Page 117 of Denim & Diamonds

I cleared my throat. “I’d like a reading?”

The woman nodded, then got up and charged my card the fifty-dollar fee before returning to her seat.

“I’m Luna,” she said. “And you are?”

“February.”

She arched a brow. “That’s your name?”

“Yes,” I answered, annoyed. If I had a nickel for every person who questioned my name...

She nodded and gestured for me to sit across from her. Luna took my hands in hers as she closed her eyes. My heart beat faster. I wasn’t sure I even believed in this stuff, yet the anticipation of what she might say still made my heart race.

Then she let go of my hands. “I sense a major shift coming in your life.”

Licking my lips, I asked, “What kind of shift?”

“I’m being shown the symbols for both life and death. But I’m not sure how to interpret this.”

Dread filled me. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Luna scratched her chin. “It’s not very often that I experience this kind of confusion when reading people.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “The death symbol could be a literal reference to death or just the death of a certain part of your life. Same goes for life. There could be new life, figurative rebirth, or the literal start of life.”

I hadliterallyjust paid to be freaked out with no answers. My buzz was wearing off fast.

After another ten minutes of confusing, mixed messages that told me absolutely nothing, I decidedto get the hell out of there. I stood and practically fled. Bells chimed on the door as I made my exit.

Back out on the street, I looked both ways multiple times, paranoid as I crossed, fearing my apparent impending death. A bike whizzed by, nearly hitting me. Tomorrow I was supposed to sit down with Giovanni to discuss our partnership. What a shame it would be if I never made it to our meeting. A flash of Brock’s face entered my mind.What a shame if I never get to meet his baby.Never get to see Brock again. I had to fly back. What if the plane crashed?

As I walked down the cobblestone streets, I knew my anxiety had everything to do with the fact that I’d gone too long without speaking to Brock. Now it had manifested into stress-induced paranoia.

I finally broke down, deciding to call Brock’s brother Trevor to see if he had any information. That was my compromise to avoid interrupting Brock, in case he was in the middle of the birth.

After he answered, I cleared my throat. “Hey, Trevor. It’s February.”

“February…everything okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh…” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I had your number in my phone. From that time Brock sent the meme about the goat.”

“Ah, yeah. That was funny.” He chuckled. “Well, how can I help you, Fancy Pants?”

That made me smile. It was a semblance of normal—or what normal used to be. It brought me back to days I’d give anything to have again: nights by the fire in Brock’s living room, Oak nestled next to us.

“I was just wondering if you’d heard from Brock. I didn’t want to interrupt him for obvious reasons.”

“He went to Boston. But I haven’t heard from him since.”

He’s in Boston.I let out a long breath. “I see.”

“Want me to text him? Find out what’s—”

“No,” I insisted. “Please don’t. I just wanted to see if you knew anything. I’ll wait to hear from him. Don’t want to bother him.”

“You sure? I was due to text him anyway.”

“No!” I repeated.

The denialist in me who didn’t want to know the truth had hijacked this conversation.

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