Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(96)
The Chariot card probably means a lot to you. I bet it comes up frequently in your deck with all the travel you do. It would have come up for me too that time. I got in my car and drove for thirteen hours just to see you ride in that insane metal death cage. I was so fucking worried about you. I know you know what you’re doing, but I wanted to be there, just in case. But it went perfectly. You were amazing. You came out of the cage and took your helmet off and held it up to the crowd. You looked so fucking proud. And I was so fucking proud of you too.
Ride safe, Mayhem.
I love you. I’m not letting you go. I never will.
FK
I smile at the Chariot card before placing it with the others in the drawer of my nightstand.
Every week. No matter where I am. No matter how busy. No matter if the show is great or a near disaster, if it’s raining or sweltering hot or, one time, even snowing. Every single week, Baz brings me a letter from Fionn.
And then, in the last week of July, it’s José who brings it to my door.
“Hi,” I say as he stands outside my RV in the evening sun, his hat in his hand. “Would you like to come in?”
“No, peque?o gorrión. I just … I came to give you this.” He extends an envelope to me and I drop down from the last step to take it, watching as he shifts his weight on his feet. I hike my brows in a wordless question, and for a moment he seems to deliberate, torn in a war of emotion. “What are you doing here, Rose?”
“What do you mean?” I let out a puff of a laugh as I scan the fairgrounds, gesturing toward the motor homes and campers parked around me. “I live here.”
“No. You don’t. You exist here.”
It’s like a punch to the ribs, one that sucks out all my air. “This is my home.”
“Yes. But you’re not yourself here anymore. You don’t seem excited to perform. You haven’t even set up your tarot tent since we started the tour.”
“If you need me to read tarot, I will,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
“I don’t need you to. It’s just that it used to bring you joy. And others too. You know there was this woman named Lucy at the last stop who found me to ask if you were still doing readings?”
My throat tightens. “Lucy …?”
“Lucy Cranwell. Had three kids with her. She said she saw you in Hartford. That you gave her a reading that changed her life. Her whole life, peque?o gorrión. She wanted to say thank you.”
“Why didn’t you come find me?”
José shrugs, giving me a melancholy smile. “I didn’t think you wanted to be found. At least, not by anyone but him,” he says with a nod to the letter in my hand.
I drop my arms from my chest. He’s right. I haven’t opened my tent since we hit the road. I’ve been scared of how much my need for vigilante justice ended up costing the people I love. How much it cost me. But in my grief, I forgot how much it gave to people who need the kind of help that’s not easily asked for. I look down at the envelope in my hand, knowing there will be another tarot card inside. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s time to become the Sparrow again.
“You’re right,” José says. “This will always be your home. But it doesn’t have to be. I got a letter too.” When I tilt my head and furrow my brow, José spins his cap in his hands. “Dr. Kane said he was sorry that he didn’t take good care of you like I asked him to that day we met in the hospital. And he said he would spend every day for the rest of his life trying to make up for it. He told me not to tell you that part, he wanted to tell you himself.”
I smile through a watery film. “You’re such a gossip.”
“That’s part of the reason why I run such a good circus. I’m in everybody’s business,” José says with a wink. He grins, but his smile slowly turns melancholy. “He wants me to give you time off so he can see you. He loves you, Rose. We will always be here for you, of course we will. But this?” he says, gesturing to the white paper clutched too tightly in my grip, “This could also be your home, if you let it. Maybe it’s time to go. I think you want to. Don’t you?”
Do I? I don’t know. Holding these letters in my hands and reading pretty words that I want so desperately to believe is one thing. Standing in front of the man who shattered my heart is another. It’s been nine months since I last saw him. He’s probably so different now. Maybe he’s not the only one.
Indecision must be written in the tears that cling to my lashes. I catch the shine in José’s eyes too before he draws me into an embrace. “Go, Rose. And if you don’t come back, I wish you well.” I nod. Press my eyes closed. Listen to his heart as we sway in the summer sun. “And take the raccoon with you. She keeps getting into the churro batter. Do you know how many batches I’ve thrown out?” I laugh, though it’s half-hearted. When he pulls away, José frames my face and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love you like a daughter, peque?o gorrión. That will never change.”
“I love you too, José.”
I give him a melancholy smile, and he gifts me with a flourish of a bow in return. And then he puts his hat on, shoves his hands into his pockets, and ambles away. When he disappears from view, I enter my motor home, my fingers trembling as I grab the letter opener and slide onto the seat.