I sold Aunt Iris’s sensual photographs of flowers; Aunt Camellia’s lotions, including new ones she had named Bedside Body Art and Love Potion Pink; and my mother’s bouquets, two labeled “A Woman Must Find Her Power and Wield It” and “Love and Romance Are on My To-Do List.”

The History Nerd Book Club had their monthly meeting, and they had proceeded to analyze the siege of Leningrad during World War II down to the finest detail. There were maps drawn and military analysis and a review of what the people there had to do to survive. There were some raised voices, which alarmed customers enough to hurry on over and join the near-raucous historical discussion. A professor of Russian history happened to be there and gave a wonderful fifteen-minute lecture that everyone found mesmerizing, in particular the cannibalism that some people in Leningrad resorted to.

After they left, Mrs. Lennert hustled in and told me her problem.

“Look, Evie, I need to know.”

“I can’t see into the future, Mrs. Lennert.”

Mrs. Lennert scoffed, then leaned over the counter and rapped in her ex-teacher’s voice, “You listen here, young woman, I have known you since you moved here as a little girl and your mother put your hair in braids and you ran around holding a fake pink gun to shoot zombies.”

“Mrs. Lennert.”

“Dear.” She put her hand on mine. “I have never asked you before.”

“Yes, you have. Many times.”

“But this time I need to know.”

“I don’t see anything, Mrs. Lennert. Nothing.”

She was displeased. “I am going right down to your mother and aunts for a little flower power and I’m going to speak to them about you.”

It was as if I were still a child and she was reprimanding me, even though she was the one buying pot. I sighed. This is the problem of living in a small town on a small emerald island where your mother and aunts live. “You are welcome to do that. Tell them I said hi.”

She patted her white hair. She knew her threat wouldn’t work with me. “All I want to know is if Seymour will ask me to marry him or sleep with me and take off. What’s the problem? Why so stubborn?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t do fortune telling.”

“Humpf. You’re being obstinate and unhelpful.”

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Lennert is seventy years old. Shouldn’t she know by now if a man is going to sleep with her and take off? On the other hand, her paramour, Seymour, is seventy-five. He had a cane and a hearing aid. If he does take off, at least he won’t be taking off rapidly.

“Mrs. Lennert, you need to ask yourself how you feel about Seymour and then you need to ask him if he’s going to sleep with you and leave you.”