I hate to say it, but Anwar’s interest finally makes me feel like I am someone to be interested in. I know I should feel that way on my own, but I just never have.
“That’s fascinating,” Anwar says, meaning it. “I can’t believe I never got into the tarot before. It’s so much deeper than most people know.”
“That’s what my grandma always used to say. Turns out, she was talking about something even… deeper.”
I feel an angry stab in my chest. The truth, the one I don’t want to admit, is that I’m mad at Grandma for lying to us. This anger, in turn, makes me feel horribly guilty, which then makes me miss Grandma even more. I find myself constantly trying to reconcile these emotions, to ball them up into one thing. Then I remind myself that, like the tarot, all of these emotions can exist in me at the same time.
These feelings must play across my face in some way, because Anwar reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder.
“You probably have so much on your mind,” he says. “What can I do to help?”
Staring back in Anwar’s earnest eyes, I feel the warm glow of his concern. Suddenly I don’t want to dwell anymore on tarot mysteries or questions, if only for a little while.
So I return the cards to the deck, careful not to bend the edges. Then I stuff the deck in the secret compartment of Cleo’s backpack, which I now keep with me when Cleo doesn’t need her art supplies. Then, with the tarot put to rest, I turn back to Anwar.
Except behind him, a light goes on in the kitchen, and I see Cleo through the window at the sink. It’s not like her to get back up once she has gone to bed—she usually sleeps like the dead. Maybe she’s just getting some water or something?
I return my focus to Anwar, because all I want to do is gaze at the stars with him on the back lawn. Then I want us to finally get intimate.
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“Do you mind if I check on Cleo inside for a minute?” I ask Anwar. “I just want to make sure she’s all right.”
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“What are the chances we could lie down in the yard and just stare at the stars for a while?” I ask, leaning toward Anwar.
“Chances are high, on one condition,” he answers. “We get to cuddle up under some blankets?”
We. I know this is absolutely not the word to focus on in Anwar’s response, but I can’t help it. We. It sounds nice, bouncing around in my brain. So I smile, because this is one condition I can most definitely agree to.
Once we assemble the perfect blanket spread on the back lawn, I feel myself relax into the soft nook beside Anwar. This close, I can smell his comforting scent, somewhere between pine and sea breeze. I then turn my head up and take in the starry sky, spread out before us like a glittering canvas.
For what might be minutes or even hours, I lie beside Anwar in the soft grass of the backyard, feeling his warm body beside mine. We stare up without speaking for so long, it feels like I’ve entered a trance. All that remains is the rustling of the leaves and the glow of the moon and Anwar’s chest rising and falling with every steady breath.
This feels like the most intimate thing two people could possibly do. To be at ease not talking, not moving—to just be together. It requires a special kind of connection, a rare breed of magic. Right now, Anwar and I are wrapped in it.
But it only makes me crave more.
Feeling ready, I turn my head back toward Anwar. I see his gorgeous face smile for just a second before he leans toward me. The second I kiss Anwar, my entire body begins to buzz. His lips are just so soft and taste rich and full, almost like wisps of smoke and cherries. His stubble brushes against my cheek, and suddenly I think I’m kissing a man—a real-live, fully grown man.
I feel Anwar’s hands reach forward and brace against my hips, which is not my favorite feature, so I roll Anwar onto his back and position myself on top of him. I then feel his hands travel to the small of my back—much better.
My chest presses against Anwar’s and I feel him gasp a little, but a good gasp. So I press a little harder, reaching my own hands toward Anwar’s stomach. I don’t mean to, but I manage to slip my hands under his shirt and my fingers find warm skin. I almost pull back, but he just feels so soft. And as I grasp tighter, all I feel is the solid muscle underneath.
Then it’s my turn to gasp.
Anwar turns and buries his lips into my neck, sending a shudder through my body. His hands travel down lower to the arch of my butt, one of my best assets, and I can feel how turned on he is by it. By me.
“I have thought about doing this for a very long time,” Anwar whispers, his breath in my ear.
“Then let’s not wait any longer,” I answer, kissing him again.
This time there’s more passion in the kiss, more urgency. It becomes supercharged, frantic—like we have to have each other.
So we do.
Once again, I have no idea how much time passes. All I know is I now lie in the curve of Anwar’s arm back in our bedroom for the night, my head resting on his chest. We did exactly what I wanted to do—what I was ready to do—and nothing more. And we were safe. With Anwar, that’s how I seem to feel, like the anxiety melts out of my body somehow.
“Why, oh why, did you have to move away all those years ago?” I ask, tilting my head up to face him. When I do, Anwar looks far away, like he’s troubled. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. But can we have another question lightning round?”
“Sure,” I say.
“What do you think happened back at Coupled Cottage?” Anwar asks. “I mean, what really happened. With the lights and the cards and everything else?”
I wish Anwar’s asking this question would magically sprout an answer in my head, but it doesn’t.
