table. “This is your past,” she said. “You’ve completed a long journey.” On the card Miranda saw a picture of a dancing jester. It looks like Eli on the day I met him.
“This shows the present.” The turbaned woman placed a third card beside the second. It pictured a voluptuous woman wearing a skimpy bikini standing in a lake; a muscular man knelt before her, holding her in a passionate embrace.
Miranda recognized the card: The Lovers. It had appeared in her reading in Santa Fe, too. “Oh my,” she said. It’s Eli and me.
The reader smiled and turned over a fourth card. It showed a woman with long, dark hair standing in front of a glowing globe of the Earth. “This represents your future. ‘The World.’ You’ll have everything you want and need. The world is yours.”
Gazing at the woman on the card, Miranda thought, she looks like me. The globe brought to mind Eli’s tattoo and her father’s prediction: Your future husband will hold the world in the palm of his hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
After paying the card reader, Miranda browsed around the store. She thumbed through several books, perused the jewelry cases, and looked at statues of fairies, angels, gods and goddesses. When she came to a rack that displayed packs of tarot cards, she examined several decks. She considered buying one, but an idea popped into her mind.
Why not create my own deck?
Packing up ten years’ worth of his professional life took less time than Eli had imagined. Troy had given him a nice severance package, which Eli thought might have been a bribe to keep him from revealing what he knew about Giselle.
At least I can take my time finding another job.
As he plunked his Rolodex into a box, a business card popped out and fluttered to the floor. Eli picked it up and read it. Will Quentin, Fine Wine Distributor, Boston, MA.
He recalled meeting Quentin at a wine tasting at San Francisco’s Palace, the evening before Giselle’s brothers first attacked him. Before his old life unraveled. That night seemed a century ago. He’d invited the distributor to visit Meditrina, hoping to expand their sales in New England. But when Quentin stopped by, Eli was already on the run.
He picked up the phone and punched in Quentin’s number.
“Sorry I missed you when you came to see the vineyard,” he said when the distributor answered. “I was out of town all summer.”
They chatted for a couple of minutes, then Eli told him he was moving to the Boston area soon. “Maybe we can meet for lunch.”
“If you’re looking for a job,” Quentin said, “I might have something for you.”
“Great, I’d like to hear about it.”
“Give me a call when you get here.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Tucking Quentin’s card in his wallet, he remembered Sybil’s words: There are no coincidences.
Leaves crunched underfoot as Miranda and Eli walked down Salem’s historic Chestnut Street. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century mansions, built by ships’ captains and wealthy China Trade merchants, bordered the wide, tree-lined street. In recent years, many of the huge old homes had been broken up into condos. She and Eli had sublet one from a couple of teachers Miranda knew who were on sabbatical for a year in Italy.
“In the summer, we can go visit them,” she suggested. “We’ll tour the vineyards in Tuscany and Umbria. Maybe you can get Will Quentin to pay your way.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ve always wanted to see Italy.”
She reached for Eli’s hand, and when she squeezed it, his tattoo felt warm against her palm. She’d worried that he might miss his job at Meditrina and his relaxed California lifestyle. But he seems happy here, she thought. Hope he can handle the harsh winters!
They passed through a wrought-iron gate and entered an imposing brick Federal-style mansion. Inside, they climbed a wide, carved wooden staircase that curved toward the second story, and another, narrower one that led to the third floor. Eli opened the door into their apartment. Sunshine spilled through a half-dozen windows, throwing rectangles of honey-colored light onto the pine floors. That’s what I like best about this place. All the light.
Her easel stood at one of the windows, holding a nearly finished painting of a man suspended upside down by one leg from the branch of a tall oak tree. On the wall nearby was a picture of a masked man wearing a harlequin costume. Two more paintings hung over the fireplace: one of a woman with long, silver hair gazing into a pond and another of a redhead driving an eighteen-wheeler. In between selling her father’s house, moving into this condo, and teaching school, Miranda had begun creating her own tarot deck.
Each card depicted someone she’d met on her cross-country journey. Already a gallery had expressed interest in showing the collection when she finished it. Only seventy-four more paintings to go, she told herself.
The scrying crystal she’d found at Uncle Bright’s place rested on the windowsill next to her easel. Occasionally Miranda still wondered about the scene she’d viewed in it of Eli and the woman in the vineyard, but she’d decided not to ask him. She didn’t intend to tell him everything about the golden cord either. Some secrets are meant to be kept, even between lovers—especially between lovers.
“It’s chilly in here. I’m going to light a fire,” Eli said, as he hung their coats on a pegboard beside the door. “Then, I’m going to light your fire.”
Watching him stack logs in the fireplace, she remembered the night of shooting stars over Lake Michigan and smiled at how perfectly everything had turned out. He lit the kindling and flames licked the wood. Between her legs, Miranda felt flames of her own spark to life.
She pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it on the sofa. When Eli heard her unzip her jeans, he turned and grinned at her. Following her cue, he quickly removed his own clothing. He stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace, his cock pointing toward her like a heat-seeking missile as she knelt over him. She guided it to the edge of her opening and slowly lowered herself until he filled her completely. As they began moving together, gently at first, then faster as their urgency grew, Miranda thought, sometimes wishes do come true.