“Well, I’ve lost my husband. I don’t have a job. My daughter’s been molested. And I don’t know what’s next for me.”

“But what do you still have, Janelle? What two cups are you not looking at?”

“My daughter.”

“But there are two cups there. What’s in the other cup?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then that’s the one thing you need to think about.”

I think about it so much I hardly hear what she has to say for the next few cards. I’m waiting for her to get to that nine card. That’s the one I want to hear, because it’s the Hanged Man reversed, and this was the card I got the other time, and when I saw it I just had to get up and leave. When I see her finger touch it, I feel myself blink and my ears are at attention again.

“. . . indicates being who you are even if everyone else thinks you have everything backwards. So is there some part of you, Janelle, that is not completely accepting of your reality right now? Are you just battling what you know is true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, the Hanged Man can lead you to the real source of your fear, and, whatever it is, deal with it and stop denying it.”

All I can say is, “I’ll try.”

“Now, the tenth card is the Two of Wands reversed. This card speaks very strongly to someone who has lived in a very unsatisfying or unpleasant situation and decides to make a change. It’s about leaving behind safe situations and entering into the unknown and the emotions and energy that are liberated when this happens, but the fact that the Hanged Man is reversed suggests that you’re afraid to liberate that energy that’s going to come about when you leave behind your old, unsafe safety net. It’s going to mean being alone, like the Hermit—which is your strongest card in this spread. You see, he’s holding up the lamp, so he has something to light his way. We know that the Hermit is a wise man, so you are heading toward your own wisdom by leaving behind what was once secure but was really not secure at all.”

And ain’t that the truth, is all I’m thinking as I give her forty dollars even though her fee is thirty. In my heart, I think I already knew everything she just told me, but I needed to hear someone else say it.

“Thank you so much, Zina.”

“My pleasure,” she says. “And good luck.”

I walk outside. I’d almost forgotten that I was on a quaint little street lined with all kinds of specialty stores, boutiques, and one-of-a-kind shops. I’m not even sure how I found this area, because it’s not my usual place to shop. I pass a day spa, a small but packed exercise-equipment store, a pet-grooming place, a lingerie shop, a gorgeous leather-goods store, one of those new Starbucks coffeehouses, and then I come to a gourmet-sandwich-and-soup deli, but what really gets my attention is what’s next to it. The store window alone looks like my own private fantasy. It’s called Elegant Clutter and is full of colorful artifacts of all shapes and sizes, and I can’t believe it when I walk in: there are candles and lamps and bookends and hand-blown goblets that swirl and twist and curve in purple and gold; and then I turn and see things bronze and brass, onyx and sandstone, oranges and purples; all kinds of hand-carved boxes and shelves of lotions and oils and aromatic mists and statues and stone fountains with real water trickling through them. And the walls. They’re covered with a stunning selection of ethnically diverse paintings. This is great. I don’t believe it when I see an entire glass case of black figurines like I have at home. And this place smells so good. I could stand in here forever.