Tarotica Page 8

  A large chunk of smoky quartz sat on the dresser; an amethyst cluster rested on the nightstand. More crystals perched on the windowsill, twinkling in the late afternoon sun.

  They reminded her of the crystals in the secret pyramid she’d visited with Lancelot Lucas. That memory triggered a pleasant tingling between her legs. I’ll think about that later, she told herself, pushing the images aside . She washed her face and brushed her hair, then went back downstairs to join her uncle.

  More crystals adorned Uncle Bright’s living room and kitchen. Stones of various sizes, shapes, and colors rested on every surface. Clear quartz pillars as big as half-gallon milk cartons stood like sentries on the mantel. A bowling ball-sized sphere shone on the coffee table. The house seemed to buzz with their energy. He doesn’t think of them as pretty baubles, she reminded herself, they’re his extended family.

  “We’re having roast chicken, yellow squash, green beans, and salad. Hope that’s okay,” Uncle Bright said. “You get to sample my first tomatoes of the summer.”

  “Sounds great,” she answered, trying not to picture the capon they were about to eat walking around in the yard this morning. “How can I help?”

  “You can set the table.”

  Miranda laid out placemats, silverware, plates, and glasses. In her uncle’s sideboard she found a stash of candles. On impulse, she fitted two beeswax tapers into brass holders and placed them on the table. Then she helped carry platters and bowls brimming with food to the dining room.

  Omar took up residence beside Uncle Bright’s chair, hoping for a handout. His tail beat a steady rhythm, like a metronome, on the pine floor.

  “I want to hear all about your travels,” her uncle said as he spooned homegrown vegetables onto their plates.

  “So far this trip has been everything and nothing that I’d expected.”

  She recounted her visits to the usual tourist sites—Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert—leaving out potentially eyebrow-raising segments. As she filled Uncle Bright in on her journey and the interesting people she’d met, she considered ways to explain her relationship with Eli. I’m not even sure about it myself, she had to admit. Maybe I’ll save that discussion for another time.

  When she’d finished her travelogue, he asked, “How’s everyone back home?”

  Miranda took a second helping of chicken. “Okay, I guess,” feeling herself stiffen.

  “Are you getting along any better with your mom and Kelly, now that Danny’s gone?”

  While her father was sick, Uncle Bright came back to Salem several times to visit.

  He’d been a great help to her, especially at the end. A lot more help than my mother and sister, she thought bitterly. “I really haven’t seen much of them since the funeral,” she answered.

  “You know, Sunshine, people cope with grief in different ways.”

  “I doubt Mom really cares he’s gone. She’s got her new husband now. And Kelly’s such a self-centered brat, she never thinks of anyone but herself.”

  She knew if she looked at him, his eyes would hold nothing but understanding.

  But she kept her gaze focused on her dinner. She ate some squash, then a bite of salad.

  “These tomatoes are delicious,” she said, trying to change the subject.

  Her uncle, however, wasn’t ready to let it go yet. “Holding a grudge dims your own radiance. Anger and resentment are like grime coating a light bulb. Forgiveness washes away that dirt so the light can shine brightly again.”

  “I know, I know. A grief counselor told me holding on to grievances is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.”

  “That’s a pretty good analogy.” He smiled and patted her hand. “Never forget, Sunshine, that you are a light bearer. You have a job to do: to shine the light of love into the darkness of fear. Fear, hatred, and anger deplete our vitality. Love keeps us alive.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “All you have to do is remember the good things about a person. Try to see what’s luminous in them, rather than dwelling on what you don’t like.”

  “All?” Miranda smiled back at him. “After you first told me I was a light bearer, when I was just a little girl, I went around for days pointing a flashlight at people and telling them to go here or there. I thought that’s what ‘lighting the way’ meant. It seemed the most wonderful job anyone could possibly have.”

  “And so it is. But now you know the only way to guide others is by example.”

