Not in the Cards

by Amy Cissell

  “So it’s not hopeless, then?” he asked.

  “Not at all. It’ll be hard, but worth it.”

  “That’s what he said,” Vincent said.

  Sandy gasped, raised a hand to her mouth, and then let out an inelegant snort. “That was terrible. I had no idea your sense of humor was so juvenile.”

  “You laughed,” he pointed out.

  She grinned. “It was funny.”

  “I should go; you’ll probably have other clients soon.”

  “It’s approaching the post-lunch, pre-happy hour busy time,” she said.

  “I’d like to see you again.”

  “You know where I work.” She walked to the front of the shop and opened the door for him.

  “That’s not what I mean. I’d like to go out with you again.”

  She started to refuse—after last night, with Aaron showing up, even with the attraction she felt for Vincent, it was too soon. “Drinks tomorrow? Maybe not at your hotel bar, though. I’d like to get through an evening without a visit or phone call.”

  “I’ll pick you up around six-thirty.” He lifted her hand, and this time, the kiss was pressed to the inside of her wrist.

  Sandy let out a whoosh of breath, and Vincent smiled. “It has the same effect on me,” he whispered.

  He turned to leave, and movement startled them both into stillness. “Was that?” Vincent asked.

  “My almost-ex? Yeah. Apparently, he’s watching me.”

  “Or maybe me,” Vincent muttered.

  “He did show an unhealthy interest in you last night,” Sandy agreed. “Regardless, he’s a creeper.”

  “A creeper you married.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  After the door closed behind her, Sandy leaned against it. Where had the suggestion for drinks come from? She shook her head and braced herself for the inevitable Aaron visit. When five minutes passed without him showing his stupid, handsome face, Sandy peered through the window.

  Vincent and Aaron were facing each other across the street, and Aaron was gesticulating rather wildly.

  “Damnit! They’d better not be fighting about me,” Sandy fumed. She yanked the door open, barely noticing that it opened silently, and walked out into the street.

  “…something to do with it,” Vincent said. He was speaking loudly enough for her to hear but wasn’t shouting.

  “How could’ve I done that?” Aaron yelled. “I was nothing but a lowly accountant, passed over for promotion.”

  “Was that why? Because someone else was promoted?”

  “Twice!” Aaron yelled. Sandy could see the spittle fly from his mouth, even at the distance she was from the argument. They weren’t talking about her at all. A suspicion began to form in her mind, but before she could give it space to grow, the argument continued.

  “Did you ever consider that you were passed over because the other candidates were better than you?” Vincent’s voice was cold enough to send goosebumps skittering over Sandy’s arms.

  “No one beat my productivity and accuracy levels. I was always number one.”

  “Those aren’t the only measures taken into account. The management team also looks at collegiality and the ability to work well as a team player. In order to be promoted into management, you need to demonstrate the ability to lead without sarcasm. Can you honestly say that you had what it takes to manage other people? Because the trial team lead projects you were put on did not show that ability.”

  Sandy’s misgivings were worsening by the moment.

  “You gave me crap teams to lead,” Aaron shouted. “The worst workers in the company. It’s no wonder they failed.”

  “They didn’t fail, you did. Every single person who was considered for promotion had three months to lead that same team. Your stint as leader was the only one that failed.”

  “I got the job done,” Aaron protested. “Even without them.”

  “And that’s why you’re not management material,” Vincent said. “The people I did promote got the job done—and done very well—with the teams they were given.”

  “It wasn’t fair.”

  Ugh. Sandy’d heard this argument so many times. Aaron’s vindictive boss had passed him over for promotion because he only liked women and people of color in his management roles. It was all about reverse racism and affirmative action. Sandy’d known something else was going on, and that something probably was Aaron’s temperament. He’d never played well with others and tended to blame everyone but himself when something went wrong. This was just confirmation that her instincts—at least about this—had been right.

  But, Vincent? The boss?

  She marched across the street, and both men started at her arrival. “You two know each other.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Obviously,” Aaron sneered.

  “I feel like one of you could’ve mentioned it last night.”

  “I figured you knew,” Aaron said. “I thought you went out with him to get back at me.”

  “Revenge dating isn’t my style. And you?” she asked Vincent.

  He shrugged. “I tried to tell you, but every time I brought it up, you told me you didn’t want to talk about Aaron, so I dropped it.”

  That was fair. He had tried more than once to talk about her ex, and she was the one who’d shut it down.

  “What was that all about?”

  “How much did you hear?” Vincent asked.

  “Don’t avoid the question.”

  “Your ex-husband—”

  “Not divorced yet,” Aaron growled.

  Vincent and Sandy rolled their eyes in concert and then grinned at each other.

  “Your ex-husband is under the impression I blocked him from promotions because I don’t like him, and not because he’d be a terrible manager. The grudge he still harbors is rather unimpressive.”

  “Why are you bringing this up now, Aaron?” Sandy asked. “He’s not your boss anymore, and you apparently don’t need the promotion, based on the car you’re driving.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” Aarons said stiffly. “He needs to admit he’s wrong.”

  “But why?” Sandy was genuinely bewildered. “It’s over.”

