A summer love thanks to the Tarot cards

A wonderful meeting at the end of a summer thanks to Love Tarot

This is a love story with a happy ending. But many things seem to go wrong at first. With the help of the tarot cards of the Love Tarot, the two hearts find each other.


Read here how there can also be a happy ending for you in your love life. 


Reading time 12 minutes.

They had to say goodbye before the luggage inspection.


But because all the counters and checks at the small airport were in one room, he could follow her with his eyes as she put her suitcase on the conveyor belt, walked through security, showed her boarding card and went to the plane.


This was just behind the glass door on the tarmac.

They had to say goodbye before the luggage inspection.


But because all the counters and checks at the small airport were in one room, he could follow her with his eyes as she put her suitcase on the conveyor belt, walked through security, showed her boarding card and went to the plane.


This was just behind the glass door on the tarmac.


She kept looking at him and waving to him. On the stairs to the plane, she turned to him one last time, laughed and cried at the same time, and laid her hand on her heart.


He waved at the small windows as she disappeared into the plane, but didn't know if she saw him or not.


Then the engines of the plane started, it started rolling, got faster and took off. 


His flight wouldn’t leave for another hour. He ordered himself a coffee, got himself a newspaper and sat down on a bench.


He hadn't read a newspaper since they met and hadn't sat alone over a coffee since either.


When, after a while, he still hadn't read a line and hadn't drunk a sip of coffee, he thought: "I must have forgotten to be alone.” He accepted this thought.


He had arrived 14 days ago. The season was over and the nice weather had left with it. It was drizzling and he spent the afternoon with a book on the covered terrace of his hotel.


When he ventured out into the bad weather the next day and walked in the rain to the lighthouse on the beach, he crossed the woman twice: first on the way there and then on the way back.


They smiled at each other, shy the first time and a little more curious the second time.


They were the only walkers far and wide, and at the same time they were fellow sufferers and companions of joy, as both of them would have preferred a blue sky, but still enjoyed the gentle rain.


In the evening she sat alone on the large terrace of the popular seafood restaurant, which was already prepared for autumn with plastic tarpaulins.


In front of her stood a full glass of wine while she read a book. Was that a sign that she was waiting for her husband or boyfriend?


He stood impatiently in the doorway until she finally looked up and smiled friendly at him. He gathered all his courage, went to her table and asked if he could join her.


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‘Please,’ she said and put her book aside. He sat at her right side, and because she had obviously already ordered, she could advise him. He chose the salmon that she had also chosen.


But then both of them didn't know how continue the conversation. The book didn't help either. He couldn’t read the title from where he was sitting.


After a short silence he said: ‘There’s something about a holiday in the bay during off-season.’ 


‘Because the weather is so good?’ she replied and laughed. Was he making fun of him? 


He looked at her. She didn't have a very pretty face, her eyes were small, her chin a little too strong, but her facial expression was not mocking. Rather it was cheerful, maybe even a little insecure.


‘Because you have the beach all to yourself. Because in every bar you find a table where you wouldn’t stand a chance in the high season. And because you are less alone with a few people than with many.’


‘Do you always come here at this time of year?’ she asked. ‘No, this is my first time here. Actually I should be working.


But my hand has not recovered yet, and I can do my exercises here just as I can in New York. He moved his left hand up and down, his wrist to the left and to the right.


She watched him in amazement and wondered what he was practicing for. 


‘I play saxophone in the orchestra. And you, do you also play an instrument?’ ‘I have learned to play the piano, but I don’t play much.’ She blushed.


‘As a child I often came here with my parents and sometimes I feel homesick. Just like now. And at the end of the season the bay has its special charm, just like you described it.


Everything is more pleasant, calmer, emptier, I like that.’


He didn't say that he couldn't afford a holiday in high season, and even assumed that it was the same for her.

She wore sneakers, jeans and a sweatshirt, and over the armchair hung a waxed jacket that had clearly been worn a lot. 


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When the two studied the wine list together, she chose a cheap bottle of Chardonnay.

She talked about San Francisco, about her job at a social institution that supported children from the ghetto, about a life without cold and about the fascination for the Pacific.


He talked about falling over a wrongly laid cable that broke his wrist, of a broken arm jumping out of a window at the age of ten and of a broken leg skiing in the Austrian Alps at the age of 14.


At first they sat alone on the terrace, later other guests joined them until they were alone again with the second bottle of wine.


When they looked out of the window, the sea and the beach lay in complete darkness. The rain was constantly pelting down on the roof.


‘What are your plans for tomorrow?’ she asked curiously. ‘I know they have breakfast in the hotel, but how would you feel about having breakfast with me?’


He walked her home. She took his arm under the umbrella, but they didn't say a word.


Her little house was on the road, whereas his hotel was two kilometers away.


The light in front of the door turned on automatically and they suddenly saw each other in a very bright light. 


She embraced him tenderly and gave him a touch of a kiss. Before she closed the door, he said my name was Rick. ‘What is your name?’ 


‘My name is Sandra.’


Rick woke up early, crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the rain that kept cracking on the leaves of the trees.


He liked to hear the even and calming crackling, even if it didn't promise anything good for the day.


Would he see Sandra again after breakfast? 


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He has already had so many bad experiences with chance acquaintances.

