A Measure of Happiness (25 page)

“Are you making fun of me?” Katherine asked. “Trying to make me think I've lost my mind?”

Zach's sling plowed through the bead curtain. His orange cape tangled between the strands. “You didn't promise me anything. Don't worry about it,” Zach said, but Katherine's mind stuck on
you didn't promise me anything.

In that long-ago hospital room, before she'd said good-bye to Zach, she'd held his tiny hands. She'd kissed his tiny nose. She'd promised to love him forever.

Twelve years later, she'd offered Barry the same promise.

She honored her promises, even those she'd never made.

“I'd love to do a quick reading. What a fun idea, Zach. Thank you for asking.”

“What?” Barry held a hand to his chest. “I don't get any thanks?”

Katherine held a hand to Barry's cheek, and the stinker grinned at her hand. She took back her hand. “Thank you for helping to clear the table,” she said, and she slipped through the beads.

Center of the table, the light flickering through the jack-o'-lantern sent a web of shivers up the back of her hair. Sundown on All Hallows' Eve, should she risk invoking the past? Should she ask Zach to consider his present situation? What if the future disappointed him?

The last time Lexi had read Katherine's cards, she'd laid the three of swords in her future position, foretelling the pain of separation and deep sorrow.

What good was knowing about a future disaster if you couldn't prevent it?

“Shoot. I meant to put cider on the stove. I have mulling spices,” Katherine said, remembering how much Barry loved the smell of cloves, how much he'd adored the way the aroma hung in the air, clung to her hair and skin.

“Save them for another night.” Barry went into her sideboard drawer and took out her cards, as though he had a right to her belongings. As though the divorce papers they'd both signed meant nothing. As though he expected to return another night.

Two years ago, he'd told her she'd broken his heart. But no matter how many times she'd asked nicely, he'd refused to hate her. He'd refused to give up hope.

“She's never read my cards,” Celeste told Zach. “Why do you get a reading? It's not fair! You've always been her favorite,” Celeste said, making it sound as though she and Zach were Katherine's children. A joke, Katherine reminded herself. A lucky guess.

But lucky guesses were often inklings of psychic ability. The 100 percent correct interpretation of what logically you shouldn't know. Years before Katherine had left home and hit the road, she'd had a recurring dream of being the last person alive on earth. In the dream, she'd awake to an empty house, run outside and down the driveway to find the street free of cars and foot traffic. High in the trees, wind rustled the summertime leaves, and she'd walked barefoot through a dreamscape ghost town, the only sound the hollow beating of her heart.

Barry slid the tarot cards from their blue box. At the dining room table, he started to shuffle.

“Give me that.” Katherine took the deck from Barry's hands and widened her eyes at him. “What's the matter with you? You know better than to touch the deck.” Barry knew better than to influence the outcome of the reading. Or maybe that was his point all along?

“Horseshoe spread?” Barry asked.

The classic spread was Katherine's favorite, a story in seven cards. But the cards delved into the subject's character, his or her friends and family. Tonight, those cards could hit too close to home.

“The power of three,” Katherine said. “Past, present, and future. Keeping it simple.”

“Cool by me,” Zach said.

Zach, Barry, and Celeste returned to the dinner chairs, as though they had assigned seating.

“Do your stuff, witchy woman,” Barry said without an ounce of irony.

“Don't rush me,” Katherine said. “Or you'll spoil the result.”

“You know this is a game?” Barry asked. “You know deep down the cards are open for interpretation, a psychological tool for those wary of psychology?”

“You know psychology is a tool for those wary of reading the tarot?” Katherine asked.

“Yes,” Barry said. “Yes, I do.”

“Good answer.”

Zach once again placed his hand on the back of Celeste's chair. Celeste sat with her hands folded on the tablecloth, her gaze focused on the jack-o'-lantern. Was Celeste meditating on the past? Pondering her future?

When Katherine read for herself, she took her time preparing so that she'd shield herself from other people's energies and issues. The widow lady who lived upstairs. A neighbor couple's argument. Even the high keening cry of an infant from two streets away. When you read cards for someone else? The greatest risk was mixing your energy and issues with theirs. Essentially, Katherine needed to protect the other person—Zach—from her.

In order to cleanse her energy, her hands could stand a washing. But she doubted Barry would tolerate her making another break for the kitchen. She took a few centering breaths, meant to focus her energy on the cards in her hands, but her gaze kept wandering to Zach. Katherine's feet were crossed at the ankles. She stretched out her legs, intending to ground herself, and clipped Barry's leg.

Sorry,
Katherine mouthed. She shifted away from Barry and set the soles of her boots—yes, the black boots—on the floor. She took two more centering breaths. “Zach,” Katherine said. “What's your question?”

Katherine kept her fingers moving, shuffling, her breathing deep, her gaze averted from Barry.

Zach grimaced. “Oh, uh, I thought you were going to tell me about my fortune, give me next month's lottery numbers.”

“If I knew the lottery numbers, I'd keep them for myself.” Shuffle, breathe.

“If she knew the lottery numbers,” Barry said, “she'd give them away to charity.”

“I don't need much.”

Barry thought she was generous with her money. That, she was sure, came from having grown up with so little. With having to make do with even less. How could you fear the loss of what you'd never had?

Barry also thought she was generous with her love. Open and giving, he'd once told her, when it came to friends, neighbors, her bakery customers, even him. To a point.

Divorcing Barry had been freeing, she'd told herself.When you had nothing left to lose, you had nothing to fear.

Barry gave Katherine an encouraging grin. Zach placed his hand on Celeste's shoulder, the way he woke her when she got lost in the middle of Lamontagne's. Celeste blinked up at him.

Katherine provided the redirection. “So, this is how it works, Zach. You think of a question—one question—something you'd very much like to know about. And you focus on that one important question.”

