“Museums exist in many forms,” Maggie answers. “Perilli himself had a favorite saying: Rules are for peasants, but context is for royals. I’ve told you nothing but the truth. I could have tried to swindle you out of the deck, but I didn’t because I can tell those cards mean something to you, in a different way than they do to me. That’s the beauty of the tarot, isn’t it? The way its meanings adapt to the individual. For the honor of preserving that beauty properly, I would pay. I would overpay.”
“But without any mentions online, how could we even know what overpaying us means?” Cleo asks, putting on her sweetest voice.
Maggie sighs again, sensing checkmate.
“We’d never sell it, period,” Amelia repeats, tears welling in her eyes.
Never is a strong word, I think. After all, as Cleo said, we don’t know what kind of money Maggie is talking about here. Besides, if the deck is already valuable in partial form, then it has to be worth much more if completed. And I bet Maggie knows more about finding these missing cards than he is letting on.
“I think it’s clear we’re not giving up the deck, certainly not before we’ve had the chance to verify all you’ve said,” I begin, thinking over my next words carefully. “You’re our first tarot shop stop of many. So, what guidance can you offer that others can’t?”
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“We understand how special this deck is,” I say. “What if we keep in touch and try to work together for the sake of the deck? We could use the help of an expert.”
Click here
Maggie sizes me up with another glance. I bet he thinks I’m too cerebral and impatient for my own good. That’s fine, because I’m well acquainted with Maggie’s type, as well. One of the first things Gran Flo taught us is that each person has a Major Arcana expression tied to their birthday, like a tarot astrology sign. If I had to guess, Maggie seems like a classic Magician type.
After all, Magicians teach us to be open to the unknown, but also to be wary of deception. They use fiction to lead us to fact, illusion to reflect the real. That makes Magician types full of life and truth, but also captivated by the prettiest lies. I can also spot a Magician type anywhere, because I happen to be very in love with one.
“Sorry, my guy can be a little intense,” Logan says, as if on cue. “We’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for all your help, Maggie.”
Logan grabs my hand and turns to leave, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
“Wait,” Maggie calls out. He closes his eyes as if fighting off a sudden migraine. When he reopens them, his eyes set on us with intensity.
“Any halfway decent reader knows the tarot only provides answers if you’re able to read the cards properly,” he says. “So whatever answers you’re looking for in that deck, you’re going to need these.”
Maggie then reaches into a drawer, pulling out a small homemade booklet and a compass.
“You’ll need these to read the cards properly,” he explains. “One is the final deck guide written by Perilli, the other is a uniquely tuned Perillian compass. If you’re really meant to find the missing cards, you’ll discover how to use both.”
“Wow, fantastic,” I say. “How much for them?”
“Free of charge,” Maggie answers, holding out the items. “Perilli intended they go to the holder of his decks, so please accept this as a gesture of good faith… offered in the hopes it may someday be returned?”
Amelia breaks away from the group and steps forward. She snatches the toolset without hesitation.
“Deal.”
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I might not always be the most decisive, but I am good at reading people, just like the tarot. And my intuition tells me that Maggie is a classic Major Arcana Magician type.
Magicians believe in things they cannot see, like the faithful, but they’re often wary of deception, like skeptics. They tend to be wells of deep complexity behind seemingly simple surfaces. I can also spot a Magician type anywhere, because I happen to be very in love with one.
“Maggie, I have a feeling you can relate to what we’re saying,” Logan says, as if on cue. “We’re all on the same side here, aren’t we?”
Maggie closes his eyes, rubbing them with his forefingers. When he reopens them, his eyes set on us with a restored warmth.
“Any halfway decent reader knows the tarot only provides answers if you’re able to read the cards properly,” Maggie says. “So whatever answers you’re looking for, you’re going to need these.”
Maggie reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small homemade booklet. He also pulls a keychain of large charms: a wand, a sword, a pentacle, and a cup—the four suits of the Minor Arcana.
“You’ve already been given a great gift, possessing that deck. But you’ll need these to use the cards properly,” Maggie explains. “One is the final deck guide written by Perilli. The other is a set of specific Perillian charms. If you’re really meant to find the missing cards, you’ll discover how to use both.”
“Wow, fantastic,” I say. “How much for them?”
“Free of charge, my friend,” Maggie answers, holding out the items. “Like you all said, we’re on the same side. We tarot lovers have to be. Besides, Perilli intended for these to go to the holder of his final deck. I only hope that, whatever you decide to do, you share the particulars of your journey with me?”
Amelia steps forward and snatches the toolset without hesitation.
“You have our word.”
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“I’ve now given you all I can to get you started,” Maggie says. “Perillians believe the cards end up where they’re meant to be, in the worthy hands Perilli himself intended. I suppose we’ll all know whose hands those are soon enough.”
“Right. Okay,” Cleo says, clearly feeling ready to get out of here. “Thanks.”
“My business card is in the booklet, should you need to reach me,” Maggie says. “I do hope to hear from you all again.”
“You will,” I say as cheerfully as I can manage. Like Cleo, I am ready to go. My brain feels crammed full of new information screaming to be unpacked.
