The bitter humor was new. A defense mechanism, probably, but Vivienne was glad to see some spark returning.
“So you wanted a reading?” Vivienne gathered the cards she’d been studying and set them aside, pulling out a fresh deck. “What question are you bringing to the cards today?”
Melissa considered. “I guess . . . what comes next? I feel like I’m at a crossroads. The divorce is final, Daniel’s in prison, and I have this book to finish. But I don’t know if I’m ready to move forward or if I’m still stuck in what happened.”
“That’s a good question.” Vivienne shuffled the deck, feeling the familiar weight and energy of the cards. “Let’s do a three-card spread. Past, present, future. Simple but often exactly what we need.”
She fanned the cards across the table. “Whenever you’re ready, choose three.”
Melissa studied the backs of the cards, then carefully selected three, placing them face-down in a row.
Vivienne turned over the first card. The Tower. She wasn’t surprised.
“Your past,” she said softly. “The Tower represents sudden, catastrophic change. Destruction of what you thought was stable. Your marriage, your sense of safety, everything that happened in those tunnels—it all came crashing down.”
Melissa’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. “That’s accurate.”
The second card revealed the Eight of Swords. A blindfolded woman surrounded by swords, trapped but not bound.
“Your present. The Eight of Swords.” Vivienne met Melissa’s gaze. “You feel trapped by what happened. By fear, by doubt, by the trauma. But look closely—the woman in this card isn’t tied up. The swords don’t actually cage her. She could walk away if she removed the blindfold. Your prison right now is partly of your own making. The healing journey requires you to see that you have more freedom than you think.”
“I’m . . . still afraid,” Melissa admitted. “Of trusting people. Of being vulnerable again.”
“That’s understandable. But the card is telling you that you’re not as stuck as you feel.” Vivienne turned over the final card.
The Star.
The most hopeful card in the deck. A woman pouring water under a night sky full of stars, symbolizing hope, healing, and renewed purpose.
“Your future,” Vivienne said, warmth spreading through her chest. “The Star comes after The Tower in the Major Arcana. After destruction comes hope. After trauma comes healing. This card promises that you’ll find your way forward. You’ll heal. You’ll trust again. And you’ll shine—your book, your voice, your truth will be a light for others.”
Melissa wiped her eyes. “I want to believe that.”
“The cards say you can. But you have to choose it. Remove the blindfold. Step out of the swords. Reach for the star.” Vivienne touched the card gently. “What will you do now?”
“Finish the book. About the lighthouse, the Aldriches, all of it.” Melissa’s expression turned fierce, echoing the determination in The Star card. “Daniel thought he could stop me by reporting my research to them. Instead, he just gave me a better story. One about corruption, betrayal, and a seventeen-year-old girl who died trying to expose the truth.”
“Lily would appreciate that.”
“I hope so.” Melissa pulled out a folder. “I’ve been interviewing Martha Morgan. She’s sharing everything—Lily’s journals, her research notes, family photographs. It’s heartbreaking and beautiful and exactly what this story needs.”
Vivienne thought about Martha, who’d finally been able to bury her daughter with dignity. Who’d stopped living in suspended grief and started living again. The book would honor that journey.
“When you write about me,” Vivienne said carefully, “please be accurate. I’m not a fortune teller or a parlor trick psychic. I’m?—”
“A medium with a genuine gift who helped solve a century-old crime.” Melissa met her eyes. “I know. I was there when you led Brooks to me in those tunnels. I heard you talking to spirits I couldn’t see. I’m not going to sensationalize what you can do—I’m going to document it honestly.”
“Thank you.”
“No. Thank you.” Melissa’s voice wavered. “You saved my life. You and Detective Harrington both. I don’t know how to repay that.”
“You don’t have to. Just live well. That’s enough.”
They talked for another twenty minutes about Melissa’s plans. She was staying in a rental apartment in Providence while she wrote, close enough to Westerly Cove for research trips but far enough for emotional distance. She’d started dating again—cautiously, slowly, but opening herself to the possibility.
“I should go,” Melissa said finally. “I have an interview with Gerald Aldrich’s attorney this afternoon. He’s trying to paint his client as a victim of family pressure. I need to prepare questions that will cut through that nonsense.”
“Good luck.”
