The Palm Reader's Last Summer

Marlena hadn't seen Evelyn in six years, not since the wedding reception where Evelyn had read everyone's palms between champagne toasts and solemnly predicted Marlena would never find true love. The irony, of course, was that Evelyn was now the one alone—three divorces deep and working tourist traps—while Marlena was married to a man who made her feel like a guest in her own life.

They met at the tiki bar where the air smelled of rotting fruit and desperation. Between them sat a papaya salad, vibrant orange flesh turning brown at the edges, much like everything else in this coastal town. Evelyn's hands, once so confident tracing lifelines and futures, now trembled slightly as she reached for her iced tea. Her palms were rougher than Marlena remembered—calloused from a thousand strangers' hands.

'You've got something,' Evelyn said, gesturing to her own front tooth. 'Spinach, maybe?'

Marlena wiped her mouth with a cocktail napkin, missing the spot twice. It was perfect, really—this small humiliation in front of the one friend who had always made her feel inadequate, even while claiming to see her destiny. But Evelyn wasn't smirking. She was looking at Marlena with something like tenderness, or maybe pity.

'I'm sorry about the reading thing,' Evelyn said. 'I was young and arrogant and wrong about so much. Including myself.'

Marlena's husband was leaving her. She'd found the texts two days ago—some junior associate from his firm, thirty-two and ambitious. She hadn't told anyone yet, had just packed a bag and driven six hours to this beach town where she knew Evelyn lived. Now she looked at her friend—still peddling palm readings to tourists, still believing in something bigger than this life—and realized there was something noble about that refusal to surrender to cynicism.

'Will you read mine again?' Marlena asked, extending her hand. 'For free?' She tried to make it a joke.

Evelyn's palm was warm against hers, her touch gentle now, reverent. She traced the lines in silence for a long moment while palm fronds rustled overhead and distant laughter drifted from the beach.

'I don't see specifics anymore,' Evelyn said softly. 'Just themes. But yours—' She looked up, meeting Marlena's eyes. 'You're going to be okay. That's all I can see anymore. Just that we survive, somehow. Even when we think we won't.'

The papaya continued its slow decay in the heat. A waiter dropped a glass somewhere. For the first time in years, Marlena believed her friend might be right.