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He tried to make it clear to himself that he actually didn't know how it continues. He couldn't ask her and he couldn't talk to anyone about it either.


In many other life situations he had trusted his tarot cards so far. But lately, the cards were just lying around in his bag.


He did not dare to question the cards. He was too afraid of the answer. Too scared to be disappointed.


But he needed an answer. So he took his cards out of the bag, created a calm atmosphere for himself and burst with tension as he laid the cards.


Rick wanted questions answered.

  • Is she the right one?
  • What does she think?
  • Is she serious?

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He expected a huge disappointment, but the Love Tarot cards were so clear that he was completely amazed.


The positive signals the cards sent him were clear. There was a woman who had stepped into his life and who would change it on a very intense level.


Maybe walk with her to the beach or in the forest around the lake? He didn't have a car and suspected that she hadn't rented one either.


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That made joint activities more difficult. He practiced and stretched out his hand so that he would later have to practice less in Sandra’s presence.


He was a bit nervous. If the two of them really spent the day together after breakfast and also ate together or even cooked, what would be next?


Should he sleep with her? Show her that she was a desirable, attractive woman and he was an eager man? Would he otherwise embarrass himself or offend her?


Oh, it had been a long time since he had slept with a woman. Also he didn't feel particularly desirable and he hadn't found her particularly attractive on the last evening either.


She had a lot to tell and a lot to ask, she listened attentively, was funny and charming.

The fact that she always hesitated a tiny moment before she said anything and, when she concentrated, pinched her eyes together seemed attractive though.


So she piqued his interest, but his desire? Breakfast was prepared for him in the lounge.


Although he had no appetite, he sat down so as not to disappoint the older hotel couple, who had pressed the orange juice, stirred the eggs and baked the pancake.


The woman came to his table every few minutes and asked if he still wanted coffee or another jam or if he had any other wishes. Only then did he realize that she just wanted to talk to him.


And so he asked her how long she had been living here and put the coffee pot down. 30 years ago, her husband had received a small inheritance, and they had bought the little house in the bay where he wanted to write and paint her. 


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But that never happened, and when the children grew up and the money from the inheritance was used up, they turned the house into a hotel.


They told me what I wanted to know about the bay, where it was most beautiful and where was best to eat. ‘And if you go out today: the beach is also a beach when it rains, but the forest is only wet.


There is fog between the trees in the forest. It also covers the houses next to the road.’ 


The little house where Sandra lived was a former lighthouse keeper's house. It had a driveway next to it, which led to another, bigger house.


He couldn’t find a doorbell, so he knocked. Not long after, she called. Her voice sounded dull. He heard her run up a staircase, slam a door and run down a corridor.


Then she stood in front of him, a bottle of Prosecco in her hand and completely out of breath. ‘I was in the cellar.’


The Prosecco scared him again. He could already imagine Sandra with the glasses, on a sofa in front of a fireplace. She moves in closer, it was so far. ‘Why are you just standing there? Why don’t you come in?


In the spacious room next to the kitchen he actually saw a fireplace, firewood next to it and a sofa in front of it.


Sandra had set the table in the kitchen, and again he drank orange juice and ate fried eggs, and afterwards there was fruit salad with figs. ‘It tasted excellent, but now I have to go out and run or ride a bike or swim.’


When she looked doubtingly at the rain outside, he told her about his double breakfast. ‘Why? You didn't want to disappoint them? What a treasure you are.’ She looked at him admiringly and cheerfully.


‘Yes, why not swim, you don't have swimming trunks? You want...’

Her gaze was doubtful but agreed, she put towels in a bag. She added an umbrella, the prosecco and two glasses.


‘We can walk quietly across the property, it’s faster and more beautiful.’

They passed the big house, a mysterious building with mighty columns. They climbed the projecting steps.


Now they were standing on the terrace. The went around the house and found a stairway to the roofed veranda From there, they have a foggy but nevertheless wide view of the beach and the sea.


‘It is very quiet’, she whispered. Did she recognize that at this distance, did she hear it? It stopped raining. ‘Where are the seagulls?’ ‚Out on the sea.


When the rain stops, the worms from the earth and the fish come to the surface.’ She laughed. ‘Didn't we want to go swimming?’ She ran off so fast that he couldn't keep up with the big bag.


In the dunes he even lost sight of her and when he finally reached the beach, she just bare her panties and ran to the sea.


When he arrived, she was already swimming far away from the shore.

The sea was really quite still and it was only cold until he started to swim.


He also swam, far away from shore, and let himself float on his back. Sandra swam even further. 


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When it began to rain lightly again, he enjoyed the drops on his face. The rain became stronger and he couldn’t see Sandra anymore.


He called her. He swam in the direction he thought he had last seen her and called again.


When he barely saw the land he turned back. He was not a fast swimmer, had to exert himself and only made slow progress. This slowness turned his fear into panic. How long would Sandra last?


Does he have his cell phone in his pocket? Does he have any reception at all on the beach? Where was the next house? Questions upon questions blocked his head. He became even slower and more panic-stricken.


Then rather a pale figure looked up from the sea and stood up on the beach. The anger gave him strength.


How could she scare him like that? She waved, but he did not wave back. When he stood angrily in front of her, she smiled at him.


‘What is going on?’ she asked. ‘What is going on? I got a mad fear when I didn't see you anymore. Why didn't you swim past me when you swam back?’ ‘I didn't see you’, she answered.


