Reckless Games

by M. J. Lowell

  Which was how I ended up in the Diegos’ living room on Christmas morning, wearing a pair of Val’s Rudolph-patterned Christmas pajamas and drinking hot cocoa from a mug emblazoned with candy canes. Val’s family had always treated me like their own, even when my dad was alive, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I’d arrived the previous evening. Being there, I could almost forget the waiting and confusion and disappointment of the last two weeks. Almost, but not quite.

  Present distribution was joyful chaos, with everyone tearing open their gifts at once amid scattered squeals of delight and excited chatter. I knew what Val really wanted was a hot date for her ex-boyfriend’s wedding in January, but I couldn’t get her that so I got her a spa day at the Great Jones Spa instead.

  “You can’t afford this,” she said, flapping the gift certificate at me, but she couldn’t hide her delight.

  “You’re worth it,” I said. “Besides, I bartered for it. The woman who manages the spa was looking for a DJ for her birthday party. Since I couldn’t get Channing Tatum as your date for that wedding, I figured I could at least make sure you look so fabulous your ex will eat his heart out.”

  “You’re the best,” Val said. She handed me a small, festively wrapped package. “I wanted to get you peace of mind, but my connection at the patent office is out until after the holidays, so I had to settle for getting myself peace of mind instead.”

  I ripped off the red-and-green striped paper. It was a headset for my phone.

  “So that you don’t get killed talking to me while you’re on that death machine you ride around town,” Val explained with a grin. “And here’s your other present.”

  Clarabella, Val’s youngest sister, tottered toward me, carefully holding a long, flat tissue-wrapped box. She nestled into my lap. “I’ll help you open it,” she said. “I’m a really good opener.”

  I was suddenly aware of everyone watching me. I pretended to let Clarabella guide my hands as I untied the ribbons and freed the gift from its wrapping. Inside was a framed color photo of Val’s extended family. And somehow I was there with them, standing right in the middle. I squinted at it, trying to remember when it had been taken.

  “Thank you,” I said. The image swam in front of me as my eyes filled with tears. “It’s lovely.”

  “It is not the picture we’re giving you, silly girl,” said Val’s grandmother. “It’s us. You lost your mother and then your father far too young. But you are not alone. And we want you to know that. You are part of our family now. ”

  “Whether you like it or not,” said Luisa, Val’s second youngest sister.

  “The best-looking part, too,” said Carlos, her sixteen-year-old brother.

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d been feeling so…abandoned. But it was hard to feel that way surrounded by so much love.

  “Thank you,” I said, the tears in my eyes brimming over. “I’m the luckiest girl in all five boroughs.”

  I was putting together the Juliet balcony for Clarabella’s new Cinderella castle when Val’s aunt Breezy tapped me on the shoulder. She cocked her head to one side and said, “Come.”

  Aunt Breezy was Val’s mother’s older sister and the family iconoclast, as evidenced by her ever-changing hair color (today it was magenta). Family lore also held she was psychic. She’d always fascinated me, and scared me a bit, too.

  She’d never summoned me like this before, and I didn’t know what to expect as I followed her to the small den in the back of the house. She took a seat at the card table where Val’s father hosted his weekly poker games and motioned me into the chair across from her.

  “Sit,” she said, digging into her handbag and pulling out a small bundle wrapped in a colorful silk scarf. “It’s time for the cards.”

  “But— I’m not so great at card games,” I said, confused.

  “This isn’t a game,” Aunt Breezy said sternly as she untied the scarf to reveal an oversize deck. “These are Tarot cards.”

  “Tarot cards?” I echoed.

  “There are things you need to know,” she told me as she deftly shuffled the deck. “The cards have been calling me all morning, wanting to talk to you. Now they’ll talk.” Her eyes, large and dark and lined with black kohl, held me fast. “It’s up to you whether you listen.” She pushed the cards toward me. “Cut.”