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“Honestly? I don’t think there was just one thing happening there, not just one truth unfolding.”
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“Honestly, I still don’t know what I think happened,” I sigh. “Everything happened so fast in that strange place, I have no idea how to begin sorting through what was real and what was imagined.”
I pause, not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry, I know that’s a dissatisfying answer.”
“That’s not a dissatisfying answer at all,” Anwar says.
“Oh. Good,” I reply. “What do you think really happened?”
“I think we were straight-up haunted,” Anwar answers without hesitation. “I think we got exactly what we were asking for, going there. I mean, regular tarot cards tap into something way bigger than us, right? So it makes sense your extra-special deck would supercharge that kind of connection.”
“You really think it was all real?” I ask, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.
“Not all of it, no. I think Lily proved herself to be much more genuine and trustworthy than her mom,” Anwar says. “But it sounds like Lady Azure was more like those Wanderers you met back in Joshua Tree.”
“I guess I’m going to have to get used to these Perillians trying to manipulate me,” I say. “Hiding behind their secrets.”
“Maybe,” Anwar begins. “But if I’ve learned anything about people who go out of their way to tell you they’re ultra-secretive, it’s that they’re usually eager to spill their guts out. Especially devotees like the Perillians. They can’t help themselves.”
Turning this thought over in my mind, I realize Anwar is absolutely right. The Perillians we’ve encountered have claimed to open up to us because we possess the final deck. Sure, they keep the internet scrubbed, but they’ve all been tripping over themselves to share with us how special their knowledge is. Could it be the way they see themselves and the way they actually act are two different things?
If that’s true, it’s something we can use to our advantage on these next two legs of the trip.
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“Lady Azure. Perilli. Lily. Seidon. The five of us. Everyone had their own agenda, their own version of events,” I continue. “Some of it could have been true, some of
it could have been faked. Some of it might have meant to help, some to manipulate. We could probably spend a lot of time untangling that experience. A large part of me really wants to.”
“I sense there’s a but coming, isn’t there?”
“Sure is,” I reply. “A very smart friend told me this recently: Sometimes it doesn’t matter what’s real. What matters is how you let things define your intentions and drive your actions.”
“So how are you going to let this experience drive you, then?” Anwar asks.
“That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? I’m not sure I know yet, except for this: whatever Lady Azure stood for, I’d like to stride in the exact opposite direction.”
“That seems very wise to me.” Anwar smiles. “Out of everything that might have been true on that scary island, I think she was the most fraudulent.”
“That, we can definitely agree on,” I say. “But does that mean you think there was actually some truth there?”
“Yes,” Anwar answers without hesitation. “I’m not saying I understand it, but those tarot cards definitely have some major mojo. And if nothing else, Lady Azure and Lily were pretty willing to share their ‘secret Perillian knowledge’ with us. Maybe it’s because they have respect for that final deck, or because they wanted to take it from you. Or maybe…”
“What?” I ask, when Anwar doesn’t finish.
“Maybe all these Perillians just can’t help themselves,” he finally finishes. “Maybe they’re not really quite as secretive as they’d like to think they are?”
Hearing Anwar’s words, it makes me think of Maggie and Cain, too. So far, all these Perillians like to say they’re only revealing themselves to the worthy. That might be true, but either way, holding this final deck seems to deem us universally worthy. That’s definitely a privilege we can use to our advantage when finding the last two missing cards.
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“Can I ask you another big question?” Anwar says, running his fingers through my curls.
“You know you can.”
Anwar pauses, his eyes scanning like he is trying to find the right words.
“Is there a world where maybe it might be a blessing in disguise if one of these Perillians happened to get the deck?”
This question jolts me. I prop myself up, needing to see Anwar’s face clearly.
“No,” I say plainly. “Why would you ask that?”
“I mean, think of all the turmoil it has caused. What you told me about Joshua Tree. What the Baxter siblings said about Lady Azure. The rift between Chase and Logan. You doubting your grandmother. That deck just seems to stir up trouble.”
Anwar locks eyes with me then, looking deadly serious.
“I don’t know, do you think maybe Perilli’s final deck is… cursed?”
That’s a wild thought. I’m not sure I believe such a thing is even possible, but it’s hard to argue that this deck does seem to have some kind of chaotic quality—a disruptive force, once it enters your life. Then again, every one of us involved has made the choice to empower the deck this way. To idolize this physical thing made by another person, an artist with intentions of his own.
“No, I don’t think the deck is cursed,” I answer. “But your point is taken—I need to remember it for what it is: cardstock and ink and paint. The powerful thing about it is the ideas it represents, the relationships and the history it carries.”
“If you say so,” Anwar says, settling his head back down. “Really, I was only thinking that because it’d be nice to have an excuse to never leave this bed.”
I smile at Anwar, because that last thought is a nice one. His other thought, however, lingers like a mud stain. I decide, quickly, to let it go. Anwar is new to this and he means well, but he doesn’t fully understand how deep this deck goes for me. There’s so much left to do, so many more miles to travel and questions to answer—I could never let the cards go before it’s finished. That said, right now this respite also feels very necessary.
