Page 60 of The Love Bandits

“Is that such a bad thing?”

I think of the Claire that was…

Back in New York, she was the personal assistant to a lifestyle guru who enjoyed making life miserable for her. Here, she’s in love with a man who worships the ground she walks on, and she runs her own bakery—a dream she’s had since she was old enough to have dreams.

Nicole helped her with that. Nicole’s helped her more than I ever did.

Here’s another truth I wouldn’t admit to either of them—I’m jealous of Nicole, because she’s Claire’s sister by blood, and I never will be. Because she gave Claire her dreams, and all I ever did was stand by her side being miserable with her, both of us caught in cages we’d made ourselves—her, tied to that job. Me, tied to the man I’d tricked into being my fiancé. A man who truly did get off on making me feel miserable and small.

It’s a selfish feeling, one I wish were beneath me, because Nicole has been nothing but good to me in her prickly way. She’s changing my life for the better too.

“No,” I admit to Claire, tapping my glass lightly against hers. “It’s not a bad thing at all.”

She holds my gaze, her expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here, Lainey. It feels like this is where you’re supposed to be, same as me. And maybe this is your opportunity to have some fun. You need that after Todd. It’s like…you’re the most lively person I’ve ever met, but you forgot how to enjoy yourself for a while.”

I nod slowly, but I can tell she’s not done. So I’m not surprised when she continues, “Maybe this is your chance to learn how to be yourself with a guy again. Look. I know this is going to bite me in the ass, but I brought that Tarot deck you bought me out here.”

“You did?” I ask, shocked. My own Tarot deck was given to me by someone at the boutique I worked at in Brooklyn—mythrowaway job, as Todd had described it, because he’d been of the mind that no wife of his needed to work outside of the home.

I’d decided the unexpected gift was a sign, and for a few weeks, I’d thought I could become a psychic on Coney Island or something. Until I realized it took a lot of training to read Tarot professionally—and also that I lacked the attention span to learn how to do it. Which didn’t stop me from messing around with them for a few months. There’s something seductive about lies, after all—and the belief that you can read the future with a card is wishful thinking, lying, at its best. Because almost every card can be interpreted in your favor.

Which is why I stopped using them a couple of weeks ago. I’ve lied to enough people, so I figured it was time to stop lying to myself. I want to be a person who always seeks out the truth even if it’s not pretty. I’m already failing. I failed miserably with Cleo, and now I find myself wanting to make excuses for Jake. For all I know, he’s a compulsive liar who thinksSixteen Candlesis the height of good cinema. But that doesn’t mean I should stop trying to find that bedrock of truth.

I clear my throat. “I think I’ve decided I don’t really believe in the Tarot.”

Claire takes the cards out from the drawer of the little table sitting between us and removes them from their box, the silvered corners catching the light. “So I’ll have to believe enough for both of us.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask with a smile as she shuffles the cards.

“Nope, but neither did you the eleventy billion times you took yours out, so I think we’ll get along okay.”

“This is completely unnecessary.”

“I disagree, although I’ll probably feel like a real jerk if you get a bad card.”

“There are no bad cards,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Which is exactly what you said to me when I kept pulling the DEATH card before I moved out here.”

“It seemed to work out just fine for you,” I say, indicating the house with its view of rolling blue mountains. It’s only after I say the words that I realize I’m doing it again—acting like the card she pulled had anything to do with how her life turned out. Like truth is a thing that can be forged rather than something immovable.

“I don’t know how to do a spread, so you’re going to just pick one, Lainey. Pick the one you feel drawn to.”

So I do…and then turn it over on the face of the table between our chairs.

It’s the three of swords—a bloody heart pierced by three swords—and my own heart, broken less by Todd than myself, feels a pulse of recognition.

“Yeah, I don’t think we like that one,” Claire says. “Let’s try again.”

I could tell her that, like it or not, it’s accurate. Scarily accurate, but instead I pick another card and turn it over.

Seven of Wands.

“Well, I’ll admit I have no idea what that means,” she says. “But it has a lack of bleeding hearts, which I like, and Google was invented for a reason.”

“Probably several,” I agree as she sets down the rest of the deck and retrieves her phone from her pocket. My heart is still quailing over the other card—the bloody heart with three wounds.

Three. I have two. Is Jake supposed to be the third? If so, I’d do better to stay away from him.

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