Zach slid his arm from Celeste's chair, rested his chin on his fist, and stared at Katherine.

Katherine smirked. “It's best if you say your question out loud. I can't read your mind.”

“You can't?”

“Sadly, I cannot.” And she heard,
Are you my mother?
The sound, she supposed, of her guilty conscience.

Why did you abandon me?
popped into her head. Was she imagining Zach's question or hearing the small, buried voice of a younger Katherine?

“Ask her about your career,” Celeste told Zach. “Ask Katherine what you should do for a living.”

“Besides the Superman gig?” Zach stood and shook out his cape so it fell over his chair back. “I totally rock the cape.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Celeste said. “I'm talking about your day job, not your secret, undercover persona. No matter what day job you choose, you get to keep the superhero gig. I mean, obviously.”

Katherine glanced at Barry, and they shared an amused look, as though they were Celeste's parents and Zach were the young man she'd brought home for their approval.

“So, what's the verdict, Zach? What's your big life question?” By
big life question
Katherine meant medium, nothing that included the word
mother.

“Hmm.” Zach scrunched his mouth to the side, cut his gaze to Celeste. “Yeah, I'm onboard with the career question.”

“If you're certain, state your question plainly.”

“Uh, okay. I'd like to know what job—career—I should go for. I'd like to know”—Zach shook his head, glanced sidelong at the jack-o'-lantern—“how to decide.” He returned his gaze to Katherine.

Katherine tilted her head. “Okay. Zach would like to know how he can choose a career. Is that correct?”

“Something like that,” Zach said, and he flashed a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“All right.”

“Do we need to join hands or something?”

“That's a séance. I don't do séances.” Katherine didn't care to participate in an activity that could potentially summon the energy of low-level spirits.

She preferred summoning positive vibes from the living.

Katherine gave the cards a final shuffle and fanned them on the table before her. “Pick a card.” Katherine hadn't wanted Barry to touch the cards, but she wanted to make sure the cards worked for Zach. She wanted to make sure her energy didn't hurt his ability to choose.

“O-kay.” Zach tapped a card.

Katherine slid Zach's card from the fan and placed it, face-down, to the left. “Choose a second card.”

Zach hesitated.

“Don't think about it,” she said, and he tapped another card twice. She slid the card to the right. “Good . . . and a—”

Zach tapped a third card before the words had left her mouth. “Sure about that?” she asked, and she laid the third card to the right of the second. She took a deep breath, placed her hand on the first card. “This card represents your past. The circumstances that led to your current situation.” She raised her brows. “Let's see what we have,” Katherine said, and she turned over the card.

The Lovers, reversed.

Facing Katherine, the illustration depicted Adam and Eve, the world's original lovers, naked in the Garden of Eden before the knowledge of their own shame. Behind the couple, the high tops of mountains peaked before the archangel Raphael and the sun's blinding rays.

A warning note of tinnitus rang through Katherine's ears. Barry stroked his beardless chin, leaned closer to examine the card. Zach scratched his cheek. Celeste squinted, and Katherine held up the card. “Relax,” she said. “It's not what you think.”

“They're naked.” Celeste covered her mouth. Did the broad-stroked drawing embarrass her? Katherine placed the card back on the table, reversed to face her, and Celeste's hand drifted back to the table.

“I should probably explain,” Katherine said. “The cards aren't necessarily literal.” Unless, of course, this one was. Unless her unwashed hands and her monkey mind had hijacked Zach's reading. Adam was Zach's biological father. Did that make her Eve? “Lovers often depict nonromantic relationships, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters.” Katherine glanced out to the living room, the darkness edging the room. “Mothers and sons. Zach, in the past, have you perhaps had trouble communicating with loved ones or a loved one?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zach said.

“The Lovers card often tells of a time when you had to make a choice, an important choice.” Katherine had faced her pregnancy alone. Communicating with Zach's father had never been an option. Communicating with her parents? Even less likely.

“Like dropping out of college,” Zach said. “Yeah, my parents weren't too thrilled about that.”

“But it's what you thought best. Perhaps you didn't want to waste your time with something you weren't certain about?”

“Or their money.”

“Or their money. Very thoughtful,” Katherine said. “And, would you say, the greatest problem arose from your indecision? And did that indecision come from your fear of hurting someone close to you?” Katherine had never been certain of her decision. No matter how many times she'd consulted the tarot, she couldn't figure out what might've happened if she'd chanced keeping her son. That road remained unknowable.

“My father,” Zach said, and he scratched his head. “You're freaking me out, man. I mean, Katherine.”

In all of this, Katherine hadn't considered Zach's adoptive father.

“What else does the card say?” Zach asked.

“The reversal usually means that you'd like to have it both ways, rather than make a decision. Does that make sense?”

“Unfortunately.”

Barry tapped a finger against his chin.

Celeste ran her hand up and down her water glass. She swiped the condensation across her forehead.

“You feeling all right, Celeste?” Katherine asked.

“Um, what?”

Zach bent to Celeste and spoke softly. “She wants to know if you're feeling okay.”

Celeste straightened. “Oh, yeah, totally.” She pulled at the neckline of her sweater. “I'm just a little warm.”

If anything, Katherine kept her house on the cooler side. “Why don't we move on to the second card?” she asked, and Zach nodded.

“Behold, the present,” Katherine said, and she turned over the Empress, resplendent in flowing robes and a jeweled crown and—

“What do you know?” Barry said. “Zach's a pregnant woman.”

Celeste laughed, an overly enthusiastic burst of comic relief.

Katherine's cheeks warmed. “Settle down, children. Not literal,” she repeated, but she wasn't convinced. “The Empress indicates your present situation is fulfilling your needs.”