  I was a scientist’s daughter – I wasn’t supposed to believe in superstitious things. But I wasn’t sure what I believed any more. Plus, people didn’t say no to Aunt Breezy. I cut the deck and watched as she dealt out two cards.

  The first showed a blindfolded woman holding a sword and a set of scales. “Justice” was printed at the top. The second was The Hanged Man, swinging upside down from a rope looped around a single ankle. Each was exquisitely drawn, the images rich with color.

  Breezy nodded to herself as she surveyed the cards. “You’re searching.” She pointed to the Justice card and the blindfold. “The truth is in front of you, but your sight is obstructed. And you’re hung up, ensnared,” she said, tapping The Hanged Man. “Stuck. You must clear your vision or you are in danger of the truth being stolen from you.”

  She paused and gave me a penetrating look. “What you’re seeking, it’s about your father, isn’t it?”

  I nodded mutely and wrapped my arms around myself. Superstition or not, the Tarot was eerily prescient.

  Breezy indicated the deck. “Take three more cards.”

  I picked three cards and pushed them toward her. She turned them over one by one, her eyes widening with each new card: The Emperor in a suit of armor and a red cloak, The Magician in a white tunic with a red hooded cape, and The Hermit in a pale blue robe and with a walking stick. “Oh my,” she breathed. “This is very interesting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She moved The Emperor and The Magician forward. “Both represent wise men. Both have great power and the ability to shape the thoughts of others – but one does it for good and the other to deceive. The Magician wants to trick you. Divert you. He uses his cloak to disguise himself. The other wants to support you. Guide you. You must be very careful not to mistake one for the other. Turn over another card.”

  Even after the weeks of silence, I couldn’t help wondering if Rhys was in the cards somehow, and whether he was The Emperor or The Magician. I flipped over the next card, and Breezy’s eyebrows shot up. It was called The Tower and showed a building being struck by lightning bolts from two sides. Small figures could be seen jumping from the building.

  “That doesn’t look good,” I said nervously.

  “It’s a matter of perspective,” she said. “The Tower’s walls can be a fortress, or a prison. The lightning can be seen as destroying the last defense against chaos. Or it can be knocking down what’s holding you back. Powerful forces are at work around you. Whether they destroy you or free you – that’s your choice.” Her voice took on a sudden urgency. “The truth is in the eye of the beholder. You must ask yourself why you’re wearing the blindfold. But beware of looking so hard you forget to see.”

  “What about The Hermit?” I asked, my finger resting on the other card I’d chosen. He held a lantern, its light casting a warm glow on a snowy night.

  Breezy stared at it, almost as if in a trance. “The Hermit is a complex card. It can represent self-knowledge – he finds the answers within himself, on his own. He can also represent loneliness, even bitterness.” She caressed the card’s edge thoughtfully. “He represents something not present, something in the shadows. A watcher, a truth, yet—”

  She broke off abruptly, her attention caught by something over my shoulder.

  “Yet?” I prompted, but she seemed frozen. Her expression was odd, almost frightened. I turned to see what she was looking at and at the same moment Val appeared in the door with Nico behind her.

  Aunt Breezy shook her head. “Nothing,” she said brightly and began hastily gathering up the cards. “I’ll leave you to your friends.”

  Chapter Twent
y-Two

  Nico and Val moved aside to let Breezy pass then came to join me in the den. Nico looked shaggy and cute, like an overgrown Teddy bear. He also looked a bit scared – Val had that effect on him.

  He gave me a big hug, and when he released me he held a bakery box out to Val. “I brought you this. It’s beigli.”

  “Beigli?” said Val, raising an eyebrow.

  Nico awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s a Christmas tradition in Hungary, a pastry with poppyseed filling. I used my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Sounds delicious,” I said warmly, trying to make up for Val’s lack of enthusiasm.

  Val still looked skeptical but she took the box. “I’ll put it in the kitchen,” she said and disappeared.

  “I brought the wrong thing,” Nico said, watching her go.

