Chapter Twenty-One

ACE OF CUPS

 

When we—including Ian—bring him home a few days later, Cam’s already a wheelchair and crutch expert. Star says it’s because he messed up his knee in a stupid football accident when she was little.

“The stupid part is that I was playing football in the first place,” he explains, handing me the hospital folder full of instructions. “No pads or helmets, of course. I was thirty-two, hadn’t played in ten years. What could possibly go wrong?”

He grimaces as Ian helps him out of the car, into the wheelchair on the driveway. “I guess trusting a forty-year-old blueprint wasn’t too smart either.”

Ian crouches down to adjust the chair for Cam’s leg. “Okay, Mr. Cameron. The gravel’s a little tricky, so I’m going to take you to the walkway, then you can take over.”

Cam scowls. “Cam, I told you. Unless you want me to start calling you Mr. Night Hawk.”

Ooooh I wish he would, because Mr. Night Hawk sounds cool and mysterious, but Ian laughs. “All right, Cam.”

Star carries the crutches into the guest house while Ian navigates the wheelchair and Aunt Joanna parks the car next to Ian’s truck. I follow Ian, enjoying the totally awesome view of his firefighter body pushing that wheelchair through the gravel.

We were supposed to get together today, but since Cam was being discharged Ian offered to get him home and settled. I hope the getting settled part doesn’t take too long.

I want to ask Cam about the first night I was here, if it’s true what Aunt Joanna said. Was I really belligerent? But watching him maneuver himself to the door, it’s obviously not the right time. Star holds the door open, and Cam rolls inside.

Aunt Joanna appears and gestures toward the thick hospital folder still in my hand. “Let me take those in. Ian, you’ve done more than enough today. Thank you. Now, you two disappear for a while. I have work to do.”

She actually winks at me. Ian looks straight ahead as if he didn’t see it, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to smile.

My face burns and I don’t look at him as we get in the truck. As many times as I had to pick my way through the Jennie minefield, she was always completely chill with my friends.

I hardly brought anyone home after dark because the chances that she was sober were low, but she never embarrassed me. Even when she’d been drinking, she remembered their names, would say something funny or kind, and disappear gracefully. Aunt Joanna has no chill whatsoever.

When I finally look at him, at the bottom of the driveway, Ian’s smiling way bigger than he should. Ugh, my aunt.

“Sorry about her.”

“Aunties are all the same. So, where to?”

“You know where everything is around here. Show me where the broken fence is,” I suggest. “Where you got in.”

Ian hangs a left. In a few minutes we’re on a narrow, unpaved ridge road that follows the curve of the arroyo, then veers north toward the area with the cliffs and the wildflowers. Jennie’s spot.

“Wildflower Cliff,” I murmur.

“About five miles ahead. You’ve been there?”

“It’s where I’m going to scatter my mom’s ashes,” I explain. The fact that he knew exactly where I meant settles my rattled nerves. Like the day we met, there’s something about him that smooths out all my rough edges.

Ian stops the truck where one of the fence posts is knocked over, with the barbed wire tangled on the ground. “This is where I came in the other day.”

“Looking for some random cows?”

“Sort of. When I walked over, I heard your ATV, so…” He shrugs.

“And the rest is history. There’s something I found out, though.” I hesitate, testing my protective radar, but none of my alarms are ringing. “Remember you said I should think about who would give me drugs? It turns out—”

I stop again. I’m not seeing Starburst colors winding around him today, or the wavering energy fields. Maybe that was a one-time thing, from the intense sunlight and the altitude.

But I saw it in the ranch hand room when he touched Cam’s burned hand, and when I mentioned it he knew what I meant. Another conversation, he’d said. Well, here it is. And he’s looking at me now, with eyes so dark they’re like liquid onyx, and I’m not afraid.

“It turns out,” I continue, “My aunt thinks I have PTSD.”

He doesn’t say anything, but a furrow appears between his eyebrows.

“Um. Do you think that would make me hear what I heard, and see what I saw?”

“That depends. What exactly did you see?” He turns off the truck, and we roll down the windows letting in a cross breeze tinged with sage and juniper.

