She continued. “In other words, the deeper the roots go, the less likely you are to be blown over. And if you uproot yourself and move around every so often, there’s no way your roots can go deep.”
I smiled. “Why do I have a sudden urge to climb a tree?”
She shrugged. “You asked for my advice.”
“I didn’t, really, but thank you. Your abuelita was a wise lady.”
“She was.” Her wide, dark eyes grew solemn. “She taught me lots of things.”
I laughed. “You aren’t going to try and read my head bumps, are you?”
She snorted. “No. But maybe you should read your cards.”
That was an excellent idea…
And later that night, that’s exactly what I did. I pulled out my trustiest deck—the same one I’d used to give William his reading—spread a cloth out on the floor and sat cross-legged in front of it. I let my thoughts drift as I shuffled the cards, but every time I closed my eyes, he was there. His handsome face, his big hands holding my head as he kissed me, the feel of his body against mine.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled a simple window spread—nine cards in three rows. The top row represented the past. The middle, the present. The bottom row, the future. I saved my more elaborate spreads for when I was reading for others. Either way, the cards in front of me all at once seemed to help clear my mind and whisper new stories to me.
Sometimes the cards “spoke” to me, and sometimes they just didn’t. Tonight, it almost seemed like they were shouting. The first row hit me squarely between the eyes: the Page of Pentacles, the Tower, the five of Cups. Wow, it was almost like my very own biography in three simple cards.
My hands trembled as I fingered the Page of Pentacles—Brock. The card represented a young person full of potential, practical, dutiful, reflective and conscientious. I smiled. Yes, that was him.
That card was followed by the Tower—the universal shit-hits-the fan card. It was always hard to have this card come up in a reading, but I comforted myself knowing that it was about the past. That the terrible event—the loss of Brock and all that I’d planned for our future—had taken place long ago. Six long and painful years ago.
Which brought me to the Five of Cups. The loss and my reaction to it. The impact that sent ripples of pain into the present and the future. My throat thickened so that I couldn’t swallow.
The suit of Cups represented all that was tied to emotions. And there were so many tied to that loss and the events that followed. Losses that went even deeper than the loss of Brock. Papa…
The image of three cups turned over, two cups still filled depicted three cups’ worth of water lost—mourning. And yet…two cups remained full. For the first time ever, I saw it as a card of hope. What a strange notion…
Taking a shivery breath, I moved on to the next row—my present. The three of Swords—the classic card of emotional turmoil and conflict. So true. Everything was mixed up, boiling over.
I tucked my straggly hair behind my ears. Wil… His words—that bare naked honesty. It hurts, he’d said.
Blinking back stinging tears that prickled my throat, I realized how right he was. It did hurt. It almost seemed to be the legacy of living on this earth, breathing this air, existing. There was no happiness without pain.
But did losing something you’d once pegged your hopes on mean that you could never be happy again?
Was that what I was doing? Punishing myself for living while Brock was dead? And Papa?
And there it was…the next card in the middle row, staring me in the face. The eight of Swords. Fear. Blockage. Prevention. I swallowed. And it was followed by the Moon card—a warning of dishonesty, deceit or confusion.
Maybe all of the above. I was confused. Had I been deceiving myself? Had I been convinced that it was my fate to wander…to never love? To never be loved? I’d often seen the card that most represented me as the Fool. And maybe in more ways than one, I had been a fool. A fool who lied to herself.
Tears streamed down my cheeks and I blinked to see through blurry eyes by the time I made it to the third row—the future. My throat was tight and it was hard to breathe, because...
That first card.
The King of Cups.
I remembered my words to William at the regional market. The King of Cups represents a man of emotional stability, a man who lives by honor—quiet, kind and trustworthy.
William…sitting right there at the start of my future.
Biting my lip, I snatched up the entire stack, suddenly overcome with emotion. With no desire to examine the deeper meanings, I tucked the cards inside their bag and then stuffed it in my bottom drawer. I vowed not to touch them again for months. And maybe I’d smudge them with white sage smoke for good measure and take other decks with me to the Festival.