The hermit usually implies some kind of healing or recovery.
Odd that I would draw it first, because I’m not getting a healing sensation at all. This represents the past for Wendy. Her mind.
She has certainly never done any healing or recovery in the past—at least not from what I know of her.
Yet…she did keep her distance from my father—her son.
So much that he didn’t even realize she was still alive.
But was she healing? Recovering? Unlikely, since as Dyane Wingdam, she committed many crimes.
Felony forgery, insider trading. What else did Brock say? The list is endless.
Yet Wendy didn’t serve a second of time for any of those crimes. She’s smart. She covers her tracks. She gets out of bad situations.
Then I understand.
The hermit. She withdrew. She allowed her son to believe she was dead. The hermit now makes sense to me.
She was thinking. Hiding. Waiting to strike again.
And she did strike.
She struck withme. She reached out to me.
The second card—death. The reaper.
Most people cringe when this card comes up, but I always tell them not to. It doesn’t mean literal death.
It simply means change.
And God, does it make sense for both Wendy and me for the present.
Change is definitely coming.
And then the third card…
The wheel of fortune. A circle that constantly moves, flowing, always cycling. Perhaps a moment of clarity at the top, but before you know it, you’re at the bottom once more.
It’s inescapable.
It’s…destiny.
Destiny.
My destiny or Wendy’s?
Probably both.
What isherdestiny?
She doesn’t have much longer to live. She’s in her late eighties now.
The reading makes sense, but something feels off about it. I gaze at the cards, looking for the connection. They’re all from the major arcana. A tarot deck consists of seventy-eight cards. Fifty-six in the minor arcana—the numbered and suited cards—leaving only twenty-two in the major arcana. The chance of drawing three cards all from the major arcana defies the odds.
Something doesn’t feel right.
“Oh!” I say out loud.