What the Palm Lines Won't Tell You

Miranda sat on the balcony of her Coral Gables condo, cigarette burning between her fingers, watching the neighborhood transform as dusk settled over Miami. At forty-two, she'd learned that palm trees looked best in silhouette—like fractured umbrellas against a bruising sky. Her mother had read palms for tourists in South Beach, claiming lifelines revealed character. Miranda knew better: they only revealed skin.

Inside, David was moving his things out. His cowboy hat—stupid affectation for a corporate lawyer—sat on the kitchen counter next to the finality of a signed lease. He'd worn that hat to their wedding, making some joke about being the only bull in the china shop. She'd laughed then, charmed by his performance of masculinity. Six years later, the performance had worn thin.

"You're like a zombie," he'd told her last night. "Just going through the motions. I can't remember the last time you actually felt something."

The accusation stung because it wasn't entirely wrong. After her mother's death, Miranda had learned to parcel out emotion in measured doses. Too much made you vulnerable. Too little made you David's version of the walking dead.

She finished her cigarette and flicked it over the railing, watching the ember arc into the darkness. Her phone buzzed—David asking if she wanted to say goodbye properly. She considered it, standing at the threshold of half a decade of compromise.

Instead, she called her mother's old number, expecting disconnection. A woman answered: "Madame Zarita's Mystical Services."

"My mother used to work there," Miranda said.

"Ah, Elena's daughter. She said you might call someday."

Miranda stared at her own palm in the streetlight below. The lines were there, had always been there, but she realized suddenly she didn't want to know what they predicted. She wanted to make something unpredictable. Something alive.

"Never mind," she said, and hung up.

Inside, David's hat still waited on the counter. Miranda picked it up, opened the balcony door, and dropped it into the pool. It floated there, dark against the blue water, until it sank.