How. Freaking. Appropriate.
I bring my hand to my forehead, but she wags her finger over the table.
“No. This is good.”
“Really? Death is a good card?”
“It’s change. Transformation. Endings. Beginnings. You need to put the past behind you if you want to embrace your future and the opportunities awaiting you. This is your time. Your time to start anew and leave what was once behind you in favor of what can be.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat as she talks about sudden and unexpected change. Being caught in a tidal wave I feel like I can’t escape. The need to leave emotional baggage behind.
When she finally stops, she waits in silence for me to meet her gaze. “You can go now.”
“Wait. What? That’s it?” I jerk my chin down to look at the card again before glancing back up at her.
“You only needed one card. You already know what you have to do. You’re not a stupid girl. You have plenty of life left to live. Go do it.”
I stumble out of the chair and rise.
“You didn’t believe. Now you do. My job here is done. Feel free to tip for my services.”
This woman ...I don’t even know what to say to her. She saw right through me to the heart of things. I could say she just read my body language while I was on the bench, but she didn’t stack that deck.
I fish a twenty from my purse and lay it on the table. “Thank you.”
She inclines her head regally, and I walk away from the table shell-shocked.
As if I needed another sign.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll go to the warehouse and start getting on with my life.
8
Temperance
The next morning, I leave my apartment and smile when I see the body-painted sheets flapping in the breeze. Thankfully, I stayed away long enough for Harriet to finish, and avoided seeing her and her gentleman friend.
My resolve almost falters when I make it to the road and wave down a cab, but I remind myself I have more than one pressing reason to go to the warehouse—my Bronco is locked inside, the Tahoe is at a tire shop because apparentlyallof them needed replacing, and I’m sick of not having a vehicle.
I’m not touching any of the other cars or SUVs, though,I promise myself as the cab driver brings us closer and closer to the dot on the map on my phone.
When we reach the nearest cross street, I knock on the divider.
“Let me out here.”
He brakes to a stop, then looks back at me and the largely unoccupied buildings around us. “You sure? This don’t look safe, lady.”
He’s probably right, but something feels wrong about having him drop me off directly in front of it.
I don’t know why I care about keeping the location a secret from some random cab driver, but I do. Maybe because it was kept a secret from me for so long.
Besides, a text to Mount confirmed that it’s his man in a dark SUV that’s been following the cab since I got in it. Which means I have at least a thin layer of security.
“It’s fine.”
I cringe as I say the word.Fine.I hate it. It’s always full of shit. No one actually means they’re fine or something is fine when they say it. But today, I’m determined to be one step closer to whatever the hellfinereally means.
“Your funeral,” he says as I shove cash through the Plexiglas divider.