Page 134 of The Witching Hours

I looked down at the roulette table. “I don’t know how to, um, spin the wheel.”

He pointed to a lever that extended from the table. “When you push down on the lever the wheel will spin. When you release it, you watch the ball and learn your fate.”

I pulled the lever and watched the ball jump as the wheel began to turn. I held the lever until I thought the table was spinning as fast as possible, then released and held my breath.

“One of the things I just can’t figure out,” Winkleman said, watching the wheel, “is that you’ve never been a gambler. Not a penny slot machine at a casino. Not a lottery ticket. Not a dinner check gamble with a friend. Nothing. Then now, all of a sudden with so much at stake, you choose the biggest risk of your life.”

“This is not the biggest risk of my life,” I corrected.

“It’s not?”

“No! Choosing a husband was a bigger risk. Leaving home in midlife to move to Greenwich Village was a bigger risk. Hell. Riding the subway is a bigger risk.”

“I see what you mean.”

His sentence trailed off just as the wheel came to a final stop.

Winkleman and I looked at each other and said in unison, “THIRTEEN!!!”

I had every reason to believe Winkleman was not a hugger, but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed him into a hug, clung to him, and forced him to do five seconds of something like awkward polka.

I felt a vibration in my pocket before I heard the ring.

I stopped, pulled out my phone. “I have a voicemail from my dad. Strange that I never heard the phone ring. It’s been here in my pocket all morning.”

My thumb passed over the button, but Winkleman took the phone from my hand before I hit play.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“Confiscating your phone for a scant moment.”

“Why?”

“There’s something I must tell you.” I pushed back the rush of understanding that tried to overcome reason, and wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else. I knew I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. Suddenly, I didn’t want the rest of my ice cream cone either. I looked around for a place to put it. “Would you like me to take that?”

“Yes. Please,” I said weakly.

He lifted his hand as if to reach for the cone, and it disappeared as if it had never been there.

“Mary Marie. For most people the Curious Goods store is an opportunity to live out an unrealized dream, to do the one thing that would make their lives feel complete. And completed. Closure if you will.”

“Completed?” I looked around, feeling a little panicky. “No.” I began shaking my head. “I’m only forty-two. And my exhibit…”

I looked out the front windows of the store.

“Your body was caught in the crash between the taxi and the van where you chose to cross the street. You never felt a thing. You were already on the way here.”

Winkleman gave me a smile that conveyed love and sympathy. “Not many people have chosen to gift their experience to others. Brava, my girl. You’re not what you think. You’re asdeservingas they come.

“That said, you have finally done something typical. Most people feel they’re in the middle of something they don’t want to leave undone. Rest assured, you created detailed plans and did an excellent job of conveying your vision to your co-workers. The Aesop exhibit will be mounted exactly as you pictured it and, as you predicted, it will be one of the year’s most popular things to see for locals and tourists alike.”

He handed me the phone. “I’m giving this back to you long enough for you to hear your father’s message. After that, it will be time to go, and you’ll not be needing a phone.”

My eyes were burning when I looked down at the phone in my hand. How could I be dead? There were tears falling onto my phone. I didn’t want to press play. My life might not have been ideal, but I didn’t want it to be over.

I looked up at Winkleman. His nod gave me the courage I needed.

“Hey. It’s Dad. I’ve got a spot of good news. I guess I don’t know the lowdown on the best way to handle this kind of thing. So, I’m just gonna say it. Honesty’s the best policy and all. I met someone. Someone special. She’s not your mom, of course. No one could ever take Mom’s place. But we have a surprising lot in common and I think, or I guess I hope, that you’ll like her a lot. Don’t tell you this often enough I guess, but I love you lots, kiddo. And don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite. Call when you can.”

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