I was relieved that Des wasn’t home when I got back. I didn’t want to tell her what had happened, how I had almost messed everything up, how I was hearing things that weren’t there. I didn’t want to tell her it had gone well, either—what would being good at this mean? I put the rest of the money Tom owed us on her nightstand but saved the $100 for myself—each dollar another step toward my mother, toward my new life. I couldn’t decide if I was proud or ashamed of that extra money, whether it meant I had done something wrong or something right. I smoothed the bill into the back pages of The Wisdom of Tarot and refused to think about it—it wasn’t bad or good, only what needed to be done. From my bed, I watched the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles above my head and tried to sleep.

I must have drifted off, though I know I tossed and turned. I woke up at dawn. I’d dreamed of the woman who had run away from me: those big brown eyes, the soft voice. I thought of the reading I’d done after she’d gone. The Four of Wands. Family. Harmony. The King of Cups, the lack of clarity. The Seven of Wands. Betrayal just around the bend. And then I understood: the visions from the night before didn’t have anything to do with Julie Zale—they had to do with her, the woman with the locket. I curled myself into a ball, another phantom fly working its way along my thigh.

LILY

I WOKE TO THE SCREECH of my alarm, and as soon as I sat up I felt the lurch in my stomach. Oh, I thought dully, as the bar, the bourbon came back to me. I looked at my phone. I had dialed Matthew’s number five times. I even called Ramona twice. Based on the call log, it didn’t seem like I had spoken to either of them: each call was between eight and ten seconds long. I wasn’t sure whether that was a blessing or another humiliation.

It was 6:15. I’d need to be at the spa in an hour to learn opening procedures. I ran through all the things that needed to happen by then. Four types of makeup. Hair washed and styled. Press the wrinkles out of my jacket. Pepto-Bismol, water, gag down dry toast.

I showered, smeared a little eye shadow on. The swing of the vanity mirror in the bathroom made me dizzy as I opened it and rooted around for brushes, Q-tips, hair spray. Even with makeup I looked clammy, pale. I heard Brett’s voice. You wanted to start your own gallery, right? I slunk out without ironing my blazer. When I started the car and backed out of the driveway, I wondered if I wasn’t still too drunk to drive.