  “No, it’s very nice, and you were nice to bring it,” I assured him. “Val’s just suspicious of any dessert that doesn’t involve chocolate.”

  We stood looking at one another. “How have you been?” I asked finally, slipping into one of the twin La-Z-Boy recliners opposite the television. Val’s parents had given each other the La-Z-Boys for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and I felt wistful every time I saw them. It was hard to imagine reaching such a milestone.

  Nico sat down gingerly in the other recliner. “I’ve always wondered what these are like,” he said, leaning back. “Not bad.”

  “That lever on the side lifts the foot rest. And there’s a cup holder in the arm,” I pointed out.

  “America,” he said, his voice tinged with humor. Then his big brown eyes came back to me. “I’ve been okay. A little worried about you.”

  “I texted I was fine.”

  “You look like you haven’t been eating,” he said.

  “Now you sound like Val’s family.”

  He gave a small shrug. “It’s hard for me to see you unhappy.”

  The earnestness of his expression was like a dagger to my heart. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s just the holidays.”

  “I hope that’s all it is. If I thought there was something I could do—”

  “There isn’t. I’m fine,” I insisted.

  “You need someone to look after you.”

  I pointed with the toe of my boot at the frayed edge of his jeans. “So do you.”

  “I’m serious.” He shook his head. “That’s what infuriates me most about what your father did, that he left you like this, alone.”

  I felt my anger rising. We’d already had this conversation and it hadn’t gone well. I was surprised he’d bring it up again. “He didn’t leave me. My dad didn’t choose to die.”

  Nico was silent for a moment, his eyes still on me. “Lulu,” he said gently. “You can’t still believe he didn’t commit suicide.”

  “Why not?” I demanded, my cheeks flushing.

  “The patent application was denied.”

  “So?”

  “So that could only mean his invention didn’t work. That’s why patent applications are denied. And there’s no reason to kill a man for something that doesn’t work.”

  The words were like an electric shock. The reasoning was so simple and yet so obvious – Nico was right.

  And that changed everything.

  I didn’t need to wait for Val’s contact in the patent office to come back with more information, I realized belatedly. It didn’t matter why the patent had been denied – just that it had.

  I’d been so certain my father’s death was tied to his work, so certain he was killed because of it, but now that theory came crashing down. I flashed back to what Breezy had told me, just a few minutes ago. Had I been looking so hard I really had forgotten to see? Had I been hung up, stuck, just like The Hanged Man, tying myself in mental knots so I wouldn’t have to acknowledge what was right in front of me?

  I was speechless, and swept with a sudden, overwhelming emptiness. I’d invested so much in not believing, in the quest to avenge my father’s death. And now, without it—

  Now I had nothing.

  Now you’re free, a voice in my head said. But not a voice I was entirely ready to hear.

  Nico was still watching me. “Are you okay?”

  I looked up at him, aware that there were tears in my eyes. “Yeah,” I said. I took a long, ragged breath. “Of course.”

  I knew the right words, could feel them forming, the words that would make Nico and everyone else stop worrying about me. “In fact, for the first time in a long time, I might be better than okay. I can move forward. And it’s thanks to you.”

  The words were like sawdust in my mouth, and even if they were the right ones they filled me with terror. I wasn’t sure I was ready to move forward. I wanted to run away, be alone. Put my blindfold back on.

  But there was no going back.

  Nico’s smile was so bright it was almost heartbreaking. He leaned toward me. “I- I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear that. You know I care about you. A lot.”

  Before I even realized what was happening, he was touching his lips to mine. The kiss was warm, soft, gentle.

  And I felt nothing. Nothing except an overwhelming pang of longing for Rhys Carlyle.

  I pulled away and gave an awkward laugh.

  Nico’s expression grew sheepish. “I shouldn’t have done that. It just seemed…like the right thing. You seemed so sad.”

