“Wait, it shows the King of Wands in the near future. Honest, optimistic, a stern and strong-minded leader. You’re going to have to deal with him.”
“Why don’t you finish up later, okay? Let’s go check on Tuffy.” I couldn’t get away from the cards fast enough. The rest of them did not tell a tale I wanted to hear—fighting your inner self, psychic talents, all leading to death. It was always the same gloom and doom. The only good card was the Three of Cups—three people dancing and holding goblets overhead. At least I would have friends.
“You know, we wouldn’t have to resort to tarot if you’d allow your own natural abilities to come forward, Clyde.”
“Not again, Mom.” I sighed.
“I just don’t understand why someone with a gift like yours would choose to ignore it.” She gestured at the cards.
“We’ve really done this enough, don’t you think? It doesn’t seem like much of a gift when all you see is death and destruction. I’m happier not knowing what will happen.”
“That was a long time ago. You can learn to control it.”
“Let’s go check on Seth and Vi.” I pushed away from the table.
*
We found them in Violet’s apartment, a three-room annex off the main level of my parents’ living area. The house had originally belonged to my grandmother and when she died, she left it to her daughters. Thanks to Grace, my parents had lost their house when the market crashed in 1987. Grace had one “talent” and that was the ability to predict the stock market. She claimed she saw letters and numbers in an almost constant stream and once she realized what they meant she began investing. In a snit over some fight with Mom, Grace chose not to warn my parents to dump their stock and they ended up losing everything, including their house. Aunt Vi was living with my grandmother at the time, and they had plenty of room. When Mom, Dad, Grace, and I moved in, we got the larger half and the upper floors. Everyone shared the kitchen.
In the end, I was glad we lost the house. Spending much of my adolescence living with my grandmother had been wonderful. She’d had a calm, serene presence that she hadn’t passed on to her daughters. Unfortunately, she also had psychic talent that she passed on to me. She understood, better than anyone in my family, why I would want to block the messages coming to me.
Violet had not continued the Victorian theme in her area of the house. Claiming that her clients didn’t need all that “claptrap,” she decorated in a more modern, but just as colorful, fashion. Tuffy was sitting on one of the many client beds Vi kept scattered around her living room. Seth was sitting next to him and petting him gently.
Vi was rocking in her chair, knitting, when we came in. Baxter lay like a large lumpy carpet at her feet.
“Any luck?” my mother asked.
“No, he’s too upset. All I could get out of him was ‘bacon,’” Vi said.
“Maybe he’s hungry,” I said. Tuffy was always hungry, in my experience.
I received a triple glare from Violet, Seth, and my mother. Baxter didn’t move.
“He’s traumatized, Clyde. Give the guy a break.” Seth leaned protectively over Tuffy.
“I just knew something was going to happen. The horses over at Miller’s place have been agitated.” Vi rocked faster and her fingers flew with the needles. “I was over there a couple of days ago, but they wouldn’t tell me what was bothering them. My cat clients have completely clammed up. They’re usually such a gossipy bunch. I should have seen something like this coming.”
Seth’s eyes grew wide; my mother just nodded. I looked at the ceiling.
“Seth, I need to finish with the rest of the dogs. Do you want to come with me or stay with Tuffy?”
“I think I’ll stay with Tuffy.” He curled himself around the dog, and I saw that he probably was just as upset as his new canine friend.
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” I turned to leave.
“What about lunch? I have sandwiches and brownies.” Mom gestured toward the kitchen.
“I’m not that hungry, Mom. And I have to get to the rest of the dogs.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to eat. The dogs can wait a few minutes. Seth, let’s go.” She walked toward the dining room, assuming we would follow.
We sat at the table—all of us. Seth pulled up a chair for Tuffy to sit in, and he began feeding the dog small pieces of lunch meat from his sandwich. Baxter didn’t need a chair. He rested his head on the table and with his eyes watched each bite I took like he was following a tennis match. A wet puddle formed under his chin. My mother didn’t eat, claiming she was too upset. I had taken about three bites when I heard my cell phone ringing in the front hall.
I found my messenger bag in disarray and covered in Baxter slime. I’d forgotten about the treats I’d left in there. Apparently he’d found them. By the time I’d waded through my wet bag, my phone had stopped ringing. I was muttering Baxter’s name just as I heard a chair topple and my mother shout, “Baxter!”