  Aaron straightened his shoulders and glared at Vincent. “It will never be over, but I’m definitely coming out ahead.” He stalked off down the street and disappeared from sight within minutes.

  Sandy cocked her head and looked at Vincent. “Well?” she asked.

  He appeared about to say something, then something else grabbed his attention. Sandy followed his line of sight. Someone was opening the door to her shop and walking in.

  “Looks like you have a customer.”

  “This conversation isn’t over.”

  “Tomorrow night,” he promised.

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of the afternoon was busy with one customer after another. Each one asked for a ten-card reading, and since those easily took a half hour and were more exhausting than the others, she was wiped out by the time she flipped the sign to closed at seven o’clock. She checked her online account—with tips, she’d made almost six hundred dollars this afternoon, including Vincent’s reading. It was a ridiculous amount of money for six hours’ work, and she knew that level of income wasn’t sustainable. Winter was around the corner, and the tourist season would slowly die off.

  She leaned back in the chair in her kitchen to contemplate what she’d learned from Vincent the last couple of days and Vincent and Aaron this afternoon.

  “One, they know each other. Two, Vincent was the evil boss Aaron bitched about all the time.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she said them out loud. “Three, Vincent asked Aaron if he had something to do with it. It. OMG! Vincent suspects Aaron of helping with the embezzlement!”

  She stood, dumped the tea, and poured a glass of prosecco from the open bottle in the fridge. She’d bought a few bottles with the idea that she’d learn how to make French 75s, but so far, she�
�d just been having a glass of bubbly every night after closing up shop.

  She savored the taste of the cheap bubbly and vowed to look for the next level up at the wine shop next time she stopped by. The proprietor was so fantastic—always letting her sample whatever she had open. She claimed that the psychics’ union was responsible for seventy-five percent of her business, so it only made fiscal sense to have a ‘try before you buy’ policy, but Sandy wasn’t sure that was the case. Regardless, she got to sample a lot of good wines, and she’d made enough today she could splurge on a bottle of champagne—at least this once.

  Speaking of splurging…she checked her watch. It was about time to take off. Tonight’s emergency meeting was at Jezebel’s house, and Sandy didn’t want to get lost and be late. She checked her watch again, then paced the length of the small room seven times. She checked her watch again, ran her fingers through her hair, and nibbled the corner of her lip. One more glance at the watch. It was time.

  She took off her boho casual skirt and flowing gypsy top in favor of skinny jeans and a unicorn t-shirt that said, “Maybe we don’t believe in you.” She topped the outfit with a baggy hoodie, pulled on her favorite boots, pulled her hair back into a messy bun, and called it good.

  She stepped into the back alley, hoping to avoid any interactions with her stalkeresque ex-husband, and started down the street, following the directions her phone was giving her.

  “Going off to meet your lover?” Aaron sneered.

  She’d never noticed before, but almost everything he said came out either in a sneer or sounding like an entitled white douchebag.

  “None of your business,” she replied. She kept walking but switched from the map app to the phone app in case she needed to call nine-one-one.

  “He’s gonna sell this town, you know.”

  “I know why he’s here,” Sandy said.

  “You’ll have nowhere to go. Your shop will be torn down and rented out to the highest bidder. This town is worth millions, and it’s so underutilized.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” She walked faster.

  “You could come home. I’d forgive you for leaving me, and the car’s still yours if you want it.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He caught up with her and grabbed her elbow, causing her to drop her phone. “Why won’t you come back to me? I’ll give you everything you ever wanted. Anything.”

  “All I wanted was a decent relationship with a guy who wouldn’t cheat on me. I never wanted a big house, or expensive clothes, or a fancy car. I just wanted weekend hikes and date nights at the pub and regular—good—sex with a guy who’d be loyal and wouldn’t lie to me. I didn’t realize that was too much to ask.” She wrenched her elbow out of his hand and picked up her phone. “Now, leave me alone.”

  She took off down the street and after a few moments she heard his footsteps dogging hers. “Are you meeting him?”

  “As I said before, it’s none of your business.”

  “He’s a criminal.”

  “Leave me alone, Aaron.”

  “Soon, he’ll be poor. Even if he manages to avoid jail time, he won’t have two cents to rub together. He’ll have to sell the Porsche and his nice house. He won’t have anything to offer you.”

  “None of that is the point of a relationship. Plenty of people with even less manage to be happy together. I think you’re a little premature in your decisions about Vincent and me, though. We’ve only just met, and we’ve been out for one dinner. That’s hardly the beginning of an epic romance that has me moving into his soon-to-be hovel and riding shotgun in his VW Rabbit for the rest of our lives. Now, for the last time, leave me alone.” She knew she was over-explaining, that she didn’t owe Aaron anything, but old habits were hard to break, and she’d spent the last few years justifying every decision, no matter how minor, to this man, and she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Or what?” Aaron said.

  “Or her friends will make you,” Jezebel’s voice came out of the darkness. She stepped forward, flanked by Drew and Ceri.

  Aaron laughed, and Sandy winced. “What are you going to do to me? Do you know who I am?”

