“I was mugged. Your son saved me.”
“Good for you, Ruppert.” She turned back to me. “Wait—you got muggedandrobbed? Same day? You’ve got odd luck. I predict twins for you. I’m never wrong. Tell me your birthday isn’t February twenty-ninth.”
“It’s not,” March said.
Heknewmy birthday?
“Then no triplets,” Karla mused. “I’m not always right.” She patted my arm. “Don’t you fret. Twins are easier to pop out, but I hear the strollers are hell in airports.”
Birth easier, airport harder?I was losing the thread with this woman.
Karla tapped my arm again. “Where are you from, Peyton?”
Damn. Not a question I wanted to answer. “Out east.”
“Me too. Where exactly?”
This woman was like a lie detector in stretch pants. “Atlanta.”
March raised his eyebrows. “That’s more than you’ve ever told me.”
“I’m from Columbus, originally,” Karla said, ignoring him. “Ever been?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
“Oh, I know some Smiths around Atlanta. Do you know James Smith?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“How about David? Robert? John? Michael?”
“Nope.” I needed a distraction—fast. “What do you think of the pizza?”
She smiled. “I always like pepperoni.”
“Mom, I wasn’t expecting you,” March cut in.
“I’ve got an early flight out of LAX tomorrow, and I didn’t want to mess with traffic,” she said. “And I always love another chance to see my baby boy. It’s okay, right, Ruppie?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Give me your hand,” she insisted, holding hers out to me.
March nodded, so I reluctantly let her take it.
She placed one hand below and one above before closing her eyes. “You have a strong life force.”
I glanced at March.Is she serious?
“You’re also a good person,” she said after a few moments, then released my hand.
“I try,” I said, pulling it back.
“I should know,” she added. “I’ve met plenty of not-nice people.” She grabbed another slice. “In my line of work.”
I sipped my wine, avoiding comment.
“So, how do you feel about children?”
