***
Eleven o’clock Monday morning found Morgan in her usual spot at the table under the pavilion in the park. Her first client, Chante Zea, was running late and, based on the texts she was sending to Ris, distraught at the thought of losing her slot for the day.
Morgan shuffled her cards slowly. After a moment, she became aware of a change in the air. There was suddenly a tension that was almost palpable. Morgan looked up toward Ris to see what was going on when she caught sight of him—the guy from before, Kellen, approaching their pavilion with purposeful steps.
Ris caught sight of him, quickly pocketed her cell phone, and turned to him. “Look who it is,” she said, suddenly businesslike as he approached.
He glanced at Morgan, then at Ris, and smiled easily. “Nine-ish, right?”
Ris’s cell phone beeped and she glanced at it before looking at Morgan. “We could fit him in now—until Chante gets here. Apparently her request is…” She glanced at her phone again. “‘Time sensitive.’” She employed the use of air quotes as she said it.
“Excellent,” Kellen said. He took a seat at the table across from Morgan and smiled.
Morgan felt her pulse quicken as, in her peripheral vision, she noticed Ris retreat to her usual table. When she turned her full attention to Kellen, she found his eyes fixed on hers expectantly.
Morgan felt flustered, but was careful not to let it show on her face. She looked evenly at the guy. Took in a deep breath. She felt a little more comfortable at the prospect of giving him a reading this time; at least now she knew his name.
There was a moment of uncertainty. Morgan wondered if he was going to offer her more information about her mother. When, after a few seconds, he didn’t speak, she decided his purpose today must be to see what she could do. So she decided to show him.
She started in on her reading routine. Quickly, methodically, she looked at him, taking in the slight curl in his brown hair, the silver hoop in his left ear, the flecks of green and gold in his hazel eyes. She saw his hands—strong hands—with nails that were well-kept without being metro-sexual. The fingers suggested strength, dexterity, power.
“Cards or palm?” Morgan asked.
His eyebrows raised.
Morgan smiled, glad to have thrown him off a bit. “Your reading,” she clarified. “Would you like me to read your cards or your palm?”
He considered his options for a moment. “Palm.”
Morgan held her hands out, palms up, toward Kellen. “I need your hand.”
Obediently, Kellen placed his hand in Morgan’s. She immediately set to inspecting his palm. She feathered her thumbs over the various lines: life line, head line, heart line. Breathed in. Closed her eyes. And the reading began.
Morgan breathed easily, rhythmically. She thought of all the information she had so far about Kellen—like she was opening a mental file. She allowed herself to browse through the information, waiting for pieces to fit together.
When Ris asked, as she often did, how Morgan realized she possessed the ability to give readings the way she did, Morgan always told the same story: She was in the grocery store one day in the sixth grade when she saw a little pocket book at the checkout display about telling fortunes with playing cards. On a whim, she bought the book. She began practicing by telling friends’ fortunes at lunch. And thus began her life as Morgan the Gypsy.
But that wasn’t all there was to the story, not really. Morgan had always been good at reading people, knowing how they operated. It was logic, so far as she was concerned. But she learned early in life that not everyone saw the world the way she did.
Like now, as she studied Kellen’s palm, thinking of all she knew about him so far, her mind started making connections. She started to know things about him that other people would overlook.
He was an only child, a leader. She could tell by the way he carried himself, by the way he interacted with her and Ris. He was strong, capable. He took initiative. Though comfortable in group settings, he preferred solitude or the company of a close friend. Why else would he be at the park day after day all alone?
Powerful. Above all, that was the word that stuck with Morgan most. She just didn’t know why. He didn’t seem too physically intimidating, but there was a power in him still. There was fight in him. Struggle. A struggle.
Against her fingertips, Morgan felt Kellen’s hand tense. Excitement. Interest. She hazarded a glance up at his face—something she rarely did during readings—and what she saw surprised her. Excitement and interest, sure, but they were both aimed at Morgan. He was excited about and interested in her.
Morgan pulled her hands away. She hadn’t been able to read Kellen the way she normally read a person, but she knew, somehow, that he hadn’t really wanted her to. She had learned what she needed to know about Kellen. She wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she did.
Kellen left his palm in the middle of the table as if inviting Morgan to take it again, but Morgan had no interest in doing so. “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep the unease she was feeling out of her voice—and failing.
A smile played around Kellen’s lips. “I’m here to get my fortune told.”
“Like last time? Who are you?”
Kellen shrugged. “Someone who knows things.”
“About my mom.”
“A little.”
“You said before she was alive. How do you know that?” Her stomach clenched like a fist. “Do you know where she is?”
“No.” Kellen looked down as he said it. When he looked up again, some of his self-assurance and bravado were absent from his face. “I wish I did, Morgan. If I knew, I’d bring her back to you.”
Something inside Morgan told her he was telling the truth.
Morgan was about to say something else—what, she wasn’t entirely sure—when she heard another voice, high-pitched and petulant.
“I thought you said she’d wait for me! Ris, you said I wasn’t gonna lose my spot!” Chante Zea whined.
Morgan glanced up and saw Ris on her feet, approaching Chante. “You didn’t. Kellen just got here a little early so we put him in until you got here—”
“Just another minute or two, Chante,” Morgan assured her.
“But Morgan,” Chante whined. “I need to have a reading.”
Morgan opened her mouth to respond, but Kellen cut her off.
“It’s okay. We were just finishing up here.” Without a glance in Morgan’s direction, he stood. Taking a couple steps away from the table, he swept his arm toward the place he had vacated. Chante eyed him dubiously but took the seat.
Morgan watched Kellen as he backed away. How could he just leave? Was she ever going to get a straight answer out of him? She wanted to ask him these things right then, but she didn’t want to then have to explain things to Ris—or worse, to Chante.
Kellen offered Morgan a small wave before he turned and walked away.
Morgan watched his retreating back for a few moments more before turning her attention to Chante. “Cards or palm?”