Tarotica

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She snapped the flashlight off and faced him. “Looking for your Morte Jaune report.”

“Why?”

“I’m worried that Fortuna Vineyards might be infected. I need to know what you’ve discovered.”

“That’s funny. When I asked Coyote if you’d had any problems with the fungus, he said no.”

Giselle eyed the Louisville Slugger in his hand. “Shortly after I started working there, we expanded and planted twelve additional acres with Vinifera vines. They came from one of the French vineyards that’s recently admitted to having Morte Jaune. ”

“Coyote knows more about growing grapes than I ever will. If Fortuna’s vines were contaminated, he’d be aware of it.” Eli took a few steps toward her. “I thought your job was coordinating events, not field work.”

“We’re trying really hard to make a name for ourselves in this business. That’s damned hard when you’re located in Texas.” She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him defiantly.

God, she’s beautiful, he thought, letting his gaze roam over her lush body. “Why didn’t you just ask to see my research? I would’ve been happy to get copies for you.”

“That would be great. Can we make them now?”

Eli shook his head. “I don’t have the report here. I gave it to Troy.”

Giselle slammed the desk drawer shut. Her body stiffened. A dark shadow passed over her lovely face, like a cloud crossing the moon. Under her breath she muttered,

“Mon dieu.”

Card 19: The Sun

Giselle turned down Eli’s offer of banana-pecan pancakes for breakfast. Instead, she gulped a quick cup of black coffee and left his apartment, insisting she had a busy day ahead of her. She seems to be in a big hurry to get away from me, he thought. I don’t usually have that effect on women.

He decided to make pancakes for himself anyway. He mashed a ripe banana in a bowl, then added milk, an egg, a box of pancake mix, and a handful of chopped pecans.

As he dropped a dollop of batter on a hot skillet, the phone rang. Miranda’s name and number flashed on his caller ID.

“Hi,” he said, pressing the receiver between his ear and shoulder to keep his hands free. “How’s it going?”

“Good. Am I catching you at an okay time?”

“Actually, I’m in the middle of making pancakes.”

“Sorry, I forgot about the time difference. Why don’t you call me when it’s more convenient?”

He flipped a golden-brown pancake. “Where are you?”

“The coast of North Carolina, near the Outer Banks.”

“Cool. As soon as I eat and pull myself together, I’ll get back to you.”

“Sure, okay. I’m about to take a ferry out to one of the islands, so reception could be iffy. If we don’t connect, I’ll just phone later.”

“Later, then. Have fun.”

* * *

Аfter a short boat ride from the historic town of Beauport, Miranda debarked on Shackleford Banks. She pulled the brim of her pink baseball cap down low on her forehead to shield her face from the sun’s burning rays. Slinging her straw tote bag over her shoulder, she set off down the beach in search of the wild horses. Her tourist brochure said the herd had descended from horses brought from Spain four hundred years ago, who supposedly swam from shipwrecked vessels to this desolate, nine-mile-long island.

She took off her sneakers and waded in the warm surf. It caressed her feet like a gentle massage, so different from the ocean in New England, where even in August the water remained bitterly cold. Mid- August already. It’s hard to believe my vacation is almost over.

The sun beat down on her shoulders, testing the strength of her SPF 50 sunscreen, as her mind cycled around to Eli. I wish he were here to enjoy this with me. She imagined him cooking breakfast in the California apartment she’d never seen. Do men really make pancakes for themselves? Most single guys she knew gobbled down cold cereal or warmed up leftover pizza for breakfast. Once again, she wondered if he had a girlfriend in Napa as she recalled the image she’d seen in the crystal of the woman with the dark curls sucking his fingers.

Miranda kicked at the water angrily. She pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. No signal, damn it. Shoving the phone back in her bag, she contemplated her relationship with Eli. The possibility of something long term between us is slim to nil, she admitted. Even if he’s not involved with anyone else, we live on opposite coasts. Long-distance romances never work out. She flashed back to her meeting with the tarot card reader in Santa Fe and wished she’d asked more about their future.

Pushing thoughts of Eli from her mind, she began scouring the beach for shells.

Miles of pristine sand stretched before her, sparkling white beneath the blazing sun. She spotted a conch shell partly buried in the sand and dug it out, but it was broken. After more than a dozen fruitless tries, she found one intact. Turning it over in her hand, she mused, it looks like a pussy with its blatant pink opening. She nestled the shell in her tote bag and continued walking. Next she snagged a sand dollar, then another. Carefully she wrapped them in Kleenex and added them to her bag.

Before long, she’d left the other the tourists far behind. She sat down on a dune and pulled a bottle of water from her tote bag. After resting a while, she ate the sandwich she’d brought along and gazed out across the water. Sunlight danced on the gray-green waves. Wind ruffled her hair. It’s so peaceful here. Again, her thoughts returned to Eli.

Wouldn’t it be fun to make love here on this beach? Miranda recalled the shooting stars she’d seen above Lake Michigan and the wishes she’d made with her girlfriends. Maybe I should just confront him outright. Clarify things. If he admits he’s involved with someone, I’ll cut my losses and move on. No sense wasting affection on someone whose interests lie elsewhere.

She climbed to the top of the dune and scanned the rolling landscape for wild horses. Far in the distance, she spotted a group of six or seven grazing. She turned to look in another direction and saw several more, but they, too, were a long way off.

Overhead, the sun beat down harshly. No trees cast shadows to shield her from its glare. A swim in the ocean would feel good right now. Wish I’d brought my swimsuit. She walked down to the water’s edge. There’s nobody around for miles, she rationalized, scanning the beach. What the hell? Quickly she stripped off her shorts, T-shirt, and underwear, and raced into the surf. The soothing water embraced her as she breast-stroked leisurely through the rippling waves. It’s not exactly cool. Still, it’s refreshing.

She rolled over on her back and floated a while in serene silence.

After fifteen or twenty minutes, she swam back to shore. Standing naked, staring out at the sea, she let the warm wind air-dry her body. She held her arms out parallel to the ground, the way the cormorants back in New England spread their wings to dry them.

Suddenly, Miranda sensed someone watching her. She turned around to face a half-grown bay colt about ten feet from her, pawing the sand. When she held out her hand to him, the shy colt backed away.

“What a beauty you are,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

The colt tossed his head, without taking his liquid, dark eyes off her. She inched toward him; he held his ground. Slowly, she took a few more baby steps. The colt stood still.

“Will you let me pat you?” she asked.

The colt tossed his head again and snorted.