“Tarot is more than entertainment,” Opal says.
“Ava has the decorating skills. Marlowe is the chef. This is my way ofgiving back,” Constance says. “A gift of enlightenment for years to come. Opal is fantastic.”
“Oh, good! You’re here,” Ava says, as she descends the stairs. “I was worried you’d gotten lost.”
The tarot reader says, “I would have been here sooner, but there was a horrible wreck on my way here. Must have passed twenty police cruisers.”
“That’s all right,” Ava assures her. “The night is still young.”
I’m surprised Opal didn’t use her gift to predict the pileup, take a more efficient route. A cynical response. Constance would chastise me for saying something like that out loud and explain that readings don’t work like that.
“We’ve set everything up inside the Reading Room,” Ava says, vodka sloshing out of her glass as she prances across the room. “Care if I go first?”
“Sure,” Constance says. “Tippi and I can go upstairs and let the others know she’s arrived.”
Ava leads Opal into the Reading Room. The accordion doors are shut, but I can still peer inside. Candles are scattered across the various tables and dressers, shadows stretching across the walls. The women sit across from each other at the table. Ava’s mouth moves a mile a minute while the tarot reader nods along, shuffling the cards in the deck.
“She really is amazing,” Constance says. She stands beside me, arms crossed over her chest. “Although it’s bad luck to eavesdrop during another person’s reading.”
“I’m not eavesdropping.” I dare for one more look into the room before heading upstairs.
“Only kidding,” she says, following me. “Besides, knowing Ava, she’ll tell us everything that was said anyway.”
I’m not as convinced about Ava’s transparency. She certainly wasn’t being forthright about the tension with Preston earlier; I think the only reason she volunteered to have her reading right away was to create a distraction.
“Are you going next?”
Constance shakes her head. “I meet Opal for weekly readings. She stays pretty busy on the weekends. I was only able to book her for a strict hour. We’ll be lucky if she can complete all the others in that time.”
“What did she tell you this week?”
“She assured me the baby will be surrounded by love.”
I rest my hand on the hard curvature of her midsection. “You don’t need a psychic gift to know that.”
Constance will make an excellent mother, mainly because she knows the hardships of growing up in a fractured home. The first in her family to attend college, she secured Pell Grants to cover her tuition and never looked back, not even to visit. She insisted she loved the allure of campus life, and then the city after that, but I always sensed part of her was afraid to return home, as if she wouldn’t get a second chance to leave.
She doesn’t talk a lot about her upbringing, but I know it was more traumatic than mine. My childhood was a lonely one, but sometimes being forced to live with the wrong types of people can be even worse. The reason Constance throws herself into so many different practices—aura healing and tarot reading and shadow work—is because she’s trying to carve out a place for herself in this world. Creating a family on her own terms allows her to do that.
We wander back into the cinema. Preston leans against the snack bar, watching Anthony Perkins and Janet Leigh share supper in the parlor at the Bates Motel. Marlowe and Damien sit in the recliners sharing a tin of popcorn.
“Have you noticed anything weird between Marlowe and Ava?” I ask Constance.
“What do you mean?” she whispers.
“I’m picking up on tension between them. There was all that drama at the dress fitting. And Marlowe was saying some weird stuff in the kitchen.”
“I’m sure it will blow over,” Constance says. “Always does.”
We endure the ebb and flow of friendship, of life in general, together, but still I can’t help wondering if my perspective is clouded, thewhirlwind of my romance with Oliver and the sinister reception of his ominous notes casting a murky haze over everything.
“Maybe I’ll use my time with Opal to ask what Marlowe and Ava are arguing about.”
Constance narrows her eyes, a sly smile across her face. “Nice try. The gift doesn’t work like that. She doesn’t pick up on petty, worldly things. Her reach is greater.”
We settle into recliners and watch the film. After a few minutes, I’m distracted by a sudden movement at the corner of the screen. Marlowe and Damien sit in the front row, and Marlowe’s hands gesticulate in frustration. She’s facing him, her mouth moving a mile a minute. The couple is arguing, although their hushed voices are impossible to hear over the booming audio. Preston and Constance, transfixed by the movie, don’t seem to notice. Constance waits for a lull in the action onscreen to inform the others that Opal is downstairs offering tarot readings.
“Ooh, I’ll go!” Marlowe stands immediately, her eyes shining in the light of the projector. I wonder if she isn’t eager for an excuse to abandon her date.
