Meanwhile, in the midst of George’s struggles, I continued to wrestle with my own. Love had, rather conspicuously, not arrived. I remembered the images of the various Lovers cards I had seen—the most memorable being in that disgusting Tarot deck Glendon had shown me. Now, what I recalled, was how very s****l the image had been, if twisted. I remembered the woman’s distorted breast pressing against the man’s chest and a thought occurred to me.
“Maybe it only works for heterosexuals,” I said to myself. It was, after all, a man and a woman. But then I heard the Tarot reader’s words about not going down the path of bitterness. They made sense. Then there was the main Tarot reading point, the “message from the universe,” and it too still haunted me. In fact, maybe I was holding onto it as my l
