Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Nega-fucking-tivity.
As if I needed a reminder.
“You’re starting to freak me out here,” Brendan says.
“Sorry. It’s just…” I shake my head. “This is the five of cups.”
“You’re going to have to go into a little more detail for me. Tarot novice here.”
“Right. This card is just pulsing negativity, Brendan. Anger. Loss. Instability. You name it. I was hoping for some enlightenment, but I got more darkness. Serves me right, I guess.”
“I don’t want to push…but does this card make sense to you given what your father told you?”
I scoff without meaning to. “This card is the personification of what my father told me.”
Brendan trails his finger over my forearm. “Let’s attack this from a different angle.”
“What other angle is there?”
“I don’t know. Tarot novice, remember? What I mean is, you’ve always said that you try to put a positive spin on each reading, but that you weren’t able to when you drew the tower card.”
“Yeah. And I’m thinking my positivity has gone on hiatus because I sure can’t see anything good in this damned card.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes. “Try, Ava. It’s just a card. It’s not your fortune. It’s just a card.”
I open my mouth to contradict him, but then I stop myself.
He’s right, after all.
It’s just a freaking card. It’s an image printed on cardstock. Most people in the world would give it no meaning whatsoever.
Maybe it’s time to take a break from the tarot. God knows I’ve got enough going on. In the past, the tarot has been a source of comfort and guidance for me. If it’s no longer a positive influence in my life, why give it any influence at all?
I shove the card back into the deck, wrap it up in Grandma Didi’s scarf, and take it back to the box. Then I return to the couch.
“Aren’t you going to make any notes?” Brendan asks. “You always write in your journal after a reading.”
“No, Brendan, I’m not.”
“How come?”
“Because that’s the last card I’m drawing. At least for now.”
Brendan drops his mouth open.
“Does that surprise you?”
“Uh…yeah. The tarot means a lot to you, Ava. Are you sure now is the time to give that up? With…everything going on and all?”
“You don’t even know what’s going on, Brendan.” I pull away from him.
His lips turn downward. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” I sigh. “It’s just all too much right now. I want to tell you, but I don’t want to rehash it all, you know? It’s so…awful.”
He reaches for me but then pulls his hand away.
Jeez. Now he thinks I’m rejecting him. Maybe a part of me is. I don’t want to reject him. I don’t want to reject the tarot. I don’t want to reject my family.
I don’t want to reject anything…but I’m just in a negative, rejecting sort of mood.
“Thanks for taking the time to come over, Brendan,” I say, “but I think I want you to leave now.”
He furrows his brow. “Ava? Come on. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to kiss or be cuddled or any of that either. I think… I think I need to get my hands in a ball of really stiff dough.”
“You did that all day.”
“I didn’t. The big Hobart does most of my kneading.” I rise and head to the kitchen. “Thanks again, Brendan. Good night.”
“You’re really doing this?” He stands and follows me to the kitchen. “You’re dismissing me?”
“I am.” I grab my canister of flour. “See you later.”
He shakes his head. “Whatever.”
And then he’s gone.
Loss. Profound loss envelops me. I love Brendan so much, but my mood is fucked up.
Will I ever see him again?
Does it even matter? Negativity is surrounding me, so it’s only a matter of time before he breaks my heart. Not a problem. I’ll put my emotions on hold because in the end, none of this matters anyway.
The tower is falling.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brendan
“Back so soon?” Dad asks when I head behind the bar.
“Yeah. Ava’s acting weird.”
“Cut her some slack, son. Things are getting real for her.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“Only that the Steels are headed into something. Something that may not be pretty.”
I grab a bar towel. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“The ominous messages.”
I expected Dad to say something about the child born to Brad Steel and Wendy Madigan. When he doesn’t, a chill lands on the back of my neck. “Last time I checked, they’re coming to us as well. Does that mean things are getting real for us too?”
Dad fills up a pilsner glass from the tap and hands it to a customer. “I’m only saying that things were bound to come to a head sooner or later. Something about the Steels has never sat right with me.”
“Because of your uncle.”
“Yeah. Because of my uncle.”
“But you know that the Steel brothers weren’t even alive yet when your uncle died.”