Illegal Fortunes

by Sabrina Stark

  "That doesn't make me feel better."

  "Neither will this," Bishop said. "He had his eye on another girl." Bishop made a sound of disgust. "Nine fucking years old."

  "Oh my God," I said. "How do you know?"

  "I know. Let's leave it at that."

  I pushed away as something else occurred to me. I glanced around the book room. "Hey, how'd you get in here?"

  "Would you believe the door was unlocked?"

  "No."

  "Why not?" he said.

  "Because I locked it myself."

  "Maybe you didn't lock it good enough." His gaze met mine. "You want me to leave?"

  "What if I say yes?"

  "Then I will."

  I swallowed. "And what if I say no?"

  It was the middle of the night. He shouldn't even be here. Not that Crystal would care either way. Probably, if she caught us screwing on the coffee counter, she'd be relieved. But I wasn't quite ready for that, and didn't want to lead Bishop on.

  "If you want me to stay," he said, "then I'll stay."

  I glanced toward his mid-section. "Shouldn't you be home in bed? I mean, you're probably not up for anything but sleep, right?"

  "Come here," he said, gathering me close. "I'm up for whatever you want. You sleepy?"

  I wasn't. I nodded anyway.

  As we lay back together on the sofa, I thought about everything he'd told me. He shouldn't have told me any of that. And honestly, I still didn't get why he did.

  "Bishop?" I said.

  "Hmm?"

  "Are you always this forthcoming?"

  "No."

  "Why were you tonight? It seems an awful risk."

  "Lawton said you were asking about another girl."

  "So?"

  "So, you've gotta know, there is no one else. It's why I came back. To tell you. I don't want anyone else. Just you."

  "But why me?" I said.

  "You've gotta ask?" I felt his hand on my back and heard his voice, soft, in my ear. "I've never met anyone like you."

  "Then you must not get out a lot," I said.

  "Trust me," he said. "I get out plenty."

  Now that, I believed.

  That night, I slept in his arms and woke in the morning to find him gone, with the coffee shop door locked behind him. He should've scared the pants off me. Instead, he thrilled me beyond all reason. And we still hadn't done more than kiss.

  He was like two different people, and I was falling for both of them. I knew I should run. But somehow, I couldn't make myself back away.

  And so I didn't.

  Chapter 38

  The sky was just turning pink when I hit Indianapolis, the half-way point of the twelve-hour drive. I took the bypass around the city and felt my shoulders relax. South of Indy, I rarely hit snow. By mid-morning, I'd left the flats of Southern Indiana for the blue hills of Kentucky.

  Just before noon on Sunday, I pulled up to the hillside condo I shared with a roommate. I exited the car and took a deep breath of the balmy air. I popped the trunk and pulled out my suitcase. A couple of joggers huffed past wearing sweatpants and pullovers.

  Maybe it was chilly by their standards, but they hadn't spent the last couple weeks in the tundra.

  I found Riley, my roommate, flopped on the sofa reading a book about Egyptian artifacts. She wore faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt, with her long blonde hair tied in a loose knot.

  Riley had been my first friend when I moved South, and had become my very best friend since. Hers was the first and only place I'd lived in Alabama.

  Originally, it was supposed to be just for a couple months. "Just until the wedding," she'd said at the time. The wedding never took place. She'd been through three fiancés since.

  Her warm Southern voice was music to my ears. While I'd been gone, we'd been trading texts, along with a couple of phone messages, but we were long overdue for some serious girl talk.

  I sank onto the easy chair across from her. In relaying the week's events to Riley, I felt a heavy burden lift from my shoulders.

  She was familiar with the store, my fellow fortune tellers, and the city itself, having joined me on a few trips North. But unlike Riverside residents, she brought an outsider's perspective I sometimes lacked.

  "This Scruffy person," she said. "Is he well-off financially?"

  "He sure doesn't look it," I said.

  "Then how's he paying all those picketers?"

  "A dozen guys, fifty bucks a day? Got me."

  "You think fortune telling's that important to him?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "He acts that way in front of a crowd."