Defenses down, the words spill out—slowly at first, because he might think I’m crazy, but faster as I realize with relief there’s no judgment bouncing back at me. For the first time in forever, it’s safe to tell.

So I do. I describe the shimmering around the trees, the way the bushes bent toward me, their ugly roots following us down the arroyo, the trails of light my fingers painted in the wind.

I tell him about the turquoise and gold spirals that looped around him, and how they steadied me when I wasn’t sure if my feet were touching the planet.

“And when you were with Cam, I saw that same energy. Not colors, more like heat. It flowed out of you to Cam when you touched him, and when I got a look at his hand in the E.R., it was way better than it was just an hour before. It was almost healed.”

Ian turns in his seat, opens up a bottle of water and passes it over. “What do you think you were seeing?”

“Auras. At least I think that’s what they were. My mother used to see them all the time, but I never could. I didn’t ever want to.” I can hardly believe I’m bringing her up, but the unfamiliar feeling of safety has knocked out all of my defenses. If he can listen to that craziness, he can hear it all.

“She read tarot cards for a living. She was famous for a little while, when she helped the police locate a murdered woman.”

“With cards and auras?”

Ian’s quizzical look isn’t like other people’s when they’d learn about Jennie. They always thought I could tell their future or reveal some kind of mystical secret. They always wanted something, either from me or from her. The realization warms me like the sun streaming through the windshield. It’s not just my visions that are safe with Ian. I don’t have to protect her, either. The tightly wound chain that always guards her powers and addictions slips loose a few links.

“No, she had something called psychometry. She got impressions from objects. Sometimes full-fledged visions of the owner, or something from the object’s past. Some days, they wouldn’t turn off. She couldn’t sleep or think straight because these things would be in her head, in front of her eyes.”

“Maybe you inherited some of that. Seeing the auras,” Ian observes, and shifts to his EMT voice. “But to answer your question, I don’t think PTSD causes those kinds of symptoms. Sometimes hallucinations, but not like what you’re saying.”

“I’ve never seen auras before. I never had that. Just the objects.” The final words tumble out and I wait, wondering if he’ll catch them or if they’ll fall out of his reach.

“You get visions like she did? That’s amazing. And scary sometimes, I bet.”

He’s not freaked out at all.

The chain around my chest slips loose completely. “What’s scary is not being able to control it. I thought I could, but it’s happening more since she died. It scares me, because what if I can’t turn it off? That’s what dragged her into addiction and killed her.”

There. I said it out loud. The hot desert wind scrapes across my face, lifting my hair, and the world doesn’t collapse on me. The sky doesn’t fall.

“You aren’t your mom,” Ian says. “What’s it like? A picture in your head?”

“Hardly ever a full picture, exactly, but like catching someone’s memory. Layers of images and feelings. The turquoise you gave me? It felt like tall pines. Patches of sunlight, high in the mountains. Openness. Either you were there or the rock was.”

“Probably both,” Ian says. “That’s how it is at Fort Apache, up in the mountains. Huge pine trees. Where the turquoise comes from, too. It’s cool that you can see that.”

He glances outside. “We should fix that post if we can.”

We get out of the truck and step close to the drop-off. The arroyo below parallels the ridge, and about a half-mile further down the red sandstone spires stand guard over the hollow.

Ian sinks the fence post back in its hole and we pile some football-sized white rocks around it. The sun is high in the sky and the desert is wide open with no shadows to hold its secrets, or ours.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?” He tilts his head.

“Yes, your turn. You said we’d talk about what I saw between you and Cam. That energy between you.”

“I gotta tell you, I’m surprised you can see it. Only a few people can, like my mom and some of the elders.” Ian looks away, as if he’s not used to talking about it. “Sometimes I can help people in pain. Even help them get well. Not big things,” he adds.

“You’re a healer. I felt it when we met. Whenever you were close or touching me. Like hot and cold at the same time.”

“That’s actually pretty close to what it feels like,” Ian admits. “Not temperature, exactly, but maybe density? Like high and low pressure mixing until it balances out. It’s hard to describe.”

I like that. Balance, equalizing the pressure. “Sometimes reading cards is like that. Like a key fitting into a lock. There’s a zone where it feels right.”

