24. Gemma
Chapter 24
Gemma
T aylor pointed out the steps leading up to Ainsley’s stone townhouse to me one day when we were driving by, but this is the first time I’ve walked up them. The door opens with a keypad, and we step into the dark foyer.
I could almost laugh with relief when the tension from the walk all but disappears as we collectively register the scurry of toenails clicking toward us in the dark room.
The lights go on and I find Taylor, a closet softie, already on one knee, arms full of brown and white dog. I kneel down beside him, wet coat be damned, and wait my turn.
“Doc loves new friends,” Ainsley says, hanging his own coat on the back of a tall chair. I watch him with a smile, loving the way his whole body, his aura, turns calm as he maneuvers around his own space. We should have come here sooner.
After getting my share of pets and drool, I stand and really take the place in.
I have no doubt it was purchased with all these furnishings, or furnished quickly by a service before Ainsley moved in. In the short time I’ve been getting to know him, I’ve already learned he wouldn’t choose gray for everything. Gray-stained hardwood flooring, dining table set, and coffee table. Gray glass pendant lighting over a granite countertop. Gray plush couches and wide, comfy looking chairs surrounding a gray shag rug. Dark and light gray woven throw blankets and pillows.
“Gray,” is all I can manage to say as I push to my feet, spinning in place.
Ainsley just laughs. “Yeah. We bought the place furnished. I’m not sure if the people who decorated it were depressed or just wanted the inside to match the outside.”
I want to ask more questions about that, and about the fact that he’s clearly given it some thought, but my attention is drawn to the tall, narrow bookcase in the far corner of the living room where Ainsley has neatly arranged his bounty from The Stone Moon. The decks and crystals call to me, and I answer, walking toward them and taking the first facedown deck in my hands as soon as it’s within reach.
The Illuminated Waite Smith deck.
I glance around for some source of cleansing smoke, knowing full well that Marisol never would have sent him off that day without a way to clear the decks. I find a small bundle of sage mixed with lavender and bay, a stick of Palo Santo wood, and a cone of frankincense.
Turning to Ainsley, I hold up the incense. “Do you mind?”
He shakes his head from across the room, where he’s still standing. I have his full attention, but he seems reluctant to come closer.
I turn back to the shelves and find a brand new lighter. I press it to the end of the frankincense cone and wait for the small flame to catch before setting it in the small, round, perfectly clean rose quartz dish that I know he purchased for this. Then I carry the bowl and the deck to the sofa.
“Join me,” I call out. Ainsley hesitates, but Taylor pushes up off the floor and walks to the couch, followed closely by his new shadow. When the two of them have curled next to me on the sofa, Ainsley finally seems to make a decision, crossing the room and settling into the wide, gray chair on the other side of me.
I smile at him. “I love your collection.”
He turns bashful, smiling down at his hands before turning the sheepish smile up to me. “Thanks. I got it at The Stone Moon.”
“I know.”
His face widens in surprise. “You know? She told you?”
I nod, finishing my cleansing of the cards in the sacred smoke and starting to shuffle.
“She told you…everything?”
I shake my head no, and although I’m very curious which part of that reading he’s so determined to keep to himself, I offer him solace. “Tarot reader confidentiality.”
I know I said the right thing when he visibly relaxes. I continue to shuffle, considering how I could use this particular medium to set him at ease.
Taylor beats me to it.
“Are you going to tell our fortunes?”
I just smile at his characteristic oversimplification. “I was going to pull cards to see what challenges we have to overcome together and where we can look for strength.” It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I know the deep, serious subject matter will get a rise out of Taylor.
I set the deck down on the sofa and he snatches it up, just as I knew he would.
“I’m going to pull cards to see who’s on top, who’s on bottom, and who has to watch from a chair in the corner.” He starts shuffling the cards in his own, much larger hands, making quick work of the movement.
“Fine,” I answer. “As long as you’re prepared for what you might learn.”
He just grunts, setting the deck before me on the sofa once more. “Cut,” he says, as if we were playing poker.I obey and he restacks the cards, pushing them into a messy, uneven line on the soft, bumpy cushion, unbothered by the chaos of his spread.He chooses his first card without ceremony, flipping it right over and laying it below the deck.
The Two of Pentacles.
I laugh and look from Taylor’s creased brow back to Ainsley’s eager face, the two of them only making me giggle harder.
“Stop laughing and tell us what it means, witch. Who gets to be on top?”
I collect myself and reach for the still smoldering frankincense, drawing it up and around myself before I start to speak. “My guess is you, Taylor. But you’ll need to find a way to balance the responsibility the position brings or the whole thing will come crashing down around you.”
“That’s not sexy at all,” he mutters.
I pinch my lips together to keep quiet.
The second card comes just as quickly as the first.
“Bottom,” Taylor says as he flips the card.
Strength.
I raise my eyebrows as I consider. The irony of the answer the deck provides almost brings up another giggle, but I choose to look deeper instead. The figure on the card, dressed in a white robe, ceremonial crown, and apron of flowering plants, literally holds open the jaws of a lion, who seems to be tamed by her touch.
How easy it would be to interpret this card as being the top. The one in charge. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my years of battling life to stay afloat, it’s that there is even more strength in being the one on the bottom. The one who leads from within brings about the greatest change.
The dictator on the podium often succeeds in uniting the ranks against him.
“There’s a chick on that card, does that mean it’s you?”
I can tell Taylor is uncomfortable with my silence, but I don’t give in and speak, simply drawing my gaze up to meet his. He holds me there for a long moment, so heated that I almost start, but he looks away too soon, too suddenly, his eyes darting behind me. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to see who he found there. I can feel the man’s presence like a blanket waiting to be pulled around my shoulders.
