What the Palm Reader Saw

Margaret sat by the pool's edge, nursing her second gin and tonic, watching the water ripple in the artificial light. The resort was empty this time of year — just divorced women and fading couples. She'd come alone, though David had been the one to leave.

The cat had been David's idea. A rescue, he'd called it, though it spent most days sleeping on Margaret's side of the bed, purring against her back. When he packed his bags, he'd left the cat behind. Said it wasn't fair to uproot her. Margaret suspected he simply couldn't bear the reminder of what they'd lost.

That's what the palm reader had told her, three months ago: You're carrying someone else's grief. The old woman's fingers had traced the line on Margaret's palm, shaking her head. Not yours to bear.

Margaret had laughed it off. But later, standing in their hallway with David's boxes stacked by the door, she'd understood. The dog they'd put down last winter — the one David had carried to the vet because Margaret couldn't stop shaking — that loss lived in David's hands now. He was leaving because everything in that house reminded him of things he couldn't fix.

The pool's surface caught the reflection of a palm tree swaying in the wind. Margaret watched it bend, knowing it would snap back. Some things did.

The cat was waiting for her in the hotel room, probably curled on the pillow. Margaret had debated leaving it behind, but that felt like another kind of surrender. So she'd brought it along, this creature who'd outlasted their marriage without even noticing.

"You'll find someone," the palm reader had said, but Margaret wasn't sure she wanted to. She was tired of being the person who carried other people's grief. She wanted something that wasn't broken.

The pool lights flickered off. It was time. Margaret finished her drink and stood up, her palm still tingling where the old woman had traced her future. Tomorrow she'd check out. Tomorrow she'd figure out what came after. Tonight, she would just sleep, with the cat warm against her back, and let herself believe that some things, at least, could still be whole.