Ian smiles and tilts his head toward the turn at the top of the road. We fall into step, walking up the slope close together. He points out rock formations, but I barely listen.

I want to take his hand in mine. I want to know if he feels what I’m feeling, but I’m too chicken to make the first move. What if he has a girlfriend? If I’m completely in the friend zone, it’ll be an awkward ride back to the house.

Okay, when we get to that bush there, I’ll do it. I’ll slip my hand into his. Just a few more steps. Three. Two. One.

I can’t. Ugh.

All right, when we get to the top. Oh wait, that might be too dramatic, like some kind of big moment. The last thing I need is one of those.

Why can’t these things be smooth, like in the movies?

His hand wraps around mine. I stumble as warm tingly waves flutter from my palm to my collarbone and settle in the back of my neck.

He glances over, a smile hovering, but his eyes have a question in them, like should he drop my hand and flee?

I smile back, and a spark dances through those warm waves, linking our hands.

Silent, we walk to the top of the ridge and stop. The hollow full of flowers spreads out below with streaks of purple and gold, with dashes of white and cinnamon.

“I’ve never told anyone about my visions,” I say. No fear or anxiety. Just truth. Maybe it’s the soft pulse that joins our hands together or how he just lets me talk without judgment or trying to tell me what to do.

“People don’t get it when you’re different,” he replies. “It’s hard to understand it ourselves. I’m lucky I have friends who do, and my mom. Maybe you can come up to Whiteriver sometime and meet her. She always knows how to help me.”

“What’s her name?”

“Liluye.” He pronounces it Li-loo-yeh. “It means ‘Hawk Sings.’”

“That’s so pretty. Her name is like a story. Is she a healer, like you?”

“Not really, but she’s teaching me other things.”

“Like what? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I can’t tell you a lot about it, but it’s called dreamwalking.”

“You mean like lucid dreaming? Controlling your dreams?”

His eyes have a spark of mischief as he leans in and says, “Not just mine.”

“You can get into other people’s dreams? No way!”

Ian shakes his head slightly, but a smile plays on his lips. “I’m not very good at it, but yeah. I can’t believe I just told you that.”

“I won’t say anything. But, wow.” The wind rolls over us in the quiet that follows, bringing the hot, earthy scent of mesquite.

All the walls are down now, but I still hesitate. “Ian, we barely know each other, so if you don’t want to I’ll completely understand, but would you come when we scatter Jennie’s ashes?”

His eyes are gentle. “Yes, of course. Just let me know when.”

“Probably tomorrow, around six.”

“I’ll be here. And I know it hasn’t been very long, but we do know each other.” He takes a step, closing the gap between us. “I’d like to know you better, if that’s all right.” He leans in and his lips brush my cheek. His breath is warm and sweet. My mouth turns to his and our kiss is soft, sending steamy chills curling down my spine.

He presses in deeper, dropping my hand and circling my waist, pulling me close, while both of my arms slide up to his neck and broad shoulders.

Everything between my lips and my knees seems to have dissolved into him and burst into swirling flames of turquoise and gold. His hand slides under the back of my shirt, fingertips leaving trails of warmth on my bare skin.

Dizzy, I pull away, breathing hard. He looks as shaken as I feel.

“Wow,” he says softly. “That was…”

“Amazing,” I whisper and step back into his arms.

~ * ~

It’s late afternoon when we return. Aunt Joanna’s in the kitchen and the air is filled with the rich tang of spaghetti sauce. Ian heads to the guest house to check on Cam, and I want to see him too, so I run up the stairs to change out of dusty sneakers. My heart hums, remembering Ian’s kisses and the tingly fireworks of his hands on my skin.

Can you get into my dreams, Ian?

I hope so. That smile!

I toss my shoes to the corner. The Moon card is stiff in my back pocket and the turquoise is in the front. Surrounded by protection, I stick my feet into some flip-flops.

Then I see it. Or rather, don’t see it. My heart sinks as I stare at the dresser willing my eyes to be wrong, they must be wrong, it can’t be—

The urn with Jennie’s ashes is gone.