  * * *

  Lying in bed that night, Miranda contemplated what her uncle had said: “Love keeps us alive.” She remembered how devastated her father had been when her mother left him, how all the joy drained out of him. Not long afterwards, he’d been diagnosed with cancer.

  Was there a connection? she wondered. The possibility really pissed her off. If it’s true, Mom didn’t just divorce Dad — she killed him.

  She tried to move beyond the anger, as Uncle Bright recommended, and focus on good things about her mother. Okay, she brought me into the world, Miranda acknowledged grudgingly. She searched for positive memories and surprisingly came up with quite a few: shopping for new school clothes, hunting for seashells at the beach, finger-painting together and crayoning in coloring books. Mom encouraged my artistic talent. The admission improved her attitude slightly. And she never told me my only role in life was to be someone’s wife or mother.

  That thought segued into thoughts about Eli. She contemplated her father’s premonition, a few days before he died: “Your future husband will hold the world in the palm of his hand.” And she thought of Eli’s tattoo of Mother Earth. Is he really the one? What would Dad think of him?

  In her mind’s eye, she saw the tattoo on Eli’s palm and imagined it caressing her.

  She recalled an afternoon at Sybil’s place, lying together on the soft grass in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by wildflowers and birdsong. Sunshine warmed their naked bodies. Eli’s strong hands stroked her with exquisite slowness, savoring every inch of her.

  She remembered the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and the fresh, clean scent of the sun-kissed grass. They provided the background for a stronger, headier aroma: the smell of Eli’s hot skin. The slight saltiness of his sweat and the rich musk of his arousal intoxicated her. She pressed her cheek against his chest, inhaling his maleness as his hands slid up the insides of her thighs. Running her tongue along his collarbone, the hollow at the base of his neck, she tasted the tanginess of his rising passion.

  Miranda sighed as a delicious heat spread through her groin. She felt herself softening, melting like warm syrup. Pretending her fingers were his, she ran them along her seam and played with her clit. She imagined the head of his cock rubbing the swollen lips of her pussy. As she plunged a finger into her opening, she fantasized him sliding inside, his hard shaft filling her, and she came in a blaze of colored lights that tickled her skin like Fourth of July sparklers.

  * * *

  The air felt humid and close as Miranda and Uncle Bright hiked to his favorite crystal field. A large vein of high-grade quartz ran through his forty acres, near enough to the surface that he could harvest stones with relatively little effort. He earned a modest living gathering them from this site and selling them to gem and mineral shops, new age stores, museums, and collectors around the country.

  “Some of the finest crystals in the world are right in my back yard,” he’d proudly explained the first time he took her digging with him, more than twenty years ago. “Only Brazil rivals Arkansas as a source for quality quartz crystals.”

  Periodically, he plowed up a section of his land to unearth buried crystals. Each time he did, hundreds of tiny clear stones emerged from the beds where they’d lain since prehistoric times. The bigger, more valuable ones, however, nestled deeper in the ground—those he had to dig out with a shovel or dislodge with a crowbar.

  The night’s rain had washed the area clean, making it easier to spot crystals lying about on
the ground. As a child, Miranda thought the sparkling stones were fallen stars.

  They still amazed her, the way they peeked out of the soil as if they’d been planted there.

  Well, maybe they had. Her uncle once told her that millennia ago, beings from other galaxies had programmed certain types of crystals with ancient wisdom, then seeded the Earth with them, hoping one day the knowledge would benefit humans. She didn’t really believe him, but the idea intrigued her.

  And anyway, who knew?

  As Miranda slogged across the field, the damp soil sucked at her feet, threatening to pull off the too-big rubber boots he’d loaned her. Now and again she bent down, plucked a crystal from the dirt, and dropped it in the bucket she carried. Omar bounded ahead of her, flicking up mud with his big paws.

  “It’s amazing how perfect these are,” she said, holding a crystal up to the sun. “If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were cut and polished like diamonds to form such smooth, symmetrical sides and points.”

  “I’ve found some diamonds here, too, you know,” Uncle Bright said, poking the soil with his carved staff. “Keep your eyes open, Sunshine—you could stumble upon a gem fine enough to make you a rich woman.”

