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“Were you planning to divorce my client before you started getting psychic readings from the defendant?” he asks, giving her a sharp look.
“No,” she says immediately.
I grit my teeth, because that’s not good, but I have plans for a rebuttal. When it’s my turn to question her, I ask if she ever told Josie about her husband’s best friend or showed her photos from their wedding. No and no. And there were no official photos because the wedding photographer they’d hired had used their deposit to buy himself a plane ticket to Costa Rica. Her now-boyfriend isn’t even on social media.
“She had no way of knowing,” the woman says with the conviction of a proselyte.
Josie mouths, “No other way of knowing.”
It’s time for closing arguments. We’re given a break first, and I excuse myself to the family restroom, which has the advantage of a locking door, because I feel a familiar urge to throw up.
This is it. Make or break. If I lose, then I’m sunk. Buried in the sands of obscurity. But if I win…
When I’m done, I look at myself in the mirror. This is my usual dance, but I find myself taking out my phone, giving in to the urge to pull up the photo of Ruthie, Izzy, and me from the day we played that game. There’s a text waiting for me, though. Ruthie:
If anyone can sell a roomful of skeptics on the possibility of the supernatural, it’s 100% you. You’ve got this. Your girls are rooting for you.
It’s accompanied by a snap of Ruthie and Izzy—Flower photo-bombing them with someone’s shoe in her mouth. Probably my shoe. Warmth and conviction thread through my limbs, and I head back into the courtroom to make my closing argument.
Two hours later, the jury returns a not-guilty verdict, and the judge follows my suggestion and confirms that the dumbass who started this whole thing will be paying my bills.
I turn to Josie with a grin, the victory lifting me up as surely as if someone had given me a boost onto their shoulders.
“Congratulations, you’re officially psychic, Josie the Great.”
“Of course I am,” she says, but she’s obviously pleased. “Should I offer to give everyone readings as a thank you?”
“Yeah, that’s a no.”
Before we leave the courtroom, I text the good news to Ruthie and my friends. As soon as Josie and I get outside, we’re pulled aside by four different reporters who want to hear all about the win. I play my part, but I know what I need, and it isn’t here.
I want to be home with my family.
A half hour later, I finally open the door, and Ruthie’s waiting for me in a blue sweater dress that hugs her ass. Her eyes are alight, and the way she looks at me…
She puts her arms around my neck and squeals right into my ear. “You’re going to make me deaf,” I say, swinging her around.
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend on keeping.”
It’s only then that I notice all of the people gathered in my living room, my buddies and their partners. Izzy’s watching a show with Danny that’s put a constipated look on his face, but he gives me a tortured smile when I look over.
“Were you going to invite me to our party?” I ask Ruthie.
She grins. “I told them to park around the corner so you wouldn’t know.”
“What were you going to do if I lost?” I ask.
“You weren’t going to lose,” she says, then shrugs. “And if you did, I figured you could use the company.”
No, what I’ve always done after a loss is get blind drunk and spend the night considering what I could have done differently to make the loss a win. But maybe her way is better.
“I’m making everyone cocktails,” Mira says, getting up. “You look like a man who could use a Psychic and Tonic.”
I catch sight of the ring on her finger, and my gaze shifts back to Danny, whose smile widens. “Yeah. That happened too.”
“Are you hijacking my victory party?”
“Seems only right. You hijacked my engagement.”
