Shame: A Stepbrother Romance (13 page)

We take turns cooking for each other in my apartment, dressed only in Christmas patterned aprons. I feed him red sauce out of a wooden spoon, just like in every lighthearted romantic comedy, and he licks his lips seductively, smearing sauce all over his mouth, then leans in to kiss me and makes a mess of my face.

He is sitting next to me at a local book auction in a dingy basement, enthusiastically shouting out his bids in half-dollar increments on a fairly common first edition. At the end of the evening, we leave with a bag full of ‘treasures’ and end up celebrating on a secluded bench in a deserted park, sinking into the thick cushion of fresh snow.

He storms into the bookstore with a huge box in his arms, wrapped in reindeer and mistletoe patterned paper and tied with an enormous red and gold ribbon that’s almost as big as the box itself. He teases me that it’s actually a present for him and he wants me to jump out of this box at the stroke of midnight on Christmas eve, but when I open it, it turns out to be a new printer. After I thank him with a sensual, slow blow job in the storage room, we shout like wildlings as we smash the old printer to pieces with a pair of baseball bats he’s brought for the purpose.

In short, I am truly happy. I have a resemblance of a family and an amazing best friend and I seem to be on my way to having my first real Christmas in… well, forever. Right now I can’t picture a single thing going wrong.

I decide to take my lunch in the bookstore. It’s snowing hard again and the streets are too busy with shoppers and lunch-hour people right now. I have some Chinese leftovers in the mini fridge in the kitchen, so I can just warm that up and catch up on my reading. As I take the plastic dish over to the coffee table by the fireplace, I spot a shelf with decks of Tarot cards and books on the subject.

I haven’t had a reading in forever. I used to be hooked on Tarot at one point, but I had too much trouble getting the readings right and it had become tedious having to look up the meanings of the cards in a manual all the time. Though we’d had quite a few good moments with Ashleigh, giggling over our predicted futures, at some point I’d come to accept that some people just had a gift for this and I wasn’t among them.

It would be fun to see if the cards would confirm my current optimistic state though, so as long as I was careful not to drop any sweet and sour chicken on top of them, I could use a deck just one time and return it for sale on the shelf later. My own deck had got lost somewhere in my overstuffed closet back in the apartment and I hadn’t seen it in months.

I settle by the fire and dig in the greasy breaded chicken with one hand, while with the other I carefully cut the deck and lay out three cards. They are so new and slippery, I almost get one of them into the carton of rice noodles. I know from my limited experience that the more you work with the same deck of cards, the more it absorbs your energies and the more accurate the reading is.

I’m not too concerned with accuracy right now though. This is just for fun and exactly because I have such limited experience, I pick the simplest spread—three cards representing my past, present and future. I get up to get a paper towel to wipe my fingers, so I can look up the meanings in the book and as I walk back to the table, the entire set up seems somehow mystical to me.

It’s quiet in the book shop, the only sounds coming from the cracking wood in the fire, and it still smells like Christmas from the dozen cinnamon and orange scented candles Andrew has decorated my mantelpiece with. The three cards are waiting for me on the low table and they seem a bit menacing. All of a sudden I’m starting to doubt this whole idea. What if they say anything other than what I want them to say? What if my future is not all rainbows and unicorns?

Come on
, I mentally urge myself,
it’s just for fun, remember?

I flip the first card, which represents my past.

Upright Queen of Pentacles.

I go almost to the back of the book, where the Earth cards are listed and read along. At least I know that the upright position must mean something positive and there is nothing scary in the picture of a woman sitting on a throne with a bunny in her feet, so I’m relieved even before I start interpreting.

According to the book it could represent a nurturing mother figure, which I quickly dismiss as my mother has been anything but nurturing. Another interpretation is prosperity and security, so I smile and decide to go with that one before I’ve even finished reading the rest of the meanings. Surely it fits my past well, or at least my recent past.

I’m also way more concerned with my present and future, so I rush towards the second card.

Upright Tower.

Shit
! Even I can tell this is bad. There is nothing positive about the lightning striking a tower and people falling out of its windows. As I leaf through the manual, I only hope that the upright position of the card will soften the blow. It doesn’t. The meaning is pretty straightforward. Disaster and sudden change. Really? A monumental experience that will shatter my current state of security.

I try to think of a single event that might in any way ‘shatter’ my life as it is right now and all I can come up with is Andrew backing out of our ‘relationship’. Even that doesn’t seem too monumental. I know what we have is not going to last forever and sooner or later we’ll have to revert to our assigned roles of brother and sister, though I’m not ready for that moment to come just yet. Still I think I can recover if it came to that.

Or could it mean our parents will find out about us? That could be potentially life-shattering.

I’m suddenly getting uncomfortable with my decision to have a tarot reading, but I remind myself I’m not even doing it the right way, so there’s no way the reading is accurate. I haven’t used the deck before, I haven’t meditated prior to drawing the cards, I haven’t concentrated on any particular area of my life I want to learn more about.

“Okay, let’s just get this over with,” I murmur and flip the last card.

Upright Ten of Swords.

I am stupefied as I examine the picture before me. If I had
tried
to draw a worse card to represent my future, I probably wouldn’t have succeeded. This seems like the bottom. The card shows a man lying face down on the ground with ten swords stabbing his back. Do I even need to check what it means? I do it anyway and as I read, my heart sinks as if this is a final verdict, rather than an innocent card reading.

Something will come to a sudden, crushing end and will leave me powerless, miserable and back-stabbed.