‘You didn't see me?’ She turned red. ‘Yes, I am very nearsighted.’ His anger suddenly seemed ridiculous.


They faced each other naked and wet, the rain ran over their faces, they were both trembling and had goose bumps and warmed their chests with their arms.


She looked at him with a vulnerable, searching gaze that did not express insecurity but only her short-sightedness.


He saw the blue veins shimmering through her thin white skin, her pubic hair, reddish blonde, although the hair on her head was light blonde. He saw her narrow hips, her flat stomach and her strong arms and legs.


He was now almost ashamed of his own body and pulled in his belly.

‘I’m sorry I was rude to you.’ ‘I understand, you were afraid for me.’


And again she smiled at him. Although he was embarrassed, he gave himself a jolt, pointed his head to the spot by the dunes where her things were, called out "go" and ran away.


But again she was faster than him and could have overtaken him effortlessly, but this time she ran beside him, and it reminded him of his childhood, of the joy of walking together to a common goal with his sisters or friends.


He looked at her small breasts, which she had still protected with her arms when they had stood on the beach, and her crisp bottom.


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Her clothes were soaked. But the towels had stayed dry in the bag, Sandra and Rick wrapped themselves in them and sat under the umbrella and drank Prosecco. She cuddled up close to him.


‘Tell me about you, from the beginning. About your mother and your father and your whole family, until now. Are you from America?’ she asked him with curious eyes. ‘No, from Hamburg.


My parents gave music lessons, he taught piano and she taught the violin. Yes, there were four children in the house. I was allowed to go to college, although my three sisters were much better than me.


My father wanted it that way, he could not bear the thought that I would fail as he had failed.


So he sent me to the conservatory instead of him, I became a saxophonist for him in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra and one day I will be the best saxophonist for him in another good orchestra.’


‘Are your parents still alive?’ she asked in between. ‘My father died seven years ago, my mother last year unfortunately. She thought, then she asked:


‘Say, if you had done what you would have wanted to do, instead of becoming a saxophonist for your father, what would you be today?’


‘Please don't laugh at me, but when first my father and then my mother died, I thought: finally I’m free and can do what I want.


But somehow I can't get rid of them, they still talk to me mentally. The best thing would be to go somewhere for a year, away from the orchestra, away from the saxophone, run, swim, think and perhaps write down everything that goes through my head.


Then maybe I would know what I really want, and maybe it would even be the saxophone.’ She was silent for a moment, then she told him: ‘Sometimes I wished someone would talk me into something.


But my parents died in a car accident when I was eleven. My aunt, who I lived with afterwards, unfortunately didn't like children.


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But I didn't know if my father liked me either, I heard him say sometimes that he was looking forward to it when I would be older and he can do something with me. That didn’t sound very nice either.’


‘I'm sorry how was your mother?’ Rick showed his empathy. ‘She was beautiful. She wanted me to be as beautiful as she was.


My dresses looked like hers, and when she helped me put them on, she was loving and tender. She also taught me how to deal with bitchy girlfriends and overly cheeky friends.’


They dined under the umbrella and were both sentimental about their memories. They seemed like two children lost and longing for home, he thought.


Lost in thought, he remembered  his favorite books that he liked to read as a child, mostly about adventures in huts and caves and how children had been robbed, forced to steal or abducted into slavery.


He mourned with the children for the loss of their parents and had secretly hoped that they would return to them. The attraction of the stories for him lay in the fact that the children got on without their parents.


Why is it so difficult to be self-reliant, when all you need is yourself and nobody else?


Still lost in thought, she asked: ‘What is it?’ ‘Oh nothing,’ he replied and put his arm around her. ‘But you sighed, didn't you?’


‘Yes, I would like to be further than I am now.’ Then she cuddled up to his side and showed him that she knows the feeling.


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But isn't it the case that we move forward step by step? Unfortunately often nothing happens, and then we suddenly experience a surprise, a door opens unexpectedly, or an encounter happens that we didn't expect.


And then we are no longer the same as before.’ ‘Not the same anymore?’ he asked, and said: ‘I was at a class reunion a year ago, and the ones that were nerds in school were still nerds, and the assholes were still assholes.


That was shocking to me and the same is probably true for me. You think you develop, you work on yourself and decades later you are all perceived as the same person you used to be.’ ‘


Oh you Germans are pessimists,’ Sandra said. ‘You come from the old world and simply can't imagine that the world will be renewed and that people will also change. Let's go hiking on the beach, Rick, the rain has stopped.’


They wrapped the towels around themselves and walked on the beach, near the sea. The walked barefoot an wet, cold sand tingling their soles. ‘I am no pessimist, Sandra, I always hope that my life will be better.’ ‘Me too.’


When it started to rain again they hurried back to Sandra's house. They froze. While Rick was the first to take a shower, Sandra turned on the heating in the basement.


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When Sandra took a shower, he lit a cosy fire in the fireplace. He wore the dressing gown Sandra had kept from her father, Scottish Karo, warm with silk lining.


They hung up their wet clothes to dry. They even managed to find out how the samovar worked.


Then they enjoyed the fire together on the sofa and drank tea. ‘My clothes will be dry soon,’ Rick said.


‘Stay a while. What do you want to do with the rain? Sit alone in your room?’