“One last thing you must know,” Maggie adds as we make it to the doorway. “I’m a decent man. I wouldn’t dream of taking anything from anyone by force. But fair warning, my fledgling Perillians. The world is not made of the decent alone.”
Back in Charvan, I try to let its familiar comforts soak into me. I’ve done a lot to make this van our safe space: repainting it navy blue and white, refurbishing two rows of bucket seats up front, commissioning a built-in bench and table as a reading room in the back. There’s a plush rug and several crammed bookshelves under the bench, but both are currently blocked by mounds of luggage. I’d be lying if I said this clutter didn’t stress me out a little, but at least the linen curtains remain visible, tied with ropes and lit warmly by the string lights hung inside the roof’s rim.
Charvan is indeed the ideal chariot for our trip, but after what we just learned, even its familiar interior feels foreign. I’m not sure where to begin.
“Is everyone thinking what I’m thinking?” Amelia says first. “That we have to find the missing cards? I mean, what if my grandma had this whole secret tarot life?”
“Let’s not get carried away,” I reply. “Even if Maggie was telling us the truth, Gran Flo could still also be telling the truth about where she bought the deck.”
“Maybe, but how likely is that? This has to be a way to get to know her more,” Amelia says. “Besides, learning more about the deck was the whole point of this trip.”
“I thought the point was us spending time together before college?” Cleo says.
“Of course, and we can still do both,” Amelia replies. “But, come on! This turned out to be so much more interesting than we ever could have hoped! A real-life tarot mystery adventure?”
“Amelia, no offense, but this sounds like a wild goose chase more than anything else,” Cleo says. “We have no idea what we’re really wading into here.”
“What could possibly be dangerous about looking for some missing cards?”
“Uh, the people who think it’s so special. They sound intense. I mean, didn’t that Maggie guy kind of straight-up threaten us before we left?”
“Now who’s being dramatic, Cleo?”
“I never said you were being dramatic, Amelia!”
“Well, I’m sure this comes as a surprise to no one,” Logan interjects, “but I’m always down for an adventure. Besides, how can we argue with the signs here? I think we’re meant to at least try.”
I brace myself for Amelia to engage with Logan on his reasoning. These two disagree about some pretty fundamental stuff when it comes to what’s meant to be. Amelia believes that life is random, but Logan just as firmly believes there are signs pointing us where we need to go.
“Then that makes the vote two to one,” Amelia says, turning directly to me—and leaving me dead in the middle, as usual. “Chase?”
When I don’t respond immediately, Amelia leans toward me. I’ve been listening to this exchange, but I’ve also been thumbing through the booklet Maggie gave us, which has simple quotes corresponding to each card. Naturally, I gravitated first to The Emperor, my own Major Arcana expression. According to this Perilli person, The Emperor represents one key question: When you lead, do you contribute more than you require?
It’s a compelling interpretation, if not a little simplified. Still, it applies. Being the tiebreaker isn’t my favorite, but that’s where I so often find myself. I’m further reminded as Amelia drops the actual Emperor card into my lap. His impassive eyes stare up at me, representing a leader who can inspire courage and determination—or just as easily abuse his power to feed his ego.
Feeling fueled by The Emperor, I already know I’m going to vote for us to look for the first missing card. Still, looking between Logan and Amelia, I know it won’t be enough to simply agree. They want to know who I agree with most.
“The only way we really learn is when we see things for ourselves,” I finally say. “I think we owe it to ourselves to embrace this detour, like Amelia said.”
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“Whatever reason this deck came into our hands, I think it’s our responsibility to try finding the missing cards,” I finally say. “Maybe it’s something we’re meant to do, like Logan said.”
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I can hear Amelia’s voice in my head, saying that blind chance might have brought us here today, but that human minds are designed to bring order to chaos—the same way tarot cards were designed to do.
“If we have the chance to answer some lifelong questions, we have to choose that path,” I finish.
Amelia smiles, hearing my answer. She may have gotten her way, but it’s probably more important to her that I agreed with her over Logan. Though it’s not like I disagree with either of them outright—it’s more that I’m not fully sure what I believe yet. I love facts and proof, but neither really applies to life’s unanswerables. And if I’m being really honest, I’m not as convinced that one truth can apply to every situation as Logan and Amelia.
Unfortunately, I’m the only person I know who seems to think that way. This probably makes me seem weak, but is it so wrong that I don’t feel compelled to choose a side? I still don’t know exactly who or what I want to be when I grow up… but the older we get, the more being undecided just feels like being left behind.
Looking to Logan, I find him faking a smile. As much as I want to, I can’t please him and Amelia all the time.
“Then it’s settled,” Amelia says, smiling even wider. “Sincerest apologies to Cleo, but you know what this means.”
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I guess after all these years, Logan must be rubbing off on me. Luck, coincidence, déjà vu, serendipity—he believes all these things are just signs that you’re headed where you need to be. I’m not as convinced that destiny rules over human agency, but right now it’s hard to argue. How many stars had to align to bring the four of us here today, on this path?
