“Dropping people seems to be a theme in your life,” Thomas notes.

Warning bells clang