I shut the book closed and quickly put the three cards back in the deck. I take everything back to the shelf and notice that my hands are trembling as I am arranging the display. I should get a grip. My lunch hour is almost over and I have completely forgotten about the Chinese. From a fun, casual way to spend my break, this has turned into a disaster, leaving me more worked up than I thought possible.

The thing is I don’t even believe in tarot. How can a deck of cards know what my future holds? Not to mention my present. I am living my present right now and I know no monumental changes are under way. As I send the boxes of unfinished food flying down the trash bin in the kitchen, I hear the little bell above the front door tinkle.

I freeze. It’s irrational and I know it, but I fear the worst. It’s probably just a customer, not a life-shattering change walking through my door and yet my feet are heavy as I walk the short distance towards the front of the book store.

This can’t be happening… These were just cards! The deck costs $7.99 for God’s sake! Hardly expensive enough for an accurate future-predicting medium.

From the looks of it, it’s not a customer. It’s two men, dressed in smart black suits with hands-free devices stuck in their ears.

“Miss Highfield?” one of the men says while checking something in his iPad.

I feel like I might lose consciousness.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“That’s me,” I say when I finally find my voice. Did someone die? Am I being arrested? I take hold of the edge of the front desk counter and try to steady myself. It doesn’t make any sense that the two men would be here for either of those reasons. They’ll probably just try to sell me bibles or want to leave their product catalogs and leave.

“Here,” one of the men says, handing me a stack of papers, “This is to let you know that your business is being repossessed on the grounds that you are no longer capable of financing it and with regards to a lawsuit that is held against you. You will be receiving your official notice in the mail later this week.”

His voice is like steel, sharp and completely devoid of emotion. I’m still working through what he’s saying. What the hell is going on?

“Miss Highfield?” the man says robotically, “Do you understand what this means?”

“I… There is some mistake, Mr… Officer,” I mumble, not sure how to address the man, “It’s not possible. I am perfectly capable of financing my business. In fact, I’ve just deposited my monthly payment yesterday. I think you have the wrong person.”

From his expression I gather he is hardly keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

“Miss Highfield,” the other man steps in and he sounds a little more like a human, “There is no mistake and we’ll be needing your full cooperation in assessing your assets. Effective immediately, you are no longer allowed to conduct business and it would be in your best interest to vacate the premises until our evaluators have had the chance to do their job.”

“Vacate the premises?” I repeat stunned, “What is all this? I’ve never even got an overdue notice on my loan! I’m telling you, you have the wrong Highfield.”

The first man is tapping his foot impatiently on the floor and the sound it’s making thumps in my ears as if he is dropping bowling balls in my feet.

“Is that you, Miss?” he says and points towards the papers.

I take a cursory look, ready to brush him off, but need to look again. It’s me. My name, social security number, address and business information. Still, I am not convinced. Or perhaps my brain is just not equipped to absorb this information that quickly. I wish they would give me time to think about what they are telling me.

At that moment, a customer walks in. It’s a middle-aged woman, wrapped in a fluffy down coat with a fur-trimmed hood on. The snowflakes on her shoulders turn into tiny drops of water the second she walks in. The friendlier man immediately goes over to her and says something. I only catch “…is under seizure…” and I want to die.

The woman glances at me over the man’s shoulder and there’s a curious look in her eyes. It’s completely humiliating. Even though I’ve never seen her before, she is the first witness to this whole disaster unraveling and it feels like I’m sinking. I want to hide my red face and I want to argue and defend myself, but the men are so intimidating I don’t even know what to say.

Once the woman is out the door, the men turn to me again.

“You’ll find appeal details in the papers, but right now, we need you to surrender all accounting records, so our team can start their work immediately.”

“What are you saying?” I say quietly, “Is the book shop no longer… mine?”

“In plain terms, that’s exactly what I mean,” the robot says and takes a menacing step towards me. I step back, though it’s silly and useless. “We’ll also need the keys and the best way to reach you. Is the listed phone number on those papers your most current means of contact?”

I’m shaking so hard now that my nod comes out as a seizure-like movement of my head. I am still in denial and I firmly believe none of this is real. I’ll just make a few phone calls and it will be sorted out. I need some water and I need to sit down. I’m feeling lightheaded and all I want is for the men to leave me alone and let me think.

That’s not what’s on their agenda, it looks like, because they are both staring at me as if I’m supposed to do or say something now.

“Can I make a phone call?” I say and remember that’s what people say when they’ve been arrested in movies.

“Please,” the friendlier man says graciously, “Take your time, though we’d like to get started on the procedure as soon as possible.”

I walk, or more like float, into the storage room like a ghost and whip out my cell phone. I have no missed calls, no emails, no signs that this would be coming today. Once I close the door, the men out in the front of the store finally seem less real to me and I quickly dial my mom’s number.

“Jo?” she says in a grave voice and I have the nagging feeling that she already knows. I’m relieved. At least I have an ally and soon this will all be sorted out. She must know where the confusion came from.

“Mom, what the hell is going on? Do you know anything about this?”

“I’m so frustrated with you, Jo, I don’t think I can even speak to you right now,” she sighs into the phone and I am once again stunned. What is she talking about?

“Mom!” I shout, interrupting whatever little drama is playing out in her head. “Do you know anything about two men coming to the bookstore today?”

“I warned you, Jo,” she continues as if she hasn’t heard me, “And for you to go against us like this… I can’t even recognize you! What’s happened to you? Why would you do this?”