“We can’t ignore the signs,” I finish. “I think we could all be here for a reason. If that’s true, we need to find out what it could be.”
Amelia smiles hearing my answer, but her eyes betray the gesture. She may have gotten her way, but she hates it when I don’t side with her reasoning, too. It’s not that I disagree—it’s more that I’m not fully sure what I believe yet. I love facts and proof, but neither really applies to life’s unanswerables.
Though if I’m being really honest, I’m also just not as convinced that one truth can apply to every situation as Logan and Amelia. It’s kind of ironic, actually. Logan isn’t into organized religion, but he believes in his own version of God, or “the universe” as he calls it. Meanwhile Amelia is Jewish, but she doesn’t believe a higher power holds any sway over our individual actions. Even Cleo is self-assured in her near-universal skepticism. But then there’s me, the lapsed Catholic, still sorting out what I believe.
I guess this maybe explains why I’m so drawn to tarot cards as their own spiritual system. The tarot asks all these same questions, but it never defaults to one truth for every situation. Instead, the cards constantly shift their meanings depending on the context. Just like me, forever shifting and debating, side-kicking to the bigger beliefs around me.
So even though Amelia doesn’t say it out loud, I can still tell she takes this as some kind of invisible sign that I value Logan more than her. Sadly, this is still one gap I have no idea how to bridge. I just wish there wasn’t so little time left to do so.
“Logan clearly has you brainwashed,” Amelia says, rolling her eyes. “Nevertheless, that’s a majority. Sincerest apologies to Cleo, but you know what this means.”
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Cleo sighs, folding her arms across her chest. Still, I spot a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. We all feel the pull of this deck, even our most skeptical.
Amelia then rumbles her fingers across the back of her bucket seat, building a drumroll before finishing her announcement.
“Our road trip just turned into an intrepid tarot scavenger hunt! A ‘taroad’ trip, if you will!”
“Oh no,” I say. “We will definitely not be calling it that.”
I smile and make sure to look Amelia’s way. I take in her familiar sight, her mane of frizzy curls and signature pastel clothes. Really, only Amelia can understand what I’m feeling underneath it all—how special this moment is, despite its baggage. I might still be terrified of what life is going to be like at college without my partners in crime, but that worry washes away as we share this private look.
For now, we have this one last perfect adventure to pull off.
CHAPTER THREE
AMELIA
I KNOW I’LL PROBABLY get sick of it soon, but right now diner comfort food still seems like the best thing on the planet. So tonight I am having banana pancakes with a side of hash browns for dinner and I refuse to feel guilty about it.
Once the waitress finishes stacking our menus, I clear the middle of our table to lay out the purple, moon-patterned reading cloth Chase got me a few birthdays ago. Though right now Chase only has eyes for his journal and his owl-tipped pen, taking furious notes on the Perillian booklet. He’s been at it since we left Maggie’s shop, obsessing over every detail to see if he can decipher any clues that lead to the hidden cards. I’ve always envied Chase’s ability to pour every ounce of himself into an intellectual task, like his brain is a funnel. His dark eyes sharpen as they flicker from line to line and he looks perfectly polished, his brown hair curled left and his button-down pressed straight.
I, on the other hand, probably look like a tornado, wild and wrinkled. Still, I have more important things to focus on. Chase might believe the clues we seek will be embedded in facts and histories, but I think the most important answers are always found by looking within.
“Why are you reading me specifically?” Logan asks. “Shouldn’t we just examine the cards for clues?”
“Right, but why focus on me?”
“Because your Major Arcana expression is The Magician, which has the closest connection to the Minor Arcana Wands suit,” I answer. “Since we’re near Joshua Tree and in the middle of the desert, Wands is probably where we start, because they stand for red and fire and east.”
Logan considers this a moment. “And faith meeting action, right?”
“Someone has been spending way too much time around these two,” Cleo says, pulling her phone out of the shoebox nestled beside Logan. “I’m using my next five minutes to do another search on Perilli. The sooner we get some answers, the sooner we can give up this tarot ghost.”
It’s a noble effort on Cleo’s part, but not a single one of our searches on the drive here turned up anything useful. It’s like Carson Perilli never existed, at least according to the internet. A follow-up call to my parents proved equally unhelpful—Mom had never heard Grandma mention anyone by that name.
I shuffle the cards, anticipation crackling in my limbs. How on earth did Grandma come to possess this deck? I suppose it’s possible she really didn’t realize its true origins, but if I know Grandma, she probably had some inclination it was special. My heart aches once again, thinking about how much I wish she were here. I try to choose another thought instead, like how lucky I am to have this chance to learn more about her, even after she’s gone.
Before I start on Logan, I remind myself of the most important thing Grandma ever taught us about reading the tarot. I can almost hear her voice in my head, speaking these foundational words: Tarot cards have nothing to do with predicting the future. The tarot’s true power resides in using ancient symbols, drawn from every corner of history and mythology, to unlock the secrets we keep from ourselves. You see, a chance drawing of cards is meaningful not in what the symbols predict, but in the personal reflections you find in them.
Major Detours Page 3