  “I’m fine, really. And you know I care about you.” I searched for the right words. All I could think was that Nico wasn’t Rhys, would never be. At least now you know for sure Rhys isn’t a murderer, thought a sardonic voice in my head, but that was cold and bitter comfort. “Nico, you’re like a…brother to me.”

  “A brother,” repeated Nico tonelessly.

  Val’s voice was a welcome interruption. “I hope you two are hungry,” she said, poking her head into the den. “Because lunch is served.”

  Nico and I sat across from each other at the long table, two orphans in the midst of this enormous tight-knit clan. Val’s mother personally supervised the eating, making sure we all took seconds and thirds, and the conversation flowed in every direction.

  And as the afternoon wore on, something strange happened, though for once it was strange in a good way. Val and Nico had ended up seated next to each other at lunch, and I don’t know when, exactly, it happened, but at some point they stopped behaving like two pit bulls at a dogfight and started acting more like Lady and the Tramp. When we played charades after lunch, Val guessed Nico’s words with record speed. It might have been because Nico was such a great actor, but they also seemed completely in sync.

  “You’re crazy,” Val said when I cornered her in the kitchen later.

  “Oh Nico, this beigli is delicious,” I said, mimicking her.

  “That’s called being polite.”

  “It is when normal people do it. When you do it, it’s called you totally like him.”

  “You are lucky you already got your Christmas present, Lucy Aileen Flannigan, because right now you deserve nothing but coal and sticks in your stocking.”

  “And now it’s called doth protesting too much,” I said. “But it looks like I got you the perfect gift after all.”

  “The spa day?” asked Val.

  “No, the date for what’s-his-name’s wedding,” I said.

  I didn’t get home until late, and after the noise and tumult of the Diegos’ house the apartment felt especially empty and silent. Only then did the heavy sadness come over me again, the horrible resignation to the truth Nico had made me see. I took the mink coat out of the closet and wrapped myself in it, but no matter how I tried I couldn’t feel warm.

  I curled up on the couch and sobbed myself to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I tried to banish Rhys Carlyle from my thoughts during the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I wouldn’t let myself Google him. I didn’t pick up the gossip magazine that had a teasing inset on the cover showing him leaving a nig
htclub with a princess from Spain. I even dialed the number on Adam Navarro’s card, though I didn’t leave a message when his voice mail answered.

  Whenever anyone asked how I was, I said, “Great,” and I made it sound so good even Val believed me. Of course she was a little distracted with Nico, so that helped.

  But while I tried my best to control my conscious thoughts, I had no control over my dreams, and there Rhys Carlyle ruled, occupying every sleeping moment.

  He taunted me and teased me, his voice, his words, even his laugh. I’d wake in a cold sweat, my body vibrating with desire, longing for the feel of him moving inside me. Desperate for his touch.

  Every night was a battle between my sleeping desire and my waking fear of the vast, abysmal emptiness stretching before me. When I wasn’t working I watched old movies, black-and-white screwball comedies, trying to lose myself in the sparkling banter of simpler times.

  And though I knew I shouldn’t, knew I should just throw it all away, each day I found myself staring at the collage of items on my corkboard. I held onto them in the same way I held onto the increasingly fragile hope that it wasn’t really over with Rhys, no matter how often and how firmly I told myself it was. Down deep, I was secretly nurturing the possibility that each new day would bring another message. An invitation. An assignation. Something. Anything.

  As New Year’s Eve approached, though, it was impossible to fool myself any longer. It had been almost three weeks without Rhys. It really was over.

  As if it had ever begun.

  The knowledge hit me in the instant I opened my eyes one morning. Suddenly I was drowning in a fresh wave of anguish, a tsunami of pain. I curled into a ball and buried my face in the pillows, tortured by the finality of loss. I stayed in bed for hours, feeling utterly debilitated, lifeless.

  When the phone rang it was already mid-afternoon, and I was still in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The number looked vaguely familiar, but the person on the other end began speaking before I had a chance to say hello.