chapter 37
Gus
“Nice fire,” Chris said, joining me on the patio.
Fuck.Of all the people packed inside our house, drinking wassail and playing Dickensian party games—Decca’s idea of a festive good time—he’d be the one to join me out here.
“Decca built it.” I placed another log on the already raging inferno. It was overkill, but ever since Decca had told me about the job, burning shit had felt like a good idea.
He nodded once, politely. “How’s your father? Dec told me about his cancer.”
I flinched at his question. At his shortening of her name. Decca and Chris were so familiar. Had been for so long. Would this ever get easier? Would I be this jealous every time she went to work, knowing he might be there, spending their nights in the same hotel? I hated this side of myself.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a jealous, fucking asshole.
He held out a beer with a colorful label. I didn’t recognize the name, but why not? I grudgingly took it. Maybe I’d even drink it. Maybe I’d drink more than one. Maybe I’d get drunk and pretend this wasn’t the man my wife should have married.
I downed half the bottle in one go. Chris stared at me, his eyes wide.
I lowered the bottle and shrugged. “It’s cancer. He’s on hospice.” I stared into the fire.
“I didn’t realize it’d progressed that much. I’m sorry.”
“How’s work?” I said quickly.
He cleared his throat and pushed his tortoiseshell glasses higher onto his nose, the flames reflected in his lenses. “Uh… good. Slowed down some, finally.”
I knew the guy was just trying to be nice; get to know his friend’s husband. But I was still uncomfortable as fuck knowing he’d been Decca’s go-to cock to ride whenever she felt like getting off. Maybe in time, we’d all be great friends. But it was a lot less likely now that I suspected he was pushing her into this job.
The one close to him.
“Tell me about this job.”
Chris dropped the pretense of fraternity. “She told you?”
I nodded.
“She’d be the head of the department.” He took a sip from his own bottle. “The youngest, probably ever, not that that’s a selling point for her. For her, it’s just about making the biggest difference in the shortest amount of time. And she could do that there. With us.”
Right. Us.
“She seemed pretty adamant she doesn’t want it. Didn’t even mention it until today.”
He took a deep breath and looked at me—sized me up, was more like it. “Don’t you think that’s because she feels obligated to stay here? For you.”
“Marriage tends to do that.” I shot him a look of warning. “Make people feel obligated to live in the same town.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to come between you. I’m only letting you know that I’ve known Decca for over ten years, and during that time, the only constant in her life has been her career. Why do you think she’s so overeducated and that she’s busted her ass publishing her research? Why she’s willing to work for the state for pittance, doing the jobs of three people? Positions have come up again and again. Positions she’s qualified for. And she’s never had the confidence to go after them. She needs someone to push her.”
“It sounds like you don’t think she’s capable of making her own decisions.”
“She’s capable of it. But she’ll choose wrong. She’s a people-pleaser. She won’t choose what’s best for her.”
“Maybe staying here is what’s best for her.”
“Maybe it is.” He actually looked sincere. “Clearly, she’s happy here. With you, in this home you’ve built. Her friends all around her. Maybe you’re right, and I don’t know her anymore. I just want you to be aware that she might be putting your needs first. To her own detriment. This is your decision to make together; you and Decca. But you can’t make good decisions without all the information.”
“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you two used to—”
“Nothing. I’m not trying to get her back.”
“Pretty convenient for you, though, if she fell back into your bed.”
His nostrils flared, and he was quiet for a moment. “I can’t… Gus, I’m a guest in your home. I don’t want to say something that will offend you, but… you’re out of line right now. And I can’t be the one to assure you of your wife’s affection for you. You wouldn’t be able to hear it from me.”
He took a sip of his beer. I downed the rest of mine.
He was right. He was being honest, and everything he was saying was right. I knew it. And I didn’t hate him. He was a punching bag. He knew that, and he still had the balls to come here tonight. Sought me out on the patio. You couldn’t hate a guy who let himself be a punching bag for a weaker man.
“I think you’re forgetting something, too.”
“Hmm?” I stared into the fire.
“You don’t have to be a priest to appreciate that marriage is for life. No one’s advocating for you to break up. It’s not the directorship or you. And it’s not the church or her. It’s your church or her directorship. Isn’t it? But regardless of whether it’s the right decision for either of you, she’s willing to sacrifice her dream for you. Are you willing to do the same for her?”
Not long after everyone left, Decca whipped out her cards and began shuffling.
It was freezing outside for Middle Tennessee in December, but despite the cold, we’d both came out here to do our ritual and watch the dying embers of the fire.
The movements of the cards flicking between her fingers must be therapeutic for her. The way she fell into a type of meditation whenever she had a deck riffling through her hands. It was soothing to watch.
“What are you asking?”
She shuffled a few more times without speaking. Her eyes flicked up to mine briefly before looking down again. “I’m asking for guidance about the job.”