  "But?"

  "But when there's no audience, it's like he couldn't care less. And here's something else. The last few days, he wasn't even at the store most of the day – just first thing in the morning and last thing in the afternoon."

  "To picket?"

  "Not even," I said. "It's like his picketers work nine to five, and he shows up to check their timecards. You know what I think?"

  "What?"

  "That Scruffy isn't the one actually paying them."

  "You planning to ask him?"

  "Maybe," I said. "It depends on how desperate I get."

  "Or how mad," she said. "I almost feel sorry for him."

  "Oh stop it," I said. "I've mellowed a lot since moving South."

  "What about Bishop?" she asked. "Has he mellowed?"

  I laughed. "Yeah, right."

  "But you said you saw him, right? How'd he look?"

  "Pretty darn good," I admitted.

  She smiled. "Good enough to eat?"

  "I'm not that hungry."

  Riley drifted into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. "I remember when you first moved here," she said. "You didn't say much, but he was always there."

  I followed her. I needed something. I didn’t know what. A cookie maybe? The cupboards were a disappointment, but the freezer didn't let me down. I found an unopened box of chocolate cupcakes. "Bingo," I said, tearing open the box.

  "Do you know how long you lived here before you told me the whole story?" Riley asked.

  I bit into the cupcake. "About Bishop? How long?"

  "Five months and three days."

  "Not like anyone's counting."

  "I remember," she said, "because you told me about him the day I called off the wedding."

  I laughed. "Which one?"

  "You know which one, smarty-pants." She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. "Remember what you told me?"

  "No. What?"

  "You said you can't change anyone, and it's a waste of time to even try."

  "Whoever said that was really smart," I said. "Maybe even a smarty-pants."

  "If you're that smart," Riley said, "you'd know you're not through with Bishop yet." She took a small sip of her coffee. "And I suspect he's not through with you either."

  "Oh, we're through alright," I said. "But he's up to no good, I can tell."

  Chapter 39

  I spent the next few days catching up on everything I'd missed while in Michigan. With a photo shoot Monday and a press conference Friday, I couldn't return North even if I wanted to.

  Besides, I didn't want to. Between the freezing weather, picketing jailbirds, and an ex-boyfriend complicating everything, Alabama was looking pretty good.

  But I couldn't stay South forever. At eight o'clock Sunday night, I woke from my pre-drive nap and started packing. I was halfway through when Riley stopped at my doorway to watch.

  I burrowed deep into my closet. I pulled out a pile of sweaters and threw them on the bed.

  "How many sweaters do you need?" Riley asked.

  "A lot."

  Kenny, Riley's latest boyfriend, emerged from Riley's bedroom, toweling his thick brown hair. He eyed the pile on the bed. "It can't be that cold."

  "Wanna bet?" I said. "In the North, there's a saying. The weak move South." I dumped an armful of socks onto the pile. "That's me."

  "You?
Weak?" Riley said. "Tell that to the guy who jumped us in the mall parking lot."

  Riley turned to Kenny. "He pulled a knife on us. Poor guy."

  "Poor guy?" Kenny repeated. "What do you mean?"

  "He wasn't prepared for Selena."

  Kenny turned to stare at me. "You subdued a guy with a knife?"

  I shrugged. "He was holding it wrong."

  "How so?" Kenny asked.

  I grabbed a letter opener from the desk. I held it like a flashlight, pointing the blade toward Kenny. "Like this."

  "What's wrong with that?" he asked.

  "He should've been holding it this way." I flipped the letter opener, hugging the blade to my forearm. "This," I explained, "is how you hold a knife."

  Raising the knife, I flicked my wrist outward to the stabbing position. After a couple of imaginary stabs, I thrust out my elbow, using my raised forearm to block an imaginary blow. "See?" I explained. "Stab, then block." I tossed the letter opener onto my desk. "It's a lot harder if you're holding it wrong."

  "See what I mean?" Riley said.

  Kenny nodded. He turned back to me. "Who taught you that?"

  "My ex-boyfriend," I said.