  Although the occasional diamond he discovered might garner more money than the other stones, Miranda knew the quartz crystals were his true loves. His house testified to that. He even kept a crystal in the glove compartment of his truck and carried one he called his “companion” in his pocket.

  “Let’s try here.” Uncle Bright jabbed his shovel into the soft earth. As if on command, Omar began digging beside him.

  She laughed, watching the dog earnestly attack the ground. “What a great helper you’ve got.”

  “That he is. He earns his keep.”

  Miranda raked the loose soil, separating the stones from the dirt. She’d nearly filled her bucket when Omar turned up a crystal half the size of her hand. She picked it up and wiped it on her jeans.

  “Oh, look at this one,” she said, handing it to Uncle Bright. “It’s a beauty, don’t you think?”

  He smiled and passed it back to her. “I think that one has your name on it.”

  As she gazed at it, she saw images moving within the crystal. How strange, she thought. Looking closer, she could distinguish a horse-drawn carriage with two men and a woman in it. A second carriage bearing three male passengers followed behind the first one. In the background, a dark man rode a rearing horse. Watching them, she felt an inexplicable sense of foreboding and danger. What the hell? Then just as suddenly as the images had appeared, they vanished.

  Miranda shook her head to clear it and closed her fingers around the crystal.

  Instead of dropping it into the bucket with the others, she slipped the crystal into her pocket.

  Card 10: The Wheel of Fortune

  An hour out of Hot Springs, the rain began falling hard and grew steadily worse as Miranda drove east. Even at top speed, her wipers couldn’t keep the windshield clear.

  It’s like being in a car wash. I should’ve stayed with Uncle Bright until tomorrow, she scolded herself. It didn’t look this bad when I checked the weather forecast. The wind had picked up, too, buffeting her little Kia about. She scanned the radio for an updated report, but all she got was static.

  Squinting through the downpour, she searched vainly for a place to pull off the narrow country road. Maybe the deluge will let up after a while. She tapped her brakes as she rounded a curve, and felt the car hydroplane. The rear end fishtailed and pulled her across the oncoming lane. Struggling to control the vehicle, Miranda turned into the skid.

  Luckily no one was coming in the opposite direction, and she sighed as the car righted itself. She eased off the accelerator and plowed on.

  By the time she saw the fallen tree, it was too late. Instinctively, she cut the wheel to the left. The impact crunched the passenger side and spun her around. Unable to get a purchase on the wet pavement, the car skated off the road, landing nose down in a drainage ditch. The engine stalled.

  Muddy water swirled across her windshield. At least I’m not hurt. She switched on her emergency flashers. Good, they still work. With shaking hands, she dug her cell phone out of her purse and flipped it open, only to discover she was out of range.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” she swore. “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  The only thing she could do, it seemed, was sit and wait, and hope someone came along to rescue her. Eventually, the rain would stop. Then she noticed the water was rising, inching up the doors. If it gets much higher, I won’t be able to open the door.

  Would I be safer inside the car or outside? The idea of standing out in the pummeling rain held little appeal.

  Just when she’d decided to remain inside and take her chances, the Kia shifted its position and sank deeper into the ditch. Water seeped in around the doors. Time to evacuate. She leaned against the driver’s side door, trying to force it open, but the pressure of the water held it fast. The crumpled passenger door wouldn’t budge either.

  Yanking the keys from the ignition, she flipped the trunk lever and heard it spring open.

  She slung her purse over her shoulder, scrambled across the console, and unlatched the fold-down back seats.

  As she crawled into the trunk, the rushing water tugged at the car, undermining its precarious hold on the embankment. She pushed the trunk lid open and climbed out. Rain pelted her head and shoulders. Wind whipped at her hair. She slipped on mud and fell against the rear fender, banging her hip hard. Water sluiced around her ankles. Grabbing her suitcase, she heaved it out onto the wet ground. She dug her hands and feet into the soggy earth, dragging the suitcase behind her as she clawed her way toward the road.

