7 #2
have to grant you three wishes.
Instead she made a sound like uhgnghhgh as she shoved a quarter of a gingerbread slice in her mouth.
“It’s not every day a real-life detective shows up next door,” Helen said. “I read an article about you last night. Interesting stuff. What brought you here?”
I got a twenty on my exam and my parents and I hate each other didn’t seem like the best reply, or one she felt like explaining.
“Nate,” Stevie said. “His editor let him use the apartment.”
“Diana has had that apartment for eight years and I think she’s only loaned it out twice. Why did your friend need it to write?”
“I don’t know how books get written,” Stevie said. “I’m not sure he does either.”
“Are you helping him write?”
“Not really.”
“So why are you here instead of home for the holidays?”
“Project for school,” she said. “I’m going to go to the library.”
“They don’t have libraries where you come from?”
Helen certainly didn’t have much filter on her questions.
“At the New York Public Library. They’re doing a thing about Watergate. I have an exam on it.”
“Watergate? Now that’s something I remember well.”
Helen’s blue eyes, though rimmed in a watery red, were sharp and clear. She kept making a soft fist, stroking the inside of
her palm as she spoke, as if she was restraining herself, then reached for a small tin, removed a gummy, and popped it in
her mouth.
“I have two of these in the morning,” she said. “Say what you want about how things are now, legal grass in these little candies is pretty great, and they sure as hell help with joint pain.”
She offered the tin to Stevie, who shook her head no.
“A teenager turning down marijuana from an old lady,” Helen said. “Different times.”
Helen set the tin down rather sharply and picked up a small blue velvet bag that was resting on the table.
“You interested in tarot?” Helen asked. “The look on your face says no, but let me do a reading for you. Humor an old lady
alone on Christmas Eve.”
Helen was already removing the deck from the bag. They had a faded rusty-orange paisley pattern on the back and, though clearly
old and well-used, had no creases or folded corners. They were well cared for, with garish illustrations heavy in sepia and
oversaturated mustard yellow and cornflower blue. Cartoonish figures, robed and naked, featured along with childlike drawings
of stars.
“I want you to think of a question you need an answer to. Really get that question in your head. Ask it clearly, but just
to yourself.”
Stevie didn’t want to participate in this, but the questions came anyway, having heard the call. They galloped over the hills
of her mind.
Why did he break up with me?
Who was in the pub?
Are they dating now?
Why did he send me his coat?
Will I ever kiss him again?
“Got a clear one?” Helen asked, shuffling the cards gingerly.
No, but Stevie nodded anyway. Helen passed the deck over to her.
“I want you to think about your question and shuffle the deck until you feel like you’re finished.”
Stevie shuffled the cards.
“I’ll do a simple spread,” Helen said, rubbing her hands together as if to warm them before taking the deck back from Stevie.
“Three cards. That’s how my friend Jane liked to do it. She taught me how to read, way back in the day.”
She brushed a few crumbs from the plastic tablecloth and peeled the first card from the deck, setting it down in front of
her.
“Eight of Swords. The anxiety express. See that?” Helen pointed to the picture on the card, that of a bound and blindfolded
woman, eight swords piercing the ground around her. “The card of being fearful and stuck, not knowing who to trust. Someone
has lied to you. Messy card. But let’s see . . .”
Someone has lied to you. Did David lie? He’d been clear on the breakup. What was the lie?
Stop it, she thought.
Helen flipped the next card. The Fool. A picture of someone in a tunic with a bindle over their arm, the sun shining down
on them as they merrily went walking off what appeared to be a cliff.
“This is a good one,” Helen said. “The first card shows you’re afraid and stuck, but the Fool says you’re on your way. You decided to break free. You’ve started a journey. It’s a good card. Full of optimism and energy. Whatever held you back here . . .”
She tapped the Eight of Swords.
“. . . you’re walking away from it. Going somewhere new. And you . . .”
She pointed a pale finger at Stevie.
“. . . don’t believe in this, but you’re interested in what I’m saying. I can see it in your face. I didn’t believe in it
either, when I was your age. But I learned that when the universe speaks, you should listen.”
