Thats exactly what they did. Yet even as they said goodbye to their friends and wished Terry one final Happy Birthday, Rachel could not shake the chill shed encountered while sitting across from Margo as she flipped over the cards. And even beyond that, she felt like shed dodged a bullet; if Peter even remotely believed in tarot readings and other mysticisms, they may be having a very hard talk right now.

Even the idea of that thought leveled her inside, killing any hope that shed be able to show some of Grandma Tates tenacity and coming clean with her family.

***

Paige was deeply asleep when they arrived home, with her favorite teddy bear tucked under her arm and her noise-maker playing Whispering Stream, her favorite. While Peter paid the sitter and shut off the lights, Rachel lay down next to Paige, spooning her. She felt the rise and fall of her breathing, closing her eyes and just breathing the moment in. It was so calming that Rachel nearly fell asleep right there (the sounds of Whispering Stream certainly did nothing to help). It was only the sound of Peter coming up the stairs that made her get up.

They met in the bedroom, where Peter took her in his arms. Sorry about the tarot nonsense…again.

Its okay. Really.

And sorry about Grandma Tate, too. Maybe we can sit down tomorrow and figure out a good time for her to visit.

That would be good.

She hoped this would be the last thing hed say. She was too distracted by the tarot cards, how Margo had looked genuinely afraid. And then the near revelation, how Margo, who did not know her at all, had somehow known that she was sick. Sure it could have been a coincidence, a tarot reader just trying to get a chill from a party guest…but it hadnt felt like it.

Oh, and lets not forget your imprisoned friend Alex Lynch figured it out, too. And he was able to tell just by seeing you and paying attention to your mannerisms.

Images of infamous serial killer Alex Lynch were the last things she wanted in her head while she lay in bed next to her husband. She was able to dash those images, but they were only replaced by recollections of her visit to see Grandma Tate and then the stupid tarot cards. At some point during the swarm of thoughts, Rachel turned to the bedside clock and saw that it had somehow come to be 2:50 in the morning. Shed had many sleepless nights since getting her diagnosis, and it seemed this was going to be another one.