  Blinded by the rain, she felt the pavement before she saw it. She stood up, holding her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes, as the Kia tore away from the embankment and went bobbing downstream.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, blending with the rain. What if the water comes up over the road? she worried. There’s no higher ground to climb to.

  She was just about to start reciting Hail Marys when she spotted two white lights shining weakly through the rain. Over the roaring storm, she could hear the growl of a diesel engine. As the truck approached, its headlights picked out the tree lying in the road. Miranda hurried toward the tree, waving her arms. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

  The big dualie slowed and stopped. The driver’s door swung open and a tall man wearing a cowboy hat stepped out.

  “You okay?” he yelled.

  “My car got washed away,” she shouted back.

  The man grabbed her arm and picked up her suitcase. “What happened?”

  he asked as he helped her into the truck.

  She told him how she’d hit the tree and skidded into the drainage ditch, barely escaping before the water carried off her car. “I’m awfully glad you showed up when you did.”

  “Lucky you didn’t drown. These flash floods can be treacherous. I’ve seen ’em sweep away double-wides.” His windshield wipers slashed at the rain as he studied the fallen tree. “I think there’s enough room to drive around.”

  He shifted into gear and eased forward, testing the soft shoulder to make sure it would hold the dualie’s weight as he maneuvered around the obstacle. When they’d cleared it, he braked and got out. Miranda heard him rummaging in the truck bed. What’s he doing? she wondered. A few minutes later he got back in the cab, drove a couple of car lengths, then stopped again.

  Seeing her confusion, he explained, “Moving the tree off the road. Don’t want someone else to hit it.”

  He climbed out into the rain once more to untie the tree. When he returned, he was soaked to the bone like Miranda. He tossed his dripping cowboy hat on the back seat and she finally got a good look at him. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, a slightly hooked nose. Black hair and coppery skin. Might have some Indian blood, she thought. He probably wasn’t much older than her, but fine lines alre
ady etched the corners of his brown eyes, the legacy of years spent in the sun. His wet shirt clung to his muscled torso, the body of a man accustomed to physical work.

  He handed her a box of Kleenex. “Wish I could offer you a towel, but that’s all I’ve got.”

  “Thanks for rescuing me. You’re my knight on a white charger.”

  “It’s a Dodge Ram.”

  Miranda laughed and wiped her face, then introduced herself.

  “Clint Jackson,” he said. “What’s a lady like you doin’ out in this weather?”

  “I was on my way to San Antonio. Now I’m not sure. There’s the little matter of the car…Fortunately, it’s a rental.”

  “When we come to the next town you can report it, and we’ll see about gettin’ you another one.”

  * * *

  Clint waited with her while she explained what had happened and filled out a mound of paperwork.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the rental car agent apologized. “We won’t have another car available ’til tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What am I going to do until then?” she groaned, staring out at the rain.

  Clint touched her arm lightly. “I’ve got an idea, if you’d care to hear it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I’m headed to do a little gamblin’ at a riverboat casino on the Texas-Louisiana border. You’d be welcome to come along.” He turned to the agent. “Could you arrange for this lady to pick up a car at Lake Caddo?”

  “No problem.”

  Miranda weighed her options. She could check into a motel and watch TV while she waited for a car, or she could spend an evening with a tall, dark, handsome man and maybe win some money along the way. It didn’t take her long to decide.

  “You’re on,” she agreed.

  The agent passed her another stack of paperwork and made a phone call. “You’re all set.”

  * * *

  Designed to resemble the paddlewheel riverboats that steamed through Lake Caddo in the mid-1800s, the Lucky Lady featured two decks for gaming. A third level held a restaurant, several bars, and a number of sleeping chambers. As they stepped inside, Miranda felt dazzled by the flashing lights, booming music, and the omnipresent click-and-whir of slot machines. Hundreds of men and women clustered around tables playing roulette, poker, and craps. Others sat trance-like before the one-armed bandits.