Prologue
THE LAST FRIDAY IN AUGUST...
There are twomen in my life. But this is not a love triangle.
I put my hand on the cold metal of the door and I close my eyes.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve been building toward for the last three months. I take a big, deep breath in and contemplate everything that has happened to bring me here to this moment. To this decision.
Can I go in? Am I going to see if he’s here?
I glance back down the street and I feel a strong pull along the waterfront in the other direction. Or—am I heading home, to him?
Trust your heart. Trust your gut. Trust your intuition.
I shake my head. Which one of these invisible threads in my internal tug-of-war is my heart? Is it the soft and gentle pull home? A strong thread, I note. Strong and solid. Or is it the wild and hopeful yank toward what may or may not be behind this door?
I feel my skirt blow against my thighs, the breeze whipping itup slightly. I look out toward the water, willing the ocean air to blow me in the right direction. But I know, deep down, that the only person who can make this decision is me. And after thirty-one years on this earth, I can say with absolute certainty, the person I donottrust to make this decision is me.
And yet, pushing this door open, even just to look, wouldbethe decision.
Can I deny myself that?
Part One
JUNE
1
BUDAPEST
Szia,” says a womanwith a throaty Hungarian accent.
“Hiya,” I say as I push the fringed bloodred velvet curtains aside. The room is dark, filled with strung beads, rich blue fairy lights, and candles. I feel a thrill coursing through my veins as I move toward the small wooden table in the center of the room. I can’t believe I’m about to have my fortune read by a proper clairvoyant.
I touch the red velvet tablecloth and peer at the worn deck of tarot cards and an almost burned-out candle in one of those bronze candleholders with the finger hole.
“Tarot or palm?” my fortune-teller asks, her back to me as she lights another candle. The golden glow around her adds to the mystique.
“Umm... palm,” I say hesitantly, “if that’s okay? There’s always a risk of death with the cards, isn’t there.”
“Death,” she whispers, “death can sometimes mean rebirth.”
And then she slowly turns to profile and I see the most, and I meanthe most, enormous, bulging baby bump.
I gasp.
“Oh yes. I see! Rebirth, because... because you’re...” I flap a hand in the direction of her belly and then I giggle, but it’s a nervous giggle. “Do you need a hand?”
“No,” she snaps as she struggles toward me. As I wait the long moments it takes for her to make her way to the table, I note the purple satin and gold lace enshrouding her, the thin gold chains around her neck, and wrists full of jangling bangles. Her face is obscured by the fall of a net veil, and I can just make out thick black eye makeup, the flash of gold hoop earrings, and not much else.
“Ten thousand forint for a full profile, which includes relationships, fortune, and... love.”
“Yes! A full profile!” I nearly shout it, my heart thumping almost loudly enough for me to hear it over the Eastern European folk music plucking away in the background.
“Sit,” she commands.
As I slide onto the little brown stool, she stops moving suddenly, her breath quickening. She is still for a moment, her shrouded face tilting up to the ceiling, then a moment later she seems to visibly relax. Is reading my fortune causing her discomfort? What does that mean? Is my energy strong? Am I vibrating? I look down at my trembling hands.