‘I....’. He wanted to object that he didn't want to overstay his welcome, didn't want to bother her or steal her time.


But in fact they were just excuses, he noticed that she was happy with his company.


He could read it in her eyes and recognize it by her voice.


He smiled politely at first, then embarrassedly and then expectantly.


What should he do if the situation of closeness aroused expectations in Sandra that he could not meet? 


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She grabbed a book and began to read. She sat and read so comfortably and self-sufficiently that he also began to relax.


He also found a book that piqued his interest. He didn’t actually read much, just secretly watched her reading.


When he came to the hotel at ten o'clock, Linda and John, the hotel owners, were sitting in front of the television.


He told them he didn't need breakfast the next morning, he would have breakfast with a young woman two kilometers away whom he had met at dinner. ‘Does she live in the one big house?’ asked the hotel manager.


‘No, she hasn't done that for a long time when she travels alone,’ Rick replied.


In the last year she was also traveling alone, but had constant visitors, John added.


Rick listened to them with growing confusion. ‘You're talking about Sandra?’ ‘Yes, Sandra Holt.’


‘She owns the big house with the columns?’ Rick asked, astonished.


‘Her grandfather bought it in the thirties.


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After the death of her parents, the administrator ran the property down, only the rent was collected but nothing invested, until Sandra released him a few years ago and had the property repaired,’ the two said.


‘Surely that cost a fortune?’ ‘It didn't hurt her,’ Linda replied. ‘We neighbors are glad that it was not sold to foreign investors.


Otherwise everything would have changed here.’ After this conversation Rick wished them a good night and went to his room.

He didn't like rich people. If he had known about Sandra's wealth, he probably wouldn't have spoken to her.


He despised inherited wealth, he considers earned wealth to be roguery.


His parents did not have enough money to give the four children what they would have liked to give them. He himself earned just enough with the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra to get by in the city.


He never had rich friends and he didn't want them either.


Once again he was angry at Sandra, thinking she had misled him. He felt lured into a situation in which he was now stuck.


Was he really? Nobody forced him to go to her for breakfast the next morning, or he could also go to her and tell her they can't see each other anymore because they are too different or they live in two different worlds. But were they really moveable?


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They had spent the afternoon together, talking about themselves, laughing, cooking together, eating together, watching a film. They obviously both felt comfortable and attracted to each other.


He was angry. At Sandra, or rather at himself? He even hurt his cheek while brushing his teeth. He sat down on the bed, held his cheek and felt sorry for himself.


‘Yes,’ he muttered to himself. He was actually stuck. He had fallen in love with Sandra. What did he really know about her, what did he like about her, how would it work with the two of them in their different worlds?


A few times she would probably enjoy eating with him in the small Italian restaurant he could afford. But after that? Should he be invited by her, even let him endure it, or get himself into debt?


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Is it an honest love? The Tarot cards will tell you.

Your burning questions deserve answers.

He asked the cards that same evening again. 

He trusted his cards. They did not lie.


Was she the right woman for him? He had no interest in one-night stands and short-lived acquaintances.


He wanted a relationship for life. He wanted to get married and have children at some point. He took a lot of time to understand the signals sent out by a free angel card reading.


Again, they were consistently positive. But they also contained the hidden warning to show more self-confidence. He decided to speak openly with her next time.


If she disappeared again, he wanted to draw a hard line despite the positive cards.


That night he didn't sleep well. He kept waking up and when he realized at 6 am that he wouldn't fall asleep anymore, he got up, dressed and left the house.


The sky was still full of dark clouds, but in the east it was already shimmering red.


If Rick didn't want to miss the sunrise over the sea, he had to hurry up and run in his street shoes instead of his running shoes. His soles clapped in the puddles, which in turn scared a swarm of crows.


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The red sky in the east now shone stronger and brighter, Rick had already had a similar dinner several times, but had never seen such a dawn before. Arriving in front of Sandra's house, he tried to be quiet.


Then he reached the beach. The sun rose, red, glowing with a light glitter and continued to ascend in the flaming sky.


It took only a moment until it disappeared over the horizon again behind the clouds. Rick suddenly felt it was not only darker, but also cooler.


Now he noticed that he didn't have to bother to be quiet, because Sandra was already up and sitting at the foot of a dune.


She stood up and he went towards her, but only because he wanted to be polite.


It seemed to him that here two people were approaching each other, their eyes directed at each other, as if they were negotiating something, but what?


Her face asked something, did she also find answers in his? He smiled, but she did not return it. She had a serious look. As they stood directly opposite each other, she said: ‘Come!’


She took his hand, led him to the house and down the stairs into the bedroom. She undressed impatiently, went to bed, and watched him undress and go to bed with her.


She said, ‘I have waited so long for you.’


So she loved him. As if she had been looking for him for a long time and had finally found him.


As if she and he could do nothing wrong. She took him with her and he let him. He did not ask himself: ‘How was I?’ And she did not ask: ‘How was I?’


When they lay nestled together after the act of love, he was sure that he loved her.


That one woman, with the little eyes, the overly pronounced chin, the thin figure, who was more boyish than other women he had slept with so far.


The woman who had a sense of security even though her moderately loving parents pushed her towards a loveless aunt.


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Who seemed to have more money than she could deal with. And the most important thing: who saw something in him that he didn't see himself.



