The Executive's Palm

Margaret stared at the orange pill in her hand—vitamin D3, the doctor had prescribed. Or was it vitamin C? She couldn't remember anymore. At forty-seven, her mind had become a catalog of minor failures and forgotten details.

The company retreat in Boca Raton had seemed like a good idea three months ago. Now, standing by the pool in her sensible linen suit, watching her colleagues get drunk on mai tais at 11 AM, she felt the familiar crushing weight of being the only adult in the room.

"Forty dollars for a reading, ma'am."

The woman appeared suddenly, her skin weathered and lined, wearing a flowing dress that had seen better decades. Margaret almost said no. Something made her sit in the folding chair.

The fortune teller took Margaret's palm in her own rough hands. "You're tired."

"Everyone's tired."

"No." The woman traced the lifeline with a gnarled finger. "You're the kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix. The kind that comes from pretending to be someone you're not."

Margaret pulled her hand back. "That's vague. You could say that to anyone."

"I could tell you you'll meet a tall stranger. I could tell you your finances will improve." The woman's eyes were startlingly clear. "But those would be lies. The truth is, you already have everything you're supposed to want. And you still wake up wondering what went wrong."

Margaret stood up so quickly her chair tipped over. She felt tears pressing behind her eyes, ridiculous and unwanted. She'd been crying less often these days, which she'd considered progress.

Her husband Bob had bought her the sun hat last year—wide-brimmed, expensive, perfect for someone who spent weekends gardening or walking on beaches. Margaret did neither. The hat sat in her closet, pristine, a monument to the version of herself Bob believed in.

She found her room and packed. The vitamin pill went into the trash. The orange prescription bottle joined it. Let her bones break. Let something finally be real.

At the airport, she called Bob. "I'm not coming back."

Silence. Then: "Is this about the promotion?"

"No. It's about the hat."

"What hat?"

"Exactly."