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‘He’s not a mind reader,’ Hope says. ‘Speak up.’
I give my head a shake. “Hear me out.”
“Fair enough. Tell me more.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and search for the memories of his sadness and regret and I find them. “Glenn was betting bigger with each round. On the third to the last round of the game he didn’t. He changed his behavior.”
The thick muscle in his jaw ticks. “More.”
“You wondered if he was hedging. If his hand was really all that good -- wouldn’t he be upping his bet?”
“Go on,” he says.
I take his hand, interlace my fingers between his, liking how his palms are a little calloused. I concentrate. “You didn’t know if you should check, raise, or call. That’s when the sadness hit you. Hit you hard, in your gut,” I touch his abdomen. “Like a thief stole the watch your grandfather gave you, then wore it out in public, and bragged it was theirs. I don’t know what you were thinking, but that’s what you were feeling and that’s when you second guessed yourself. Your confidence -- poof – vanished. You wobbled around in that round like a drunk pirate with a peg leg and you folded. And the Fast Food King, who had a weaker hand than you, won the game.”
“Fuck me,” Dylan says, shaking his head. “You’re right. Fuck me. This empathic thing – it’s happened more than once?”
“Yes. I pushed it away for a long time but there’s a connection happening between you and me. I don’t know why but the empathy’s back with a fury.”
He paces, all ripped muscles and corded emotions. “Did this happen during the Chicago game?”
“Yes.”
“St. Charles game?”
“Yes.”
“Damn,” he says. “How do you control this empathy thing?”
“Exercise, meditation, prayer. You know, things that ground a person. But with you -- I don’t control it all that well. In fairness -- I don’t really try. When I’m tuned in to you I sense all the fantastic things you’re feeling -- ”
“And the awful things too.” He slams his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Evie, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re not doing anything wrong. I can’t help wondering if we can play with this? Figure out how to make this empathic connection between you and me work for you. Maybe turn your game around.”
“I’m dutifully impressed, Lucky Charm, but I don’t get how your empathy can change anything. You feel the past -- you don’t predict the future.”
“I feel the present and I’ll lay odds there’s something from your past that’s screwing you up. An old wound’s running you, a messed-up belief’s playing out over and over -- like the lyrics to a stupid song that your brain can’t turn off. Something dark and dirty and buried is running the show.”
“Something old is playing me?” He asks.
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know?” I shrug. “Unresolved guilt. An old fear.”
“Maybe I need to go back to therapy.”
“Therapy’s great.”
“But if you feel these things when they’re happening --”
“I do.”
“What if we can track this old belief down, Evie?” He stops pacing, stands still in front of me. I can practically see the wheels spinning in his brain as he tries to figure it out. “What if we can figure it out?”
“If we figure it out? You face it head on, confront it, and then you conquer it.”