For the first time he had loved a woman as if there were no pictures of how love has to happen. As if they were a couple from the last century, without cinema and without television, a time that could not describe people before how to kiss, moan and express real lust.


They were a couple and discovering kissing, moaning and love for themselves. Sandra never seemed to close her eyes during the union. Whenever he looked at her, she looked at him too.


He loved her look, devoted and forgetting herself. 

She sat up and laughed at him.


‘How glad I am that I smiled at you when you didn't know what to do in the restaurant, but at first I thought it wasn't necessary, you would come to me without going the fastest way.’


He smiled back cheerfully. It never occurred to them how bumpy their encounter in the restaurant had actually been.


They realized how clumsy it was and both laughed. They did not leave the bed until evening. Then they fetched Sandra's car from the garage, a Mercedes classic car, and drove through the night and to a supermarket in the rain.


The light there was bright, the music from the speakers sounded synthetic, and few customers pushed their shopping tiredly through the empty aisles.


‘We should have stayed in bed,’ she whispered him tenderly in her ear, and he was glad that she was as disturbed by the scenery as he was.


She laughed, breathed deeply, started shopping and soon had enough to fill the whole car. He and she took turns loading the goods.


He paid at the checkout with his credit card and already thought at that moment that for the first time in his life he would not be able to pay the bill.


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He was disturbed by these thoughts, but was more irritated that on such a beautiful day a little thing like an overdrawn account could disturb him.


As a reaction of defiance, he bought three bottles of champagne in the liquor store next door. On the way home Sandra wanted to pick up his things, but Rick didn't want to go back to the hotel at this time.


Sandra agreed. She obviously knew the route to her home well, she drove fast and safe and took the curves skillfully.


He wanted to know if she had arrived by car, but she said no and told him the car belonged to the house and garden, with Clarke, the caretaker here, taking care of everything.


‘Do you only live in the big house when you have guests?’ Rick asked. ‘Shall we pull up tomorrow? It's too big for me alone, but I'd enjoy it together with you.


We could play in the billiard room, in the music room you could practice the saxophone, in the library we would read together and in the salon I would have breakfast and a big dinner served.’


Sandra spoke more and more determinedly but also happier. ‘We can choose whether we sleep in the big bedroom, where my parents and grandparents already slept, or in my childhood bedroom, how does that sound?


In the dim light of the car, he saw her smile on her face as she wallowed in memories.


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He even had the impression that they it was a long time from when they first met.


At that moment he wanted to ask what singer or star she had dreamed of, wanted to know everything about her relationships, but wanted to hear only one thing, that all were only prophets and that he was now the Messiah.


But before he spoke his mind, it seemed as petty to him as thinking about his credit card bill. 


Tiredness came over him and he put his head on Sandra's shoulder, while she stroked his hair and fell asleep. 


In the next few days, however, he was to learn everything about her men, including her desire for children. She would like to have two, maybe even four.

At first it didn't work out with her ex-husband, then they drifted apart and finally divorced each other.


Rick also learned that she had studied history at university, attended a management school and had restructured a company. She had inherited the business from her father, but had since sold it and the other companies she had inherited.


She also had an apartment in Manhattan that was being renovated because she wanted to move to New York. He also found out her age. She was two years older than him, so 41.


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Everything Sandra told him about her life so far led to plans for their future.


Among other things, she described her apartment in New York: high rooms, wide corridors, a view of the park, a staircase from the sixth floor to the seventh, and even a food elevator in the kitchen.


Originally she had grown up in the apartment until after her parents' death. She was taken to California by her aunt. ‘The apartment was a paradise for me as a child, I slid down the banister and could even hide in the food elevator until I was seven years old.


You have to see the apartment,’ she raved.

She couldn't show him the apartment when she had to go back to California to take care of her move.


‘You're welcome to meet with the architect, we can still make some changes. If you enjoy architecture, building and furnishing, I got the plans, let's look at them together,’ she said.


Next she told him about a couple who had spent their holidays on a fertility farm because they had been trying in vain for years to have children.


They had to stick to a special diet, sleep and meal times, including the times when they made love.


She thought it was funny, but at the same time she was afraid. ‘I read that you Europeans don't know that, you accept life much more than fate, which cannot be changed.’


‘Yes,’ he agrees, ‘and if we are destined to slay our fathers and sleep with our mothers, then there is no way to defend ourselves against it.’ She laughed. She shrugged apologetically with her shoulders and continued:


‘Oh, it's just because it didn't work out with my ex back then. Maybe it wasn't me, but him, we didn't do any tests, but I've been scared ever since.’


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He nodded understandingly and also became afraid of the at least two or four children. Fear of the times when they should love each other, of the biological clock and of Sandra's devotion and passion not being his.


‘You don't have to be afraid, I'm just telling you what's going on inside me.’ He didn't want to talk about his fears, she was right. She talked about it openly and honestly, he kept a low profile.


Of course she wasn't interested in the Fertility Farm, but she wanted to plan her future, her common future with him, and although that was his wish, too, and more every day, he could make much less than she did, no money, no apartment, no house.


If he had fallen in love with a colleague from the orchestra, it would have been much easier. They would look for a small apartment and furnish it together.


Sandra would certainly have one or two rooms furnished according to his taste, but he was not sure.


He could certainly bring his saxophone and notes with him and then practice on the music stand that she certainly had as her furniture.


