“Just do this for me. It’s not like I ask for much,” she said as she led the way into her parlor. That could be debated, but now was not the time.
The parlor was like the living room only worse. It looked as if a demented decorator had spun in the middle of the room spewing Victorian-era knickknacks everywhere. The main color was lime green with deep red as a close runner-up. A small floral print covered the walls accompanied by a wide ceiling border of a larger floral pattern. A red and green striped couch shared the small space with red upholstered chairs sporting crocheted antimacassars across the headrests. The coffee table had a green-print fringed tablecloth, and the chairs, not to be outdone, had fringed throw pillows on them. This was my mother’s office.
We sat at a small table flanked by two chairs. Mom pulled a deck of cards from a drawer on her side, removed them from a silk scarf, and placed them between us on the table.
“Shuffle and cut.”
I shuffled. She had chosen her oldest set, a Rider deck from before I was born. The cards were worn and soft; they felt more like stiff fabric than tarot cards. I cut the deck into three piles using my left hand, placing each pile to the left as I had done so many times before.
She closed her eyes and placed her hands over each pile, “sensing” which one to use. I looked at the ceiling.
“I saw you roll your eyes at me.”
“I was just looking at the spot where the wallpaper is peeling there. Maybe we can get Seth to climb up and fix it.”
She glared at me the way only my mother can.
“Okay. Queen of Swords,” she said. She placed a card in the center of the table. A woman was seated facing the right side of the card and holding a sword straight up. There were low clouds with blue sky in the background. My mother picked the “querent” card based on the person’s coloring. I have dark brown hair, which is Swords. Sara was blonde, so she was Wands.
“But that’s me.” I pointed to the card. “I thought you were going to do Sara. She should be Wands.”
“I can’t do Sara. She’s dead. I have to do your reading and see how you can affect this situation.” Mom put her hand over the card to keep me from moving it.
“Okay, fine. But just this, Mom.” I sat back, crossing my arms. “I don’t want to hear about tall, dark strangers coming into my life.”
“Always with the jokes. Fortunately, the cards don’t care if you believe or not.”
She laid out the cards in her standard pattern. She sat back, thinking. I leaned forward, not liking what I saw. For one thing, the Two of Swords was over the center card. It showed a blindfolded woman holding two crossed swords, which indicated a person closed off from others or someone who is refusing to become involved with others. My mother was sure to jump on that interpretation.
“Well,” she began, “the Ten of Cups reversed indicates you have talents and gifts that you don’t appreciate.” The Ten of Cups shows goblets in a rainbow arrangement, which would be a happy card if it wasn’t upside down, or reversed. She sighed and shook her head. “The Two of Swords shows you are purposely cutting yourself off from those gifts.”
“Or it could mean I’m in a difficult domestic situation and I have to protect myself from the interference of others,” I said.
She looked up sharply. “When did you start reading tarot?”
“I think you did my first reading when I was about seven, Mom. I needed to know something to protect myself.” Mom had been reading cards so long, that often her interpretations couldn’t be found in any book, but I had learned enough to give myself some ammunition. I should have known better than to let a relative with a blazing agenda read my cards, but I’d been doing it all my life.
“Let’s move on to the question of Sara,” she said. “The Page of Cups represents Sara, she was developing psychic talents.” She took a moment for a meaningful glance in my direction.
I was focused on the Death card in the “outcome” position. A skeleton in black armor rode a white horse through a devastated landscape. It didn’t indicate Sara’s death; this was another death or change to come. There were also Judgment and the Moon; the cards indicated I was fighting my psychic abilities to my own detriment. I was beginning to think Mom had stacked the deck. Good thing The Tower—people leaping out of a burning building—was absent or I would have locked myself in my room until the whole thing was resolved.
“Okay, that’s enough. I really don’t need to hear any more about my place in the universe according to the cards. I’ve always done the wrong thing in relation to the tarot.”
She held up her hand.