  "He came from a rough family," Riley said.

  "Guess so," Kenny said.

  "Want to know happened to the guy's knife?" Riley asked. "The guy at the mall, I mean?"

  "What?" Kenny asked.

  "It went flying when Selena clobbered him."

  "With what?" Kenny asked.

  "A bag of thermoses," I said. "Christmas gifts."

  Kenny looked from me to Riley. "So the knife goes flying, and then what?"

  Riley laughed. "So Selena chases him down and beats him with her shoe."

  "Just 'til the police came," I clarified. I stood back to give my bedroom the once-over. "You know, I really do have bad luck with shoes."

  Riley pointed to my desk. "That's not nailed down," she said. "Maybe you should pack that up too."

  "Hey, I'm not taking everything," I said.

  She rolled her eyes. "Everything but the guns." She glanced toward my closet. "The whole dozen."

  "Oh stop it," I said. "I didn't even want them." I gave her a friendly smirk. "But hey, feel free to use them while I'm gone."

  Kenny put his arm around Riley. "This pretty little thing?" he said. "Why does she need guns when she has me?"

  Poor Kenny. He was a nice guy. I calculated how long they'd been together. He'd be packing his own bags in just a few weeks. Kenny did not know this. Riley did not know this. I'd eat my letter opener if it didn't happen right on schedule.

  "For the record," I told Kenny, "she's exaggerating about the guns. I only have three. All gifts."

  "Who buys someone a gun for a present?" Kenny asked.

  I counted off on three fingers. "My brothers, my dad and my ex-boyfriend."

  "Nice," Kenny said, looking like he meant it.

  "It wasn't that nice," I said. "I was a lousy shot, and they never let me forget it."

  "Not anymore," Riley said, turning to Kenny. "All that teasing ticked her off. Now she's like Annie Oakley or something."

  I wasn't Annie Oakley. But I hated being bad at anything, especially something Bishop was good at. If only he had taken the same approach. He might have used his brains for something productive.

  I stood back and glanced at my suitcase, still sitting empty on the floor. I eyed the provisions on the bed. No way all those things would fit. I folded the edges of the comforter over my pile, making a Santa-sack. I hefted it over my shoulder and staggered out of the bedroom.

  "You're leaving now?" Kenny said, picking up my laptop case. "Need any help?"

  "No thanks," I said, taking my laptop from him. "I'm good."

  "Shouldn't you wait 'til morning?" he asked. "Drive when it's light out?"

  "It's supposed to snow tomorrow," I said. "I've gotta leave before it hits."

  "Some Yankee you are," Kenny said. "Shouldn't you be braggin' on how you can drive through a blizzard with your eyes shut?"

  "You’ve got the wrong Yankee," I said. "One snowflake, and I drive like crap."

  I said my goodbyes and headed out. I popped the trunk and tossed in the comforter, along with its contents. If all went well, I'd arrive at The Crystal Moon by mid-morning the next day.

  Driving, the long, quiet road offered few distractions from my thoughts, particularly of Bishop. I still owed him that favor. In a just a few weeks, it would be time for him to collect. I tried not to think about it.

  I cranked up the stereo. This time, it didn't help. I popped in an audio-book, but quickly lost track of the plot. I tore open a bag of chips. I crunched like a madwoman. It didn't help. I gave up and replayed the night that had changed everything.

  Chapter 40

  By late July, Bishop was spending practically every night in the coffee shop.

  There was petting. Lots of petting, along with kisses and caresses that made my core melt and my panties slick with excitement. But somehow, just when I expected him to push for more, he always pulled back – suggesting we get some fresh air, play two-handed poker, or worst of all, actually sleep.

  As the days progressed, I moved most of my stuff from the open upstairs area to a narrow storage room just off the book room. The room had high windows, a tall ceiling, and most importantly, a lock on the door.

  I had spread out a pile of quilts, where I camped out with Bishop almost every night, feeling safe and happy as he held me close.

  As far as Crystal, she didn't seem to find this unusual at all. She'd always been a hands-off type of mom. Sometimes, it used to bother me. Not anymore. Now, I basked in the freedom of her casual parenting style.

  Either she knew that Bishop and I weren't going all the way, or more likely, she was hoping I would go all the way, and she'd be spared the concern of having an eighteen-year-old daughter who was still a virgin.

  About Bishop, I didn't know what to think. I knew he liked me. And I knew he was attracted to me. But he never made any of the classic moves I might have expected.

  Did I want more? Honestly, I didn't know. My body wanted more. But somehow, my brain kept reminding me that I'd only known him for a few weeks, a fraction of the time I'd dated my last boyfriend.

  One steamy Thursday night, Bishop and I were sprawled out on those comfy quilts while Crystal slept upstairs. We were dealing what felt like our hundredth hand of poker when Bishop said, "How come you've never told my fortune?"

  I looked up. "Because you never asked. You want me to?"

  I'd finally given in to Crystal's pleading, and was now giving Tarot readings professionally. Turns out, it was a smart decision. I earned a commission off every reading, and the money was starting to add up.

  Every day, the store got just a few more customers, some for coffee, and more for readings. In just a few short weeks, I'd managed to replenish a decent chunk of the money she'd borrowed, along with some for extras when I got to Florida State.

  There was only one problem. The thought of actually moving so far away was sounding worse with every minute. I hadn't told Bishop, and honestly, didn't know if I could.

  How would he take it? I didn't know. But I knew one thing. I'd be crushed either way. If he took it badly, I'd never have the willpower to leave. And if he took it fine, well, that might be worse.

  I was falling for him. I was falling for him hard. When I landed, I was in big trouble, no matter where I was living.

  Sprawled out across from me, Bishop glanced at the playing cards. "When you tell someone's fortune, are those the cards you use?"

  "I could," I said, "but normally, I use actual Tarot cards. Want me to get them?"

  He gave a half-shrug. "If you want to."

  For all his casual air, I knew there was more to this story. Either someone wanted a reading, or they didn't. For whatever reason, Bishop obviously did, even if he wouldn't come right out and say it.

  "Hang on," I said, rising to get my deck.

  When
I returned, Bishop was sprawled across the quilts, watching for me. "I like the way you move," he said.

  I couldn't help but laugh. "How do I move?"

  "Like you have someplace to be, and can't wait to get there."

  I reclaimed my spot opposite him and gave him a good long look.

  He was wearing jeans and a thin grey T-shirt. One of his arms was bent at the elbow, propping up his head as I sat across from him. His bicep, bulging against the cotton fabric, was just one of the things making it hard for me to focus on anything to do with the cards.

  "Well, I was returning to you," I said.

  "Good thing," he said, "because I know where you live."

  I looked around the shabby little room. "I wouldn't brag about that if I were you."

  He glanced at the cards. "So, how'd you end up a fortune teller?"

  "Well obviously, it runs in the family." I showed him the cards. "See this deck? I got it for my tenth birthday."

  "Why cards?" he said. "Why not a crystal ball?"

  I laughed. "I have one of those too."

  "No shit?"

  "No shit. I got that when I turned twelve."

  "You use it?"

  "Not too often."

  "Why not?"

  "I like the cards better." I began to shuffle. "I always liked card games, so I guess it's a good fit, right?"

  "You ever use them on yourself?"

  "Sometimes. Not a lot though."

  "Why not? You don't believe in them?"

  I hated that question. If I said yes, I was a flake. If I said no, I was a fraud. I settled for the truth. "I've got to believe. They're scary accurate."

  "No kidding?"

  "No kidding," I said. "But you've got to be careful with these things."

  "Yeah? Why?"

  "Because if you're not careful, the cards can change everything."

  "Yeah?"

  "Totally. Because the future isn't set in stone."

  He grinned over at me. "I love the way you talk."

  "Walk and talk?' I said. "If you want to see something really amazing, you should watch me do both at the same time."

  He put on his amazed face. "You can do that?"

  "Yeah. But it's really hard."

  "So about the cards?" he said.