Page 49 of Keller

I nod, half wondering if he really does have a cramp. My palms rest flat on my thighs. The purple cloth between us is soft and faded, worn smooth by hundreds of readings.

She shuffles the deck with practiced hands. The cards whisper against each other. She cuts the deck three times, then lays three cards face up in a row.

I watch her fingers instead of the cards. She places each one precisely, pausing a fraction of a second before she speaks.

"The first card." She taps it once. "Forward motion. Professional ascent. You've worked hard to get where you are. The path ahead is clear if you choose to walk it. But you will be faced with several hard forks in the road."

My breathing stays even. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The same pattern I use in interrogations when I need to stay neutral. I wonder if I'm wearing something, or carrying myself in a way that would allow her to deduce that.

"The second." Her finger moves to the middle card. "A hidden variable. Something you don't yet see clearly. It influences your outcomes whether you acknowledge it or not."

The breeze shifts, and Spanish moss behind her sways. A jogger passes behind me, footsteps fading.

Okay, now this is getting a little too close for comfort.

"The third." She touches the final card. "Divided allegiance. Loyalty on one side. Truth on the other. You stand at a crossroads, and the choice will define more than your career."

I keep my expression flat, trained to listen without reaction. Years of sitting across from suspects and witnesses taught me how to receive information without giving anything back. But she is closer than she should be.

Loyalty versus truth.

I think of Keller's face Friday night at the bar when I asked him why he wasn't forthcoming about what he does. I gave him a hard time for whitewashing it, for calling it finance instead of what it is.

The irony burns. I'm doing the same, whether I chalk it up to part of my job or not, the result is the same I chastised him about.

He has no idea that his family's business details, shipping routes, log going back nine months, sits in a folder on my desk. He does not know that every detail he shares lives in my memory differently than it should.

The reader watches me. Her eyes are soft but sharp, and I'm sensing she sees something. I don't know what, but I feel it.

"You're good at compartmentalizing," she says. "It serves you well in your work, but compartments have walls, and walls can become prisons. Just be careful."

My throat tightens. I swallow it down.

"You're good," I say with a nervous laugh. "I certainly will. Anything else?"

She shakes her head slowly. "The cards show what they show. What you do with the information is your choice."

She gathers the three cards and slides them back into the deck. Her movements are unhurried, but the ritual is complete.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty for a tip. Keller already paid more than the cost of two readings, but I can't walk away without paying something. I stand and push the chair back under the table.

"Thank you so much. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Be well," she says.

I turn and walk toward Keller. He stands near a low stone wall, one leg stretched behind him, hands braced on the rough surface. His face is still pale. I can't shake the thought that something she said to him hit a nerve.

I approach him slowly, giving him space to compose himself. Up close, the tension in his jaw is obvious. His fitted long-sleeved athletic shirt clings to his perfectly chiseled chest, damp at the collar. Sweat darkens the hair at his temples. He looks relaxed from a distance.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He straightens, rolling his ankle in a slow circle. "Just a cramp. I probably shouldn't have sat down so quickly after our run, being out of practice with running."

I neither accept nor reject the explanation. His eyes stay fixed on the path ahead, not on me.

"What did you think? Want to walk?"

"She was interesting, for sure. Yeah, let's move. I don't want you to cramp up again."