  Sandy gave him some side eye. “You’re nobody,” she said. “You’re not even my husband anymore. What are you going to do against four other people? Bribe them with all your newfound…ohhhh…” She snapped her mouth closed for a moment, then said, “Just leave, Aaron. I’m here to hang out with my friends, of which you no longer number. If you won’t, I’ll call the cops and ask for a restraining order.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Another figure walked forward and inserted himself between Aaron and the other psychics. Sandy edged back around him and stood near Jezebel.

  “Listen, son,” Paska said. “I am the cops, and if you don’t get out of here in the next ninety seconds, I’ll write you a ticket for disturbing the peace and anything else I can come up with. She’s not interested, and frankly, if that’s the kinda of game you’ve got, it’s no wonder. The only mystery here is how you caught her in the first place. A combination of flattery and gaslighting?”

  Aaron took a step back and then another. He turned to Sandy, “This isn’t over.”

  “It’s as over as our marriage, asshole.” Sandy turned and walked towards the house she hoped like hell was Jezebel’s.

  Once everyone was settled, and Sandy’d got champagne in ‘the big glass,’ she started to calm down. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I didn’t think he’d really follow me all the way here.”

  “One of us will drive you home,” Drew said. He held up a hand to ward off her protests. “He’s creepy, and I don’t trust him.”

  “I wanna know what the ‘ohhhh’ was that Sandy busted out with towards the end,” Jezebel said. “I got a weird vibe from it.”

  “It’s nothing, really,” she said.

  “Bullshit,” Jezebel said. “There was something there. It might be a guess, or an instinct, or a hunch, but you felt something important.”

  Sandy paused to compose her thoughts, took a swig of champagne, and said, “I overheard part of an argument earlier between Aaron, who you all just got a chance to meet, and Vincent after he came in for a second reading.”

  “Wait,” Jezebel commanded. Sandy looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Start at the beginning. It sounds like an eventful day.”

  “Start with last night’s date,” Drew said. “Even if you didn’t get much information from him, I want the good gossip.”

  Ceri rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. We know how you like a good story.”

  “Almost as much as a good mystery,” he agreed.

  Ceri leaned forward and whispered, “we don’t know Drew’s real name. He named himself after Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. Drew Hardy.”

  “Don’t be spilling all my secrets,” Drew said, lightly smacking Ceri’s arm. “A lot of us are going by names we weren’t born with. Isn’t that right, Alexandra?”

  Sandy laughed. “It was on the sign, and it was close enough. I’m gonna stick with my given name for now, though.”

  “What is it?” Jezebel asked. “Isn’t it Sandy?”

  “That’s what people call me, but it’s actually Cassandra.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she deadpanned.

  “Ha ha ha. Oracle humor,” Sandy said. “My mom pulled that one a lot. She was a Classics major who ended up an adjunct professor at Portland State and occupied her time in between job insecurity by finding new and interesting ways to torment me.” She smiled as she said it.

  “Where is your mom?” Drew asked.

  “Who knows? She retired last year and has been traveling with my step-dad ever since.” She pulled out her phone and checked the calendar. “They should be in Greece right now. We talk about once a month. She’ll freak out when she finds out what I’ve been doing. Last time we spoke, I had to talk her out of giving up the rest of her year-long trip around the world to fly home and support me through the divorce. Whe
n she finds out that I’ve set up shop as a psychic, she’s going to flip her lid.”

  “But she won’t be showing up here, soon, to protect you from Aaron?”

  “Not as long as I don’t tell her how much of an ass he’s being. She never liked him.”

  “What about your dad?” Ceri asked.

  Sandy shrugged. “I don’t know where he is, nor do I care to. He was my mom’s college boyfriend, and after Mom got pregnant, he talked her out of an abortion by promising to marry her and support the new family. He disappeared while she was in labor with me, and hasn’t been heard from since. So, not the best dad ever.”

  “Whoa, that’s an understatement,” Ceri said.

  “I mean, I guess I’m glad that my mom didn’t abort me, but it really delayed her college career, and I know she believes it’s why she never got anything more than an adjunct position. But, enough about my family. You wanted the low-down on last night and today, and then we need to figure out what to do, right?”

  After outlining the date, including the Aaron interruption, but excluding the hand kiss, Sandy said, “So, late this morning, Vincent showed up in my shop asking for a second reading—”

  “What happened at the end of the date?” Drew interrupted. Did he kiss you?”

  Sandy blushed red to the roots of her hair. “No…”

  “He did! He kissed you! How could you leave that part out?”

  “He kissed my hand,” she admitted. “Can I continue?”

  “Yes,” Jezebel said, glaring at Drew. “The reading?”

  “What were his exact words when he asked for it?” Misty asked. “Just a few days ago, he thought it was all poppycock, and I left this morning before I realized who’d walked into your shop.”

  Sandy’s blush deepened. “He asked if he could trouble me for another reading and said he was beginning to believe that we were more than charlatans and he could use all the guidance he could get. He also said he wanted to see me again.”

  Misty nodded in satisfaction. “Oracle Bay has that effect on people. Even the biggest skeptics start to believe after spending enough time here. Then what?”