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“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 Ididn’thate 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 oryou. And it’s not the church orher. It’syour churchorher 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 shewasconsidering 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?”
