The 7th Tarot Card

by Valerie Clay

  You could say I lost my sense of direction

  You could say all of this and worse but

  If I ever lose my faith in you

  There’d be nothing left for me to do . . .

  The windshield wipers moved back and forth in perfect tempo with the song, Judah beat gentle time with his finger on the steering wheel, and I was transported to another place. It was as if the universe opened up a window just for a moment to reveal a glimpse into something . . . more, letting me know that everything was under control. I watched Judah out of the corner of my eye as he softly mouthed the words to the song. Who was this man? I wondered, and why did he touch my heart so?

  All good things must come to an end, as they say, and we arrived home far too soon. By now the rain was coming down in buckets, so we made a run for it across the parking lot and up the stairs, laughing, trying not to drop our bags and our precious take-out.

  I grabbed a half bottle of chardonnay from the fridge and quickly set the table. It wasn’t until I was finally feeling relaxed, and we were almost through with dinner that Judah asked me about my meeting at the police station. As the wind picked up outside, and the rain beat loudly against the window panes, I related to him the grim facts Hutch had discovered, and the decision I needed to make.

  “What do you think I should do?” I put down my fork and asked him.

  Judah sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t make that decision for you. Only you can do that.”

  I leaned forward and looked beseechingly at him. “Okay I understand, but what would you do if it were you?”

  “If it were me,” he responded thoughtfully, wiping his mouth with his napkin, “I’d want to take control of the situation, contact him and setup a meeting. Make him think it’s his idea. Let him pick the time and place. The sooner this gets resolved, the better. But then, that’s me.”

  I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the back of the chair, and massaged my temples. “I can’t spend the rest of my life waiting in fear, wondering if he’s lingering around the next corner. I just want to get this over with.” And in that instant, my decision was made. I stood up, resolutely crossed over to my purse, and pulled out my cell phone.

  Judah followed me with his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m replying to his last text message and asking him to call me.” I opened the message, hit reply, then texted, “Please call me. I’d like to talk.”

  “You’re a strong woman, Victoria,” Judah said as he got up and carried his dishes into the kitchen.

  I forced a smile. I wasn’t feeling very strong. In fact, I was already beginning to regret my brash decision as I trailed him into the kitchen. He set his dishes on the counter, then asked me for my tool box and drill.

  While I straightened up the kitchen and did the dishes, Judah went to work installing my new deadbolt lock. His capable hands moved quickly, I observed, sneaking peeks here and there. Clearly he knew his way around a drill and carpentry tools. With his long graceful fingers he measured, cut, smoothed down the rough edges of the door jamb with sandpaper, then applied the hardware and fastened it securely. As I wiped dry and tucked away the last dish, he put the finishing touches on the lock and called to me to come see his handiwork.

  Hands on hips, he stepped away from the door, giving me room to survey his masterpiece. “Well, what do you think?” he asked proudly.

  “As locks go, it’s a beauty,” I replied beaming up at him with admiration. He tossed me the new key, which, miraculously, I was able to snatch out of the air, then he told me to try it out.

  I stepped outside onto the porch, closed and locked the door. When I tried the key again, the bolt moved smoothly in and out. The shiny new hardware, gleaming in the glow of my porch light, looked as if it had been professionally installed. Unexpectedly, overcome with gratitude for Judah’s help, I found myself welling up again. The sad truth was, I was turning into an unhinged, emotional marshmallow of a woman.

  I came back in and turned to him, my eyes wet with tears. He took one look at me and immediately stiffened. “You’re not going to get all melty again are you? Just being a good neighbor. That’s all.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, swiping at my eyes. “I’m not usually a crier. It’s been a stressful day. It’s been a stressful week. I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “You can thank me by pouring another glass of wine,” he said as he returned the tools and drill to their boxes. Meticulously, he placed each item in its corresponding location, then securely latched the cases.

  “Well, you work for cheap, but sure.” I went to my wine cellar, AKA my refrigerator vegetable drawer, but came up empty. Then I checked my last remaining wine storage space, the oven. Nothing.

  I found Judah, arms crossed, staring intently into my over-stuffed linen closet, trying to decide where to put my tools. I told him, “Just lift up a towel or something and shove them anywhere they’ll fit.” He shook his head, shifted some sheets and made a spot for them.

  “So, bad news,” I continued. “I’m completely out of wine. Guess that was my last bottle. The only thing I have left is a little tequila. But it’s very good tequila. Bought it in Puerto Vallarta. I only drink it on special occasions.”

  He smiled. “Tequila works. Any port in a storm—literally.”

  I went into the kitchen and cut up a lemon, then filled two of my very best glasses with ice, poured generous amounts of the precious libation in each, dropped in the lemon wedges, and handed a glass to Judah. He lifted his drink in a toast and said, “To the strong and brave Victoria.”

  “Hah! If only that were true.” We clinked glasses, then I took a big swallow and coughed. A dull rumbling of thunder rolled across the heavens and the lights flickered as we moved into the living room.

  I turned to face him. “Don’t worry, the electricity never goes out in this complex. But then, I guess you’d know that, wouldn’t you?