He would put his books on the shelf, put his papers in his father's cabinet and he would best hang his clothes right in her closet here in the country.


For the city she would buy him new clothes with joy and her fashionable sensitivity. He often practiced by simply bending his wrist and stretching, so-called dry exercises, but also more and more on the instrument itself.


It became more and more a piece of himself, it was worth it, with the saxophone he created music and earned money.


He could take it with him at any time and he could offer Sandra something that nobody else could offer her. Through his improvisations he found melodies that matched her mood swings.


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The room with the bay window of the big house was her favorite room. The large windows protruded from the floor to the ceiling and could even be slid open when the weather was nice.


When the weather was bad, you felt almost as close to the beach and the ships, while the rain flowed over the panes.


This spacious room was furnished with comfortable loungers, tables, armchairs with soft cushions, and wicker furniture.


While she showed him the house and he saw the couches, he found it a pity that they only fit one person.


Three days later, he saw a truck parked in front of the salon, from which two men in working clothes unloaded a double bed and transported it into the house.


It even fit perfectly with the other furniture and was upholstered with the same floral pattern.


As for the weather, all the days were the same. It rained day after day, sometimes a thunderstorm mixed in, sometimes it stopped for hours and sometimes only for minutes.


Only rarely did the sky rip open completely and the roofs shine silver.

When the weather allowed it, Sandra and Rick walked on the beach. When their supplies ran out, they drove to the supermarket.


Otherwise they didn't leave the house. After the change from the small to the big house, Sandra had called Mella, who took care of cleaning and cooking for a few hours a day.


She was so discreet and inconspicuous that Rick only noticed her after a few days. One day they invited the hotel owners, Linda and John, to dinner.


Sandra and Rick tried their hand at cooking although neither of them could cook, and they had a hard time reading the cookbook. With difficulty they managed to serve steaks with potatoes and salad.


Otherwise they never invited anyone or visited anyone. When the dawn came, they simply made love until it was completely dark. 


Her love act was mostly quiet, so Rick wondered if he shouldn't even ecstatically rip her clothes off, but he read his mind and thought: We're not wild cats, we're house cats.


That was true until their first and at the same time last quarrel. Sandra wanted to drive to the supermarket and had Rick wait in the car because she suddenly had to make a phone call and there was no end to it.


It made him very angry that she let him wait without an explanation, that she had simply forgotten him or could neglect him that way.


He was so angry that he got out, stormed into the house and yelled at her while she was hanging up. ‘Is that how it is? Is what you do more important than what I do?


Is your time more precious than mine?’ he screamed. She was surprised and just said she got a call from California.


‘Why didn't you say so? Why did you keep me forever... ?’

‘I'm sorry I kept you waiting a few minutes, I thought a European man...’

‘The Europeans, I can't hear it any more, I sat outside for half an hour...’

Now she was angry too.


‘Half an hour? It was only a few minutes if they were too long for you, go into the house and read something, you diva you!’

‘Diva? Me? Which one of us is the diva here?’ Rick replied.


She accused him of incomprehension and exaggerated fuss. He didn't understand that and wanted him who had nothing to count as much as she who had everything.


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Sandra didn't understand his thoughts and finally they just screamed at each other desperately.


‘I hate you!’ she shouted, stepping closer to him. He retreated but in the end she drummed her fists onto his chest until he embraced her and pressed on her. Then it happened.


At first she wanted to hectically open the buttons of his shirt, but then she ripped it open. He tore her jeans down again and they loved each other half-dressed, hastily and passionately on the floor.


After this wild union, he lay on his back and, while she had her head on his chest. ‘Well then,’ he said and smiled cheerfully.


She made a fleeting hand movement, shook her head slightly, shrugged her shoulders and snuggled even closer to him.


He felt that in her the passion of quarreling hadn't passed into the passion of life like in his case, she hadn't torn open his shirt because she wanted to feel him, but because she wanted to find his heart.


It was a return to peace, which they had lost for a short time while arguing. Then they drove to the supermarket, Sandra filled the shopping cart as if they didn't want to leave the house for the next few weeks.


During the journey home the sun finally set in the sky and they made a detour to the bay. 

The sea was smooth and calm, the air was clear and pure. ‘I love this peace before the storm, before the thunderstorm,’ she said. ‘Thunderstorm?’ 


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‘Yes, I am not sure whether the air becomes so clear through the humidity or through the electricity. The air is deceptive, it seem to imply good weather, but it brings a thunderstorm.’


Then he apologized: ‘I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, I'm really sorry.’ Rick waited for her reaction, but then he saw tears in her eyes and scared.


She raised her crying face and embraced him, whispering: ‘Never before has anyone said anything so beautiful to me that he is sorry for what he said to me. I also want to apologize to you, I also screamed, I even beat you. Let's never do that again, my love.’


Then the last day began. She flew at 5:30 o'clock, his flight was at 6:30, and they indulged in a joint breakfast, for the first time on the terrace.


The sun shone so strongly on this day, as if the rain and the cool weather were only an infection from which the sun had now recovered.


‘It's only a few weeks,’ she said to him, as they walked along the beach again. ‘I know.’ ‘Don't forget the appointment tomorrow with the architect and are you also thinking about the mattress?


