“PICK A CARD. Any card.” Henry’s dimples wink as he grins.
He leans on the front counter of the Fox Den, fanning a set of jet-black cards with gold filigree musical notes on them. Henry and me. Me and Henry. I can’t get the thought out of my head. It’s hard to reconcile falling asleep on the bus and waking up here with him, back at the store. My memory is a puzzle with missing pieces.
“Am I supposed to ask the question aloud?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just concentrate on it. Focus with your mind. Then pick the card you feel drawn to for the answer.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Our trip flashes in a series of reverse-motion still shots in my mind. He’s asleep beside me on the bus. Then he’s holding me in the graveyard as I cry. He’s leaning toward me under an umbrella at Strawberry Field. He’s grinning across the table from me on Penny Lane. Then staring at me through a camera lens at Pier Head. I ask the silent question: What’s the outcome of this thing between Henry and me? My hand reaches for the cards until they stop on one. I peek through my lids and pull it away from the deck. It’s warm in my hand, shiny gold border contrasting the ink-black of the card.
“Flip it over on the counter,” Henry says. I don’t look at him, in case those thought particles he was talking about have somehow transmitted to him what I’ve asked. I flip the card over. In the same shiny gold filigree, two figures—a man and a woman—face one another. Behind them, swirls dominate the sky like they’re suspended in the cosmos. An angel reigns over their heads. At the bottom of the card: THE LOVERS.