“I don’t think the universe is speaking,” Stevie replied. “I think you’re cold reading.”
Murph made a threatening low noise and curled a foot, as if to punch.
“I’m reading the cards in front of me,” Helen said.
“No. You’re telling a story from these three cards. This one . . .”
Stevie indicated the Eight of Swords.
“. . . you just told me you read an article about me. You know I’ve been around murders, which means I’ve been around people
who lie. Just the fact that I’m in high school means I’m surrounded by anxiety and lies. This one . . .”
She pointed to the Fool.
“The fact that I’m here over the holiday break instead of being at home means I’m literally on a trip, some kind of adventure.
Or the fact that I’m going to graduate soon.”
“I think I struck a nerve,” Helen said, and she was smiling now. “I think I understand the cards now. This is about a breakup.”
Stevie’s throat tightened. She involuntarily leaned back from the cards.
“There it is,” Helen said. “Yes. A breakup.”
“You’re reading my face and body language,” Stevie said. “Microexpressions.”
“They’re not micro, and you’re damn right I am. Guy? Girl? Neither? Both?”
“Guy,” Stevie said, pressing her nails into her palms. She forced herself to look at Helen as coolly as she could manage,
like this was nothing. “What gave it away?”
“Well, you said you were here on a trip instead of being at home for the holiday, and if I had been on a trip with a friend
in a nice apartment in New York as a teenager, I think I would look happier about it than you do. And you kept checking your
phone last night. I know all kids your age do that, but you were looking for something. Waiting for something. Someone to
send you a message, maybe. That about right?”
Stevie didn’t like hearing how much she had exposed herself, but still, game respected game. She had been right. Helen was
as sharp as Murph’s beak.
“So it’s cold reading,” Stevie said, “using the cards to get a reaction to confirm what you see.”
“If you want,” Helen said. “It’s your reading, kid. You can make of it whatever you like. But so far we’ve only got past and
present. Let’s see where we’re going now.”
Helen flipped the last card, an image of a crack of lightning zigging across a black sky and hitting a tower, sending people falling headfirst to the ground.
Helen fixed her watery gaze on the card.
She put her fisted hand to her chest and rubbed it in a circle, and what little color she had in her face seemed to drain, leaving her grayish.
Murph cooed and stretched out a concerned wing.
“Are you okay?” Stevie asked.
“Fine,” Helen said quietly. “I just have moments before my meds kick in.”
Her tone had gone flat and she kept her gaze down on the card.
“The Tower,” Helen said finally, “is one of the big boys of the deck. It means it’s all coming down, for good or for bad.
When the Tower appears, shit’s about to get very real.”
Even though she didn’t believe in the cards, Stevie wasn’t excited to hear a story about the realness of the shit that was
coming her way from a woman who had just turned the color of old skim milk.
“Whatever it is,” Helen said, almost to herself, “you can’t be frightened of it. Things have to play out.”
Asshole!
Murph made a lunge for Helen’s hand, catching the back of it. A red pearl bubbled up, fed by the stream of a fat blue vein.
“You’re right,” she said to the bird, giving him another piece of pineapple. “Murph is always right. He gave me a little correction
there. Enough of this.”
Helen’s hands shook as she reached into her pocket and produced a balled-up tissue, which she used to dab the blood.
“Are you okay?” Stevie asked again, this time in reference to the little wound. Helen was going through it.
“Yeah, yeah. This is nothing. Happens all the time.” She dabbed away, avoiding Stevie’s gaze. “Anyway, kid, you’ve got stuff
to do, and The Price Is Right is going to be on in a few minutes.”
Whatever Helen had wanted from this exchange, she had gotten it. She pushed herself out of the chair with both hands and had
to breathe deeply and give herself a minute when she was on her feet.
“Piece of advice, kid,” she said, handing Stevie a cupcake to go. “Don’t be so dismissive of things you don’t understand.
The universe has a way of sending you a message, whether it’s through tarot cards or a weird old lady next door . . .”
She was moving Stevie out the door.
“. . . and people may lie, but that voice from the universe? It never does.”