Yes, I’ll do that and I haven't forgotten the other things like plastic dishes and cutlery. We’ll arrange everything together. I love you. This is where we met on the first day.’


‘Yes, here on the way there, and over there on the way back,’ she added.

They talked about how they met for the first time, how incredible their encounter was, because it would have been more obvious for both of them if each of them had gone on in his own direction.


They would just have missed each other if she hadn't smiled and he hadn't looked at her.


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‘Let's pack up, and then push the windows to the side in the corner room, we can spend a few more hours together,’ Rick said. ‘You don't have to pack much, just leave your beach stuff here, they'll be waiting for you again next year.’


He nodded. Although he got the money back from the hotel that he had already paid for the stay, his credit card was completely overdrawn.


But it didn't scare him anymore to get even more in debt when he had to buy new things at home, when he remembered what wonderful days he had had here. With the suitcases packed in front of the door, the house looked strange.


They made the last moves, as they often did, only softer and quieter, when they even heard the sea rushing and the seagulls screaming.


The sun was still shining, but Rick spread the blanket over her double bed.

‘Come,’ he called out to Sandra. They slipped naked under the blanket. ‘How am I supposed to sleep without you?


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‘And I without you?’ ‘If you can't come to California with me,’ she asked longingly. ‘I have rehearsals, don't you want to come to New York with me?’ 

They laughed and Sandra replied: ‘I just buy the orchestra and suspend the rehearsals.’


‘You can't buy the orchestra that fast.’


They feared the farewell and at the same time they felt a certain lightness. Temporarily, they would no longer be in their own lives, nor in their own, but rather in a kind of no-man’s-land.


Then they made love to each other. First shy, because they were strangers again, but then more familiar and passionate again, with Sandra looking him in the eye as always.


They drove to the airport together in Sandra's car. The housekeeper would pick it up later.


A little nervously they talked about the times when they would be easily reachable the next few days, even though they both had a mobile phone and are therefore always reachable anyway.


They also talked about what they would do in the coming days and weeks until their reunion, and also played with their thoughts about what would happen in their future together.


Rick's need to say something special to Sandra rose with every meter they came closer to the airport.


But he couldn't think of anything to say with excitement, except: ‘I love you.’ He repeated these three words more often. 


From the plane he would have liked to see her house again and the beach. But the flight went southwest, so that he could only see the sea.


When he landed there, he could see the church, which was only a few meters away from his apartment. It was noisy, young people smoked and loud music boomed.


They talked to him, laughed mockingly and he had the impression they wanted to steal his saxophone. But they just wanted to see and hear it, they even turned off their music and the resulting silence made them embarrassed.


Rick was also nervous and scared at the same time. Then he played a melody on the instrument, at first still uncertain, but then the kids hummed and clapped to the rhythm.


In the end he drank beer with them.


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Since this meeting and the shared experience he greeted them in their language: ‘Hey, brothers, Hola!’ 


It was also loud in his apartment, he heard the neighbors arguing, making love and watching their TV series.


Once he even heard a loud shot in the house, and then for a while he was careful every time he met someone in the stairwell.


When one day he was invited by a neighbor to a party, he tried to assign the different noises to the individual guests.


The whimpering voice of a woman with thin lips, a woman with luscious breasts and her boyfriend, the sounds of love and a muscular, tattooed man.


Once a year Rick organized his own party, where all the neighbors who hated each other otherwise understood their love for each other during the time of being together.


But he never got into trouble with his saxophone playing, he could practice whenever he wanted, early in the morning or late in the evening. His neighborhood has changed over the years.


Young people brought the houses and empty shops and restaurants to life.

He regularly met neighbors who were bankers, lawyers or doctors, he could even take them out for dinner.


But his house remained as it was, the community of heirs who owned it was still at loggerheads to sell or change.


But he loved it so much, he loved the sounds, the whole thing all around him gave him the feeling not only to live in an enclave of wealth, but to be surrounded by the whole world.


He realized that when he had described the coming weeks to Sandra, he had forgotten to tell her about a regular meeting with the second flutist, whom he always met at the Italian's corner and talked to him about hopes and disappointments and life as a European in the USA.


Women and various orchestras gossip were also topics. By the way, he comes from Vienna and found the American women just as difficult as Rick had.


And he left someone else out: the old man who lived in the attic flat and who sometimes visited him for a game of chess.

It didn't bother Rick to always lose, because his chess partner played too imaginatively and cleverly.


He also hadn't told her anything about Anna, one of the street children who had somehow come across a flute and let him help her sometimes with playing and reading music.


Yes, he hadn't told her anything, not even about the run-down fitness center where he felt comfortable.


Actually, he had only told Sandra about the orchestra rehearsal and the performances, the flutist who practiced with him from time to time.


Of the children of the aunt who emigrated to New York with a GI after the war, he didn't want to hide anything from her - it just happened.


The taxi dropped him off in front of his house. It was warm, mothers sat with their babies on the steps, the streets kids played hide and seek between the parked cars.


Old men sat in their folding armchairs drinking beer, some young boys tried to look like men and some girls watched them laughing. ‘Hola,’ a neighbor greeted him and asked him: ‘back from your journey?’


Rick looked down the street, up and down, sat down on the steps in front of his entrance, put his suitcase down and supported his chin in his arms. This was it, his world.


His street with the well-kept and shabby houses, the Italian on the corner, the small grocery store on the other side and the run-down fitness center.


