Izabel went back out to the table with the stack of metal cups and the jug of water with a little spout. Above the table was another poster. A woman standing in water and surrounded by dead children. La Llorona. Her mother used to tell her the story of La Llorona and Izabel had always hated it. She hated it more now, as a mother herself.

Izabel looked around, confirmed no one was paying attention to her, and ripped the poster off the wall, crumpling it into her fist. Then she took a cup of water back to the woman in the bathroom.

When the woman opened the stall door to take the water, she looked terrible.

“Is there anyone I can tell that you’re in here?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She took a sip.

“I think you should sit and put your head between your knees.”

To Izabel’s surprise, the girl did it, right then. The water sloshed in the cup.

“I’ll hold it for you until you want it again,” Izabel said.

“Thank you.”

But then Izabel heard someone call her name in the lobby.

“That’s me,” Izabel said.

“Go,” the girl said.

“Will you be okay?”

The girl nodded her head into the fabric of her skirt, which was sweeping across her bent knees in so many folds of white.

So Izabel left, and the woman who had been calling her name led her quickly to a room. She showed her where to sit.

“There’s a girl sick in the bathroom,” Izabel told her.

“Hmm, I’ll tell someone,” the woman said.

Izabel was left alone in the room for some time. It smelled of sandalwood. There were sticks in a pretty glass jar with oil in it. There was a dream catcher, stacks of tarot cards, books on tarot readings, but it wasn’t what Izabel imagined—no purple tablecloth or shaded windows, no tabletops covered in knickknacks and crystal balls. No ambiance.

The woman came back and sat down across from her. “Thanks for waiting,” she said.

It took Izabel a second to realize that this was Maris. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you just helped people get to their rooms.”

Maris shook her head. “No. But that’s okay. Good to help the girl.” She looked right into Izabel’s eyes when she spoke. “Are we ready to begin?”

Izabel nodded.

Maris started to shuffle the cards. They were twice as big as playing cards. She loosely held half of the deck in each hand and let them fall over each other from the left and right until they were shuffled. She made it look easy.

“Do you have any ideas about what a tarot reading is?” she asked.

“Not really,” Izabel said.

“Nothing?”

“That it tells you about the future.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“My friend thinks it will help me make a decision.”

“Do you think it will help you?”