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“You’ve known that for a while. Not just because of the cards you’ve drawn previously but because of the conversations you’ve had with your family members.”
“I know. In the back of my mind, I was just hoping…” I play with my hair absently. “I was hoping I would draw some cards that might give me some peace. That might solidify my family. But I seem to be doing the opposite.”
“You can’t control the cards you draw,” he says.
“I know. But I believe in fate and fortune and destiny. I believe I draw the cards that I am meant to draw. I still believe that, Brendan, even though I don’t like what my cards have been telling me.”
“There are no guarantees in life—or the tarot—that you are going to get the results you want.”
I nod. “Tell me about it.”
“So, one more card?”
I nod again, draw in a deep breath, and choose my third card.
The empress.
The card representing the mother.
My mother.
But then I cock my head.
Not my mother. I’m doing this drawing for my father. So this card represents not my mother but his.
And it represents the future.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I say.
“Tell me what you see.”
“The card is the empress, which is mostly associated with the mother. But I’m doing this drawing for my father.”
“Which means…”
“I feel very strongly that this card represents his mother.”
“But his mother is dead.”
“I know. But this card represents the future. And I’m not getting any feelings that this card has anything to do with a dead person.” Invisible insects gnaw at my neck. “In fact… I almost feel like…”
“Like what?”
I search for words as I search for meaning.
But the words don’t come even as the meaning does.
Chills skitter over my flesh. “I’m not sure. Is it possible my grandmother isn’t dead?”
“How old was your grandmother when she had Joe?”
“Really young. Nineteen, I think.”
“And Joe is how old? Sixty-three?”
“Yes.”
“So that would make your grandmother eighty-two if she were alive. Many people live to be eighty-two.”
“I know, but she’s not alive. I don’t feel her. And that’s the strangest thing. I don’t feel her at all.”
“But you never knew her.”
“No, I didn’t. But as I was drawing these cards for the reading, I felt my connection to my father.”
“Of course. He’s your father. You know him.”
I bite my lip, fiddle with my lip ring. “I’m not explaining this very well. What I mean is, I could feel his blood in my veins. I don’t feel that with my grandmother.”
“I think you’re maybe reading too much into this, Ava.” Brendan places his hand on my forearm. “It’s difficult to feel someone when you’ve never met her. When she died before you were born.”
“I know you don’t believe in the kind of divination that I practice, but I believe that we get a lot of our power—our energy—from our ancestors. That they live through us, and not just in our physical characteristics and genetics. But in our souls. In transferred memories.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“It’s not something I talk about a lot, but I’ve always believed that our ancestors continue to live through us, more than just in our memories.”
“But you can’t have any memories of someone you never knew.”
“That’s precisely my point, Brendan. I never knew my grandmother, but I should be able to feel some connection. I don’t feel her at all.”
He wrinkles his brow. “Do you feel your grandfather? Her husband?”
“I do. And it’s nothing I can put into words, but I know he’s in me.”
“What about your mother’s parents?”
“That’s something I’ve suppressed, for my grandfather, I mean.”
“Why?”
“I knew my grandmother, and I feel her very strongly. But my grandfather… I haven’t thought of this since I was a little girl.”
“What, baby?”
“I had a dream once about my grandfather. I dreamed that he came after me with a knife.”
Brendan’s jaw drops.
“My mother came and comforted me that night, and I told her about the dark-haired and dark-eyed man who chased me in my dreams, telling me he was my grandpa.”
“What did your mother tell you?”
“She said it was a nightmare. That I needed to go back to sleep and that I was perfectly safe in our house. I believed her. I never had that nightmare again. But I did feel a connection to him—a dark connection. I didn’t like the feeling, so I suppressed it.”
“So you never knew your grandfather on your mother’s side?”
“No, he also died before I was born. The only thing my mother has ever said about him is that he was Greek. Other than that, she doesn’t talk about him, and because we always had such a happy life, neither Gina nor I ever insisted that she elaborate. After that nightmare, I preferred to forget about him anyway.”
Brendan traces his finger over my forearm.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself,” I say. “This reading is about my father, about what’s happening now. Not about my mother and her ancestors.”
