The 7th Tarot Card Read Free Page A

Washington. The decorative mini-lights adorning the trees and lampposts were just beginning to blink on, twinkling softly in the dusk and casting a charming glow onto the town. Out on the lake, two die-hard jet skiers in wetsuits raced around Moss Bay, getting in some last-minute water time as the remaining rays of filtered sunlight slipped silently behind the Olympic mountain range.
    After a short drive to Redmond, I pulled into my garage and parked. I grabbed my purse and shopping bags containing my new sweater and pajamas, and felt pleased with my purchases. Directly across from my garage sits a row of grey mailboxes, lined up like little metal soldiers at attention, and I walked over to them to collect my mail. In the gathering twilight, I did a cursory glance through the pile of junk mail, bills, and magazines. Nestled in between was a small padded envelope with a neatly hand-printed address but had no return information. Curious to find out what was inside, I turned and quickly walked the short distance to my condo.
    As I started up the stairs, pondering the mystery envelope, I couldn’t help overhearing a conversation my neighbor, Steve, who lives below me, was having with another guy. Steve is a very sweet, very shy, computer technician; the perfect, quiet neighbor whom anyone living in a condo covets. Steve’s come to my rescue more than a few times when I’ve encountered the dreaded blue screen of death. The two men stood just outside Steve’s front door and the other guy was loud and razzing him pretty hard—a real jerk.
    “Thanks for fixing my laptop, man,” the jerk said. “It’s awesome having a computer geek for a buddy. I’d have invited you to my party last weekend, but it was a couples thing, you know? You should see this hot new chick I’m dating.” He blew out a low whistle. “When was the last time you had a date anyway? Years I bet. Dude, you still like girls don’t you?”
    “ I have dates,” Steve said in defense.
    I winced.
    “Yeah, right. In your dreams,” said jerk. “Name one date you had in the last year.”
    Something told me to mind my own business, stay out of it, so I continued on my way up the stairs. But, at the top, I hesitated, turned around, then descended the steps midway and hung over the railing. “Steve! Hi honey.” Both of them turned and looked up at me.
    “Hi,” I said, smiling sweetly at the jerk. I couldn’t tell who was more stunned. Turning back to Steve, I continued, “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t remember what time we said—eight-thirty?”
    “ Ummm,” Steve started.
    I jumped in before he could say anything more, “We could make it earlier if you’d like—say eight o’clock? Okay?”
    “ Sure,” Steve managed to say.
    “I bought a little something for our date tonight.” I dangled my shiny, pink-striped Victoria’s Secret bag over the railing. “You’re gonna love it. See you at eight.” I gave him my warmest, sexiest smile, then turned and flounced up the stairs. Good thing they couldn’t see the flannel PJs inside the bag. I strained to hear their conversation, but there was complete silence. I think they were both speechless.
    My automatic porch light had already come on, welcoming me with a friendly glow as I reached the top of the stairs. The soft mist of moisture that developed during my drive home evolved into a steady sprinkling of rain as I unlocked my door. Perfect timing. I let myself into my condo and deposited my packages on the dining room table. Still wearing my rain jacket, I flipped on a brass table lamp and sank down onto the floral sofa in my living room to open the mysterious envelope.
    Ripping off the top edge, I peeked inside, then slipped my fingers in and pulled out a CD. It was the soundtrack from the movie, Blue Velvet . The plastic case was scratched and worn. Hand-printed on a yellow sticky note taped to the front of the case, again in small, neat letters was the message:
    This is one of my favorites