“The figures are symbolic, they could represent men, women, and everything in between and beyond,” I say, the old familiar line grounding me in the moment.
Taylor flips the next card without even glancing down at the deck.
The Eight of Wands.
It’s Taylor’s turn to laugh. “I know what that card means. Someone with a bunch of hard wood is going to be sitting in the punishment chair, watching.”
I shake my head, considering whether or not I even want to continue this little game of Taylor’s. Not to protect his feelings, but to spare Ainsley’s.
The tension between the two of them in the hallway solidified something that’s been drifting around me in vapor since the moment I laid eyes on him in that bar. This thing isn’t just between me and Taylor and me and Ainsley. Those two have some kind of connection and, while they might not be willing to admit it yet, there’s no denying the cards.
Eight of Wands could be interpreted as motion through the immovable. It’s huge energy, all heading in one direction, as unstoppable as the river flowing across the bottom of the card. It’s a journey already in motion. There’s no turning back now.
“Do I need to look it up?” Taylor asks, teasing me.
I shake my head quickly to dispel some of the bubbly new emotions floating around me like fireflies and offer the simplest explanation. “Assured felicity is how it’s sometimes interpreted. All’s well that ends well.”
Taylor laughs again. “Okay, so whoever’s stuck in the corner still gets off.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” I reply.
His gaze once again doesn't rest on me, drifting behind me once more. “Ready to take us on that tour, pretty boy?”
I perk up at the idea of seeing the rest of his space. Of getting to finally experience a room that contains more personal touches and belongings.
Taylor and I start to get up, but Ainsley stops us. “Can I draw a card?”
“Oh, sure.” I scoop up the deck and spin, placing it on the edge of the coffee table nearest where he sits.
He gathers them up and starts to slide the brand new, slippery cards through his fingers. Over, up, and around. Cutting, stacking, sliding.
“What do you want your card to represent?” I ask as I watch him finally set the deck back on the table.
“Tomorrow morning,” he replies simply.
I’m still pondering what he could mean by that when he simply flips the top card of the deck over and lays it on the table. And cringes.
The Ten of Swords.
Silence falls as I resist the urge to jump in too quickly and reassure him that there are no bad cards in the deck. I want to see if there’s anything in the card for him to find on his own, and the only way he can do that is if I give him the space.
“What is it?” Taylor loses patience first, of course, leaning over me to peek at the table. “Oh…the murder card.”
I slap at his shoulder, pushing him back onto the couch. “It’s not the murder card.”
“Buddy didn’t do that to himself,” Taylor mutters.
“Yes, he did,” I say firmly.
“Put a sword in the back of his own head?” Taylor argues, but I ignore him, choosing to keep my attention forward, on where Ainsley is still pondering the scene.
“There’s no bad cards, right?” he asks finally, not looking up.
I smile to myself, proud of him for remembering what Marisol told him at his reading. “That’s right.”
“Okay, so this is a good card then.”
I bite my lip rather than correct him. If no card can be inherently bad, it stands to reason that no card can be inherently good.
“It’s clearly death,” he starts thoughtfully. “But maybe for rebirth?”
He looks up finally, suddenly, and catches me by surprise with his steely gaze. I give a little nod of encouragement, and he nods back, looking back down at the card.
“There’s a black sky above him, but really nice looking weather on the horizon. You know what’s interesting?” He glances back up and I raise my eyebrows, curious to hear anything he has to say about the card or life in general. “He’s all tucked up with a blanket. Like he’s sleeping in bed. And yet, he’s out in the dirt. He’s outside his house, but he still wants to be comfortable.” He looks up at me then, and I can see the depth in his eyes as he processes. “I’d say it was a kind murderer, someone who loved and cared for the guy. But you said he did it to himself. Is it cheating to use what you said? ”
I shake my head, biting back something that feels like a smile, but it might actually be tears.
“You know what it makes me think of?” Ainsley sits back in his chair, taking the card with him, staring down at it as he talks, rather than over at me or Taylor. “When I got arrested.”
The silence falls heavy around us. I know even Taylor can feel the weight of the moment, because for once he keeps his jokes to himself.
“It felt like the end of the world. I was so embarrassed. And even though my dad insisted they were bunk charges and the whole thing never should have even made it to court, I know he was ashamed of me for getting myself into that situation. I probably wouldn’t have stabbed ten swords into myself over it, but I did feel like I needed to punish myself somehow. I almost moved back to New York. He wanted me to. He never said it, but I could tell that he thought this all happened because I left. I transferred to UDub and got arrested for shoplifting soon after. Even though I spent years traveling, and he had no choice but to trust me, this was different. I moved away. I chose to leave the city. It was a separation between the two of us. And look how it turned out, Ains. I can hear him saying it, even though he never did.”
I’m aching to comfort him, but I don’t move. Taylor shifts behind me, but he stays silent as well, as we both let Ainsley get wherever he needs to go.
“But that arrest was the reasonI was in that bar on Christmas.” He looks up finally, meeting my eye.
And then, as has happened over and over since we sat down here, his gaze shifts behind me.
“And it’s the reason I needed to do community service.”
Ainsley looks back down at the card in his hands. “I died in the back of that cop car, knowing how much I was going to let my father down. But look at me now. Reborn. ”
After a moment, he smiles, huffs out a small laugh, and then looks back up at me. “How’d I do? Am I a tarot reader?”
I nod, returning his soft, sad smile. “You did great.”
He tosses the card toward the coffee table, but it misses, hitting the gray rug.
We all stare at it for a moment, before Ainsley seems to recover. “How about the rest of the tour?”