“It’s gorgeous,” Casey interjects. “When’s the big day?”
“Oh, we haven’t set a date yet. It’s my second marriage,” she says sheepishly. “We’ll probably do something low key, with my son.” She shuffles the tarot cards again and holds them out to us. “I’d love to tell you all about it, but I do charge by the hour.” She laughs. “Cut the deck.”
I turn toward Casey and she gives me a look as if to say, you do it.
What I didn’t tell Casey earlier was that I had actually found Jordan on Yelp. Yes, she had come highly recommended, but not by anyone I actually knew. But after meeting her today, I felt okay about asking Casey to meet me here. What better person to help us than a well-dressed woman with a sense of humor who can see into the future? Plus, she didn’t bat an eyelash when we walked in. If she recognized Casey Lee, she didn’t let on. I liked that. Already craving anonymity after being famous for only a short while, I can’t imagine how Casey deals with someone always watching her. Like when you inhale that sushi for lunch or you leave the house without taking the time to painstakingly blow out your hair. And dating? How is it even possible under this harsh spotlight?
But then I’m struck by another one of my panicked thoughts. What if this woman can’t help us and I’m in Casey’s body forever? Sure, being Casey has its perks, like having my coffee waiting for me each day when I get to work and the fabulous clothes I get to wear on air and off. And I can’t forget her tight abs. But what about my family? I know John and I haven’t exactly been connecting the past couple of years, but he’s still the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with. And the girls . . . I can’t even think about them. What if being a part of my own family isn’t an option anymore?
I realize Casey’s waiting for me to cut the deck. Jordan cuts it again and then instructs me to pick three cards. Trying not to think about it, I take three off the top and hand them to her. As she studies the cards I selected, I send her telepathic questions.
Do you know I’m in my best friend’s body? Can you help us?
She looks up quickly, startling me, and I half expect her to answer. But she doesn’t. Instead she looks at the cards again and shakes her head.
“What? What is it?” I scoot my chair closer to the table, hitting it and almost knocking over a glass of water.
“It’s just as I saw last night.” She pulls a sleek leather notebook out of her even sleeker leather handbag and turns the pages rapidly until she finds what she’s looking for. “Yes, here it is. These cards indicate what I picked up during my meditation.” Then she stops to explain. “That’s what I do, meditate the night before I see a client.”
I nod approvingly, not knowing what else to do, and she continues. “I got a strong feeling that you came here for my help.”
Casey gives me a look that says, duh.
“That you two aren’t what you seem,” she continues. “That there’s something going on here that’s . . .” She pauses, trying to come up with the right word. “Magical.”
Casey and I look at each other excitedly, effortlessly reading each other’s mind. She knows, we think. And she’s going to help us.
Please, God. And as I have so many times since becoming trapped in Casey’s body, I make promises to God. I’ll be more lenient with Audrey. I’ll stop checking her Facebook account! I’ll be more tolerant of Sophie, I’ll even let her wear something semirevealing once in a while. Maybe even buy her a lacy bra from Victoria’s Secret. I won’t put Charlotte in front of Sesame Street so I can eat breakfast in peace. Shit, I’ll even start having sex with John again if you switch us back, God.
“So, then you know. You know what’s going on here.” Casey breaks her silence.
Jordan frowns. “Well, I only know what they want me to know.”
“They?” Casey and I say in unison.
“The spirits, the angels that guide you, I get messages from them,” she says matter-of-factly, as if this is totally common.
“So what are they telling you?” I ask, trying not to sound as impatient as I feel. Starting to watch the hope of switching back fade away.
“That you’re not at all what you seem, that you’re masquerading, that you’re stuck.” She looks up from her notes. “Is this making sense to you?”
“That’s all true,” I say.
“There was a party?” she asks.
“Our high school reunion,” Casey offers.