  He smiled. “I would.”

  Drink in hand, I casually walked over to the sliding glass doors and stood looking out into the turbulent night sky. A flash from a jagged bolt of lightning lit up the room, followed by terrible crash of thunder that rattled my windows and vibrated through the floorboards. Instantly, I made a beeline back to Judah, now seated on the couch. With one big gulp, as ladylike as possible, I finished off the rest of my drink, coughed again, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  Judah observed me with cool amusement. “Looks like you need a refill.”

  I was about to decline, when the lights flickered again, then went out, plunging us into complete darkness. A couple of seconds later, they came back on, so I took the opportunity to track down some matches and lit a pillar candle in a hurricane lamp on my fireplace mantle. Judah disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with the bottle of tequila and set it down on the coffee table.

  Just as we sat down again, several flashes of lightning lit up the room, followed quickly by deafening thunder claps. And, for a second time, and the lights went out, but this time they stayed out. The wind was stronger now. A thunderstorm of this magnitude was unusual for Seattle, and I impulsively inched closer to Judah. The room seemed to be getting warmer, or was that the alcohol?

  In the soft radiance of the candlelit room, the only sounds were the steady beat of rain against the windows and the rumbling thunder. The very sort of evening that in another time and place would have been sensual, romantic.

  “So,” I began, as I reached for the tequila bottle and refilled our glasses, “what do you want to do while we’re sitting here in the dark waiting for the mark to call?”

  “The mark?”

  “Isn’t that what they call ’em in the criminal world?” I was beginning to feel a touch better, now that the tequila had kicked in.

  Judah shook his head and smiled. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Of course not.”

  He ignored my comment and continued, “We could al
ways play a game of strip poker.”

  I shot him a look of disbelief. “What!? I’m not playing strip poker with you. Unless . . .” Little wheels started turning in my alcohol-soaked brain.

  “Unless what?” He leaned forward and gave me a deadly smile.

  “Unless—how about this? If you win a hand, I take something off. If I win, you have to answer a question.”

  “Seems fair,” he responded, his voice confident, bordering on cockiness. “I should warn you though, I’m pretty good at poker.”

  I just smiled innocently back at him. So was I. Back in college, I was the all-time poker champ of my sorority. It was one of my better talents, second only to my ability to handle my tequila.

  I fumbled through the shadows to my purse, resting on the table near the front door, and pulled my cow flashlight from the side pocket. As I lit my way into the kitchen and rummaged through my junk drawer the cow light mooed repeatedly. No doubt Judah was rolling his eyes in the dark.

  After a short search, I found my cards and returned to the dining room table. It was too dark to see well, so I lit another candle, my pink ‘romance’ candle that Laini suggested I buy when I first signed up for e-soulmate.com. Seated on a lovely rose quartz base (for added power), it’s supposed to attract love into your life. I felt it best not to divulge that little tidbit of information to Judah, since any mention of romance or intimacy would send him flying out of my condo like a crazed banshee. I placed the candle in the center of the table as Judah carried our glasses over from the living room and set them down on coasters. We took our seats on opposite sides of the table, eyeing one another warily in the soft sphere of candlelight.

  “Okay, what shall we play?” I asked as I began shuffling the cards. Anticipation flowed through me. This was my big chance to finally get some answers from this secretive man.

  “How about Five Card Stud?” he suggested as he picked up his glass and took a swig.

  “Sounds good. I’ll deal.” I passed each of us four cards and stopped. “Um, I forget, how many cards do we need—six or eight?”

  He looked at me. “Five, as in five card stud.”

  “Oh, duh, of course.” I finished dealing the cards then gazed innocently up at him. He was staring at me the way a lion stares patiently, but intently, at a cluster of antelope, waiting for the weakest of the herd to lag behind. The reflection from the flickering candlelight glistened in his dark eyes.

  He picked up his cards and carefully examined them, his expression unreadable in the muted, shifting shadows. Another thunderclap sounded off in the distance as I assessed my dismal hand: a two of diamonds, a two of hearts, an eight of clubs, a jack of spades, and a queen of diamonds.

  “Do you want to go first?” I asked, studying my cards.

  “Yes. You dealt, so I would go first,” he instructed tolerantly.

  “Right, sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve played.” Not true.

  “No problem,” he said, and asked for three cards, a good sign that his hand wasn’t all that hot either. Then it was my turn and I smiled broadly.

  “I have fabulous cards—must be beginner’s luck. Oh, was I not supposed to say that? Anyway, I’m going to up the ante. If I win, you have to answer ten questions.”

  “Ten questions? If you lose, you don’t have ten things you could take off.”

  I made a mental calculation. “Okay, nine then.”

  “Nine? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  He looked skeptical, “Let’s just take it one thing at a time. Don’t want the game to be over too quickly do you?”

  “I guess you have a point. Okay one. So, are you ready to lose? Feels like you’re stalling.”

  He shot me a distrustful glance. “Fine, I fold, let’s see your hand.”