I swallowed hard. So she was considering it. She pulled three cards from the deck, looked at the images, and huffed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
She returned the cards and pocketed the deck, pulling out a different stack, with images I recognized.
She started pulling cards. Actually, they started flying out at her. One by one, she collected them, assessed each image, and set them aside on the arm of her chair.
“Well?”
“Rebirth, new beginnings, change, manifestation. Looks like I’m going on that interview.”
“Tell me the names of the cards.”
“What does it matter, Gus? You don’t believe it, anyway.”
“I want to know what you see in the cards.
“In the Death card—”
“Death?” I asked, not because I was afraid of it, but because I wanted to remember these cards she pulled.
“Yes. Death. It’s part of the Major Arcana and it often symbolizes a new beginning ahead. I think of it like a mushroom on a log. Sometimes, in decomposition, beautiful new life springs forth. But something has to die for that new life to happen,” she said pointedly, still not wanting to make eye contact.
“Fuck. Next.”
“Uh… the Two of Swords usually speaks to a crossroads. In career, it can mean a… big promotion.”
“Can I see the card?” I asked. She passed it to me like it was a lit cigarette.
“The wreath is a symbol of victory.” She spoke in a monotone voice. “The nudity of the figure represents a sort of confidence in her transcendence.”
“Transcendence into what?”
“Open to interpretation. That’s the nature of the cards. Why I like them. You ask a question you think you know the answer to, and the cards show you what your intuition couldn’t.”
“Is that all?”
She shook her head and handed me the others. “Knight of Pentacles, Six of Pentacles, Page of Pentacles. Pentacles represent material goods. Wealth.”
“The things acquired through work.” I translated.
She raised her eyebrows and hummed in acknowledgement.
“The Page and the Knight. Travel. New challenges. Pushing forward and taking charge.” She sighed. “I always pull a knight, but it’s never the Knight of Pentacles. This is…”
“Clear,” I said. It was to me.
She nodded again. It was unlike her not to argue. Even her regularly loquacious self was restrained. Harnessed.
“This one… Ten of Swords.”
She swallowed hard, nodding again. Her body movements were bitter.
“What’s with the swords? Are they… stabbing him in the back?”
“He’s run down with burdens. He’s hit rock bottom and needs renewal.”
“Oh, God.”
Her eyes closed and her head bent low. “Finally, I pulled the World. The World is the final card in the Major Arcana. The completion of one cycle and the beginning of another. I think you can see the direction the cards are leaning toward.”
I bit my lip, nodded. They were telling her to take the job. That I’d been right. She knew it now.
“But, Gus, they’re just cards.”
“Come here, Crow.”
She looked up at me, her eyes pleading not to make her follow this line of intuition. I nodded to her and beckoned her over.
She stood, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. Lowering herself slowly to perch on my leg, she was gentle at first, like she’d been on our wedding night when she’d fed me a dripping honey cake, and all I’d wanted to do was drag it down her body and suck the honey off her nipples.
Then she leaned closer, draping her body over mine, nestling her back against my chest as she cried silently, blotting the tears away as quickly as they spilled down her cheeks.
Everything had felt so perfect this morning. Now, only hours later, I was on the verge of losing my entire world.
“I’m sorry,” she said. For asking.
“Me too.” For saying yes.
It might not be me or the job, but that didn’t mean she’d want me to go with her. Would she even want me if I wasn’t a priest?
Maybe she’d get to the interview and realize she’d hate being in charge of a university department. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine her in suits every day, emceeing fundraising events and lunching with bigwigs. She loved working in the field, taking on students. How often would she be able to do those anymore?
But as much as I hated trusting Chris, he might have been right. Decca had quoted the Gospel of John before she even proposed. She would lay down her life for her friends. Christ’s words or not, wasn’t that the definition of people-pleasing?
I had to be the one to push her to please herself. Maybe everything would work out, but it wasn’t right for me to deny her the opportunity by continuing to let her lay down her life for me.
If I had any hopes of getting through this, I had to start thinking of her as not mine.
If I did it the right way, I might be able to retain some part of her in my life.
I kissed the top of her head, running my fingers through her glossy strands of midnight black silk, glowing almost blue in the full moon’s light. She moaned and pressed her head back against my hand, so that I cradled her skull.
I felt the weight of it. Her head in my hand. Her body sunken into mine. The weight of her trust.
On the night of our wedding, she was hesitant with me. I was resistant to her. In the months since, we’d broken through the physical barriers. I had thought that’s all it would take. But there was still a wall between us.
Tonight, I wanted to feel her. I wanted to feel the drape of her back against my chest and belly, her ass tucked against my hips. I wanted to feel her hands gripping into my hair and her lips on my lips and her legs wrapped around my back. I wanted to make her come and come and never stop coming as she looked into my eyes and remembered who’d made her limp with so much feeling.
It might be the last time. I’d need to make it count.