All this was surmounted by the tower of the church. He loved this world. For years he had had no long-term relationship with a woman. But what awaited him here was his work, his friends, and all the people who lived here.


On a day when he fetched his newspaper from the newspaper stand opposite, chatted with Sean about the weather, then read the newspaper in his regular cafe.


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Enjoyed his breakfast with two eggs in a jar and chives, later cleaned the apartment or washed the laundry and then trained in the fitness center and ate spaghetti Vongole in the evening and ended this evening with a game of chess with his neighbor.


It was days like this when he couldn’t ask for more. 

He looked up at the house, to the windows of his apartment. The flowers on his windowsill were blossoming, obviously Anna had actually watered them.


He had started with one flower box, now they were standing in front of all his windows. Did Anna also look for the pot that caught the drops of water from the broken pipe?

Before his departure he had not managed to take care of the repair. He got up from the stairs and wanted to go up, but then he sat down again. 


He thought he'd get the mail out of the mailbox, go up the stairs, ventilate the apartment, unpack his things, answer emails, shower and take fresh things out of the closet and then make a phone call to arrange a meeting for the evening.


If he did all that, his old life would not let him go. What was he thinking? That he could take his old life with him to Sandra's?


That he could take all his habits, his neighbors and friends into his new life? Basically, he would not have told Sandra many aspects of his life that would not fit into a life together as a couple.


Now he had to deal with whether he wanted to exchange his old life for a new life. But he loved Sandra. In those days in the bay, he only had her and he was missing nothing, so he could also have her here and he would be missing nothing.


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It could not be that his life, his habits were now crowded between Sandra and him.


But they were. Which is why he could not or did not want to go up, but had to leave here, leave the old life behind him and set off into a new one, here and now.


Either live in a hotel or live in Sandra's semi-finished apartment, which was still a construction site. Both frightened him. He was homesick, although he hadn't left yet.


If he were still in the bay with Sandra, if her apartment had already been finished and she was here, or if lightning had simply struck his house, then everything would be easier.


Then he made a deal with himself. If someone entered the house within the next 5 minutes, he would also go inside, if not, he would take his things and look for a hotel.


Even after 15 minutes no one entered the house, but he was still sitting on the stairs. And once again he tried, this time with another deal with himself.


If an empty taxi passed him within the next 10 minutes, he would get in and drive to the hotel. An empty taxi passed him within two minutes. He let it pass without stopping it, but didn't go up to his apartment either.


He came to the conclusion that he could not cope alone. He was ready to confess this to Sandra, he needed her help.


She had to come to him as soon as possible to stay with him, she had to help him to vacate his old apartment and to settle together with him in the new apartment.


He called her immediately, she was just about to jump to the airport in California. ‘I need you,’ he called into his cell phone. ‘I need you too,’ she replied without knowing why he said that.


‘I miss you so much, my love.’ 


‘No, my sweet, you don't understand, I really need you, now and here, I can't cope with my old and our new life. Please come here and fly to California later, you have to come,’ he begged her.


Then he just roared: ‘Sandra? Do you hear me?’ ‘I'm just on my way to the gate, you're coming to me?’ ‘No, Sandra, you come to New York, I beg you. I would love to come, I would love to be with you.


In the meantime he heard a voice that asked for her boarding pass.’ 

‘Maybe we can see each other next weekend, let's talk about it, I have to get on the plane now, I'm already the last one.


I love you!’

‘Sandra, Sandra!’ But she had already hung up and when he tried it again, it went to voicemail.

Slowly it was getting dark, a neighbor sat down with him. Asked about problems, Rick nodded.


‘Women?’ Then Rick smiled and nodded again. The neighbor got up and left, but shortly afterwards he came back, pressed a bottle of beer into his hand and put it in his hand on his shoulder. ‘Drink it!’


Then he drank and watched life on the street for a while. The street children who drank a few houses away smoked and let their music roar.


A dealer behind a lantern, a couple of lovers in the shade of the stairs, the old man who hadn't folded his folding chair yet. It was still warm, nothing announced the approaching autumn.


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Rick was tired. He still had the feeling that he had to choose either his old or his new life, that he just had to have the right idea or the necessary courage, then everything would work itself out. But that feeling was as tired as he was.


Why should he still take a taxi today, tomorrow is also still a day, why should he not stay in his old life until the new one began? It would be a laugh if he wouldn't be able to do that if he had to.


Besides, nobody would stop him if he wanted to come back. The new life with Sandra would hold him. A decision was important. And he had made up his mind.


He would give up his old life and want to start a new one with Sandra. But now he could not do it yet, he would do it, only not now. Then he got up. His limbs hurt him, he stretched out.


The street was empty. Rick took his luggage, unlocked the door, got the mail, went up and opened the apartment door. He walked through the rooms and ventilated.


The bucket that picked up the water from the broken pipe was almost empty, there was a bouquet of flowers on the table.


Anna. Rick turned on the computer, then turned it off again, his mails could wait. He unpacked his things and threw them into the laundry basket. He stood naked in the room and listened to the usual noises.


First he quietly took a television and there was a babble of voices, no argument, the air conditioning hummed quietly, the house was asleep. Rick switched off the lights and went to bed.


Before falling asleep he remembered Sandra standing on the steps to the plane, laughing and crying.