  “Yay, I win!” I smiled in triumph as I quickly shoved my cards back into the pile and started shuffling, ignoring his request. I took another sip of tequila and looked up to find him frowning at me. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Okay,” I began, “here’s my question. Why do you wear a gun?”

  “For protection.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Yes it is. You asked me why I wear a gun, and I told you. If you wanted more information, you should have asked a better question, like “Do I have a permit to carry a gun?”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh, no, no, no, you had your turn, and now it’s over. Deal.”

  Damn.

  I dealt the cards again, and this time I really did have a good hand, a straight flush: a ten, a jack, a queen, a king, and an ace, all in different suits. Maybe I should consider going back to Vegas.

  “Hah! I win again,” I said. “Oops, I mean, do you want any cards?”

  He regarded me suspiciously. “Okay, I fold again, but this time, I want to see your cards. Put them on the table.” I placed the cards face up on the table in front of him.

  “Read ’em and weep, baby,” I said triumphantly.

  Judah sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and looked me up and down, reassessing me. His expression was a mixture of amusement and newfound respect.

  “Okay,” I tried again. “Next question: Do you have a permit to carry a gun?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? That’s a non-answer. Yes or no?”

  “It’s complicated, and that would require another, more specific question.” I narrowed my eyes at him and dealt the next hand.

  This time Lady Luck had abandoned me. I had terrible cards and was afraid to try another bluff. He must have had good cards because he wanted to up the ante, so I folded right away.

  “Okay, off with something,” he ordered. I slid my watch off my arm and placed it on the table.

  “A watch is not an article of clothing. That’s not fair,” he said flatly.

  “It’s just as fair as your ‘not exactly’ answer.”

  He blew out a sigh, then picked up the cards and began shuffling. While he dealt the cards, I checked the time on my cell phone. It was well after nine o’clock. Where was that stupid stalker? I couldn’t handle the suspense much longer and the tequila was vanishing at an alarming rate.

  I picked up my cards and read them. They weren’t pretty. I tried another bluff, but Judah called it and I had to fold in desperation.

  “Let’s see. You owe me two things.” He smiled in unabashed satisfaction. “May I suggest your sweater and whatever you have under it?”

  I slipped off both shoes. “There you go.”

  “Shoes? Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack. Deal.”

  He knocked back the last of his tequila. “You know, Victoria, when I first met you, I thought you were so sweet and nice. And now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I see that you’re really a smartass.”

  “Thank you, Judah. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I thought you would.”

  “Quit stalling and deal.” I took another sip, and watched him carefully over the top of my glass.

  He dealt the cards and the stakes were high. Perspiration began to bead up on my forehead. If he won again, I was in big trouble.

  Mercifully, I had a great hand—four of a kind—so I tried to up the ante but he folded.

  I took my time, sizing him up, considering the best possible question I could ask. I looked him hard in the eye, put my arms on the table, leaned in and asked, “Okay, as an independent contractor, who was your most recent employer?” Excellent question, if I do say so myself.

  He hesitated, and I could see that I finally had him. The proverbial worm had turned. His jaw tightened, he sighed, then began to speak when the shrill ring of my cell phone cut through the room like a Ginsu knife through a tomato soup can. Our eyes met as I reached for my phone to check the caller ID.

  “Unknown caller,” I said.

  Judah grasped my arm before I answered it. “Remember, you don’t kno
w who he is. Try and get him to agree to meet you somewhere. Just be cool. You can do it.” I gave him a feeble smile, flipped open the phone with a trembling hand and held it to my ear.

  “Hello?” I said softly.

  “Hello, Victoria.” The voice was low, creepy, taunting.

  “Who is this?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “I think you know who this is.”

  “I don’t know your name. What should I call you?”

  “Aw come on. Don’t you remember me? I’m hurt.” He was toying with me, enjoying the moment.

  “I’m sorry; I don’t recognize your voice. I’ve got a terrible memory.”

  “For now, why don’t you just call me Darling?”

  “Okay . . . Darling,” I said sweetly, rolling my eyes. What a loon. “I wanted to thank you for the flowers and the CD. They—those lovely gifts—were very kind of you.”

  Waiting for his response, I picked up my glass and took a slug of tequila. No response came, so I pressed on. “Anyway, I thought it was time that we met. Have a glass of wine together. What do you think?” I looked at Judah and he nodded, showing his approval, encouraging me onward.

  Again, no response, so I said, “Are you still there?”

  “You want to have a drink with me?” he finally said.

  “Yes, anywhere you’d like. You pick the place and time.” Silence again, but this time I waited. I glanced at Judah. He was beginning to look a little blurry. It’s possible I may not be able to hold my tequila as well as I once did. I felt a teeny bit tipsy. Maybe more than a teeny bit, but my nerves had calmed, which was the important thing.

  “Is this some kind of trick?” Darling said at last. The taunting was now gone, replaced by mistrust, bordering on hostility.

  I tried to keep my voice light and casual. “No trick. I just wanted to meet you and say thank you in person. You really have my curiosity aroused.”

  “What about your boyfriend?” He stressed the word boyfriend, the tone of his voice sarcastic and edgy.