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Someone cracks a breadstick, and I flinch as if it were gunfire. “Hm, it’s not good if you’re already jumpy,” Josie says. “Does anyone have smelling salts?”
No one steps forward, so she shrugs. “That’s okay, Suit and Tie can catch her if she falls.”
“We have to leave soon,” Shane says, his tone struggling to be polite. “Can you proceed, please?”
She gives a slow nod and says, “Poe, the lighting.”
He sets down the appetizer tray and heads toward the door, squinting at the light fixture, which offers a simple on or off. “Sorry, it’s all or nothing, Josie. There’s no dimmer.”
“Fine,” she says with a huff of air. “We’ll keep them on, but everyone should know my sight will be hampered by it.”
“That’s convenient,” Shane quips. His hand flexes on my shoulder, and I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him to take me away from here. Which is why I’m staying. If he could be brave enough to face his past for me, then I can face my fear of the future. I need to. Because I have to start moving forward without letting doubt hover over me like a rude ghost.
Josie ignores the comment, her gaze trained on the crystal ball, and a shiver runs down my spine. So much of her is fake and obviously intended to cater to the masses’ idea of a psychic. But this—the way she’s staring into the ball, her eyes going unfocused but intense, feels real.
Poe heads back to the table, and I hear him murmur something like, “You’ve got this, babe,” his hand running across the small of her back, but she doesn’t react or even seem to notice. Another shiver makes its way down my spine at this hint of the uncanny.
Then Josie glances up, the transition so quick I almost fall back and take my stool with me. Maybe I would’ve if not for Shane’s steady arm around me, holding me in place.
“Congratulations, you’re going to get married again. I saw it here in the ball.”
“Excuse me?” Shane asks, sounding pissed. But his anger has nothing on the agony in my heart, which is twisting and breaking in my chest.
It feels like proof that the only thing that matters about me is who I’m legally bound to.
It feels like she just broke up with me for Shane, like Michael Wolfe’s big sister did in the sixth grade.
I knew we were going to get divorced, obviously. Even if we have unresolved feelings for each other, we’re definitely not at a place where we should be married. Our lives aren’t compatible—mine, barely contained chaos; his, strict order. It suits both of us to pretend, for a while, but eventually Shane will get sick of it. He doesn’t want a wife, and I won’t be the woman who tries to convince him otherwise. I’ve learned, firsthand, how painful it is to hope a man will change his mind about what he wants.
Still, I feel sick over the idea of doing any of this again with someone else.
“That’s what I saw,” Josie says. “I can’t fake the sight.” She grins at Shane over my shoulder, her expression almost feral, and it occurs to me that this may be payback for his attitude. A warning. I hope so. Because even if it makes me stupid and gullible, I believe she does have talent, and I need her to be wrong about this. “But I didn’t see the groom. Just Ruthie here in a white dress. I mean, really, Ruthie, who are you kidding at this point?” she adds with a chuckle. “Anyway, my point is, it could have been a vow renewal ceremony. You must be coming up on ten years married, right?”
“Three and a half,” Shane says flatly, delivering the answer we’d decided on.
“Still,” she says flippantly, “you’re the kind of lovebirds who like to celebrate. I’ll bet that’s what I saw.”
“You heard her, honey,” Shane says, and I have to wonder if that word is just for me, because it made me laugh earlier. He helps me up off the stool but keeps his arm around me, and I’m grateful for it. I need his support in a way that should make me feel weak but doesn’t. “Better send out the invitations.”
I glance up at Josie, my heart hoping for something more. Shane always tells me I’m an easy target—a giant heart that others want to squeeze—and I think he must be right. Because I can feel it all flashing in my eyes. My hopes, my fears, my raw need.
Josie clears her throat. “You’re going to be okay, Ruthie. It’s going to work out for you.”
That’s all she says. It means nothing. A Magic 8-Ball would say more, but tears fill my eyes, and I find myself thinking again of that silly unicorn blanket, the one that was tainted by the smell of beer.
Somehow, she knew exactly what I needed to hear.
“Thank you,” I say, even as Shane tightens his grip on me. He’s a harder nut to crack, and Josie the Great doesn’t have the tool for the job.
Am I a fool for hoping I might?
Freeman gives a chuckle that sounds nervous, like he’s no longer sure asking Josie here was a good decision. Or maybe, depending on how much he believes Josie, he’s worried his new employee is less of a family man than he thought. Then he pats his belly and says, “Thanks for coming, Shane, Ruthie.” He grins at me. “Now, I told my friend about your book mobile, and he’s mighty interested in seeing it in action. He’s the event planner for Big Catch Brewing, and he’s also on the school board. When’s your next event?”
My breath catches. This might mean something. This might mean quite a bit. Determination steels my spine even as I feel anxiety welling inside of me. Because it could be another swing and miss. All of this could be.
I take a big breath and then tell him about the celebration at Loving next Sunday.
“We’ll be there,” Freeman says without pause. “I look forward to it.”