So, kissing Anwar again, I resolve to enjoy it for every second it lasts.
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“Oh, of course,” Anwar says.
“Great, be right back,” I say, standing up.
A few steps later I enter the kitchen to find Cleo rummaging for a midnight snack.
“I stashed the sour gummy worms in that cabinet,” I say, pointing.
Cleo turns and smiles at me. “Am I that obvious?”
“Rarely. You also usually sleep like you really mean it.”
“I know,” Cleo sighs, pulling out our candy stash. “I just have a lot on my mind after yesterday.”
“Glad I’m not the only one,” I reply. “Well, not glad. But you know what I mean.”
Cleo sits at the table and opens up the bag of gummies, when she sees the back deck light on.
“Did you leave Anwar out there to come check on me?” she asks, a warm grin spreading across her face.
“Of course I did,” I answer.
Cleo looks at me with that familiar expression. Like she sees all of me somehow, and every bit is magical.
“So while I’m doing the checking, want to tell me what’s up?” I ask.
Cleo chews away at a gummy worm, her lips puckering before answering.
“Just thinking about all the new friends we made yesterday. And how little I trust any of them.”
My stomach drops. “Wait, are you talking about Anwar?”
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I tilt my head. “Do you mean everything with Lady Azure and Lily at Coupled Cottage?”
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“Well, if you really want to know…” Cleo answers, hesitant.
“I do!” I say, not really sure I actually mean it.
“So, don’t you get this feeling like…” Cleo tries. “Like he’s always playing a version of himself, instead of just being himself?”
This question jars me. That’s not at all how I’ve seen Anwar.
“I mean, aren’t we all doing that?” I respond.
“No. Actually, that’s what I love about you, Amelia,” Cleo says. “You don’t know how to be anything other than yourself at all times.”
I find a way to smile, even though my brain branches to process Cleo’s words.
“I don’t know, it’s like at Coupled Cottage when I didn’t trust the Baxters,” Cleo continues before I can respond. “I just don’t get the right vibe from Anwar.”
Cleo says the words and I feel my entire body react.
I really, really like Anwar. Which means I really, really want my best friends to like Anwar, too. But what if they’re seeing something I’m not? Is there some disingenuous reason he is here? Or is my instinct that someone like him couldn’t possibly be into someone like me totally correct?
Just minutes ago, I felt somewhat calm, finally. How can Cleo topple that in the span of seconds, with just a few words?
“Amelia, are you okay?” Cleo asks. “Should I not have said anything?”
“Of course not,” I respond immediately. “You can always tell me anything.”
I mean the words, I do. At the same time, I have no idea where to put this new storm of emotions Cleo has whipped up. I feel a pulse of frustration, against my will. Chase and Cleo are always telling me to be more cautious, but what if they should both be more open, more inviting? I try not to give in to this impulse, however, because I know anger is always the surface expression of some deeper emotion. I’m probably feeling hurt by Cleo’s disapproval. Or wounded by her implied judgment of my own judgment. And maybe part of me is terrified that Cleo is actually… right?
Then there’s this feeling, a voice in my head I can’t ignore. It still feels like there’s more Cleo wants to say on this subject. Could there be some other reason she doesn’t want Anwar around?
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“Yes, of course,” Cleo answers, after a slight pause.
“It turns out you were totally right to be skeptical of Lady Azure,” I sigh. “Whatever el
se she might believe or possess, she only brought us to that island to try to manipulate us.”
“I’m not as surprised by that,” Cleo replies. “I mean, she screamed fraud to me from the jump. I’m more conflicted about Lily.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“Well, I want to write her off as an accomplice to her mom, but the way she stuck up for us in the end…”
“It makes you believe she was being honest the whole time?” I ask.
“Honest at least about honoring Perilli’s wishes to help us find the card,” Cleo answers. “The rest, I don’t know.”
“You mean the whole medium thing?”
“No. I mean, I believe Lily wasn’t lying about that. She believes she is a medium. What that means in reality, we can’t really know.”
“So you mean the conversation she forced on you?” I finally say, feeling silly for not getting there sooner. “That unsolicited gender advice she offered?”
“Yeah,” Cleo says, pulling another worm loose. “She might have been over-stepping, but once again, that doesn’t mean she was wrong.”
Suddenly, all I want to do is wrap my arms around Cleo and tell her everything is going to be okay. The impulse is so strong, it takes me completely by surprise. I’ve never felt this protective of anyone, not even Chase. And certainly not Anwar.
And suddenly, I have no idea what that means, underneath it all.
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Just then, the door to the back deck opens and Anwar enters.
“Hope I’m not interrupting?” he asks. “Was just getting lonely out there.”
“Of course not!” I reply a little too loudly. I clear my throat, course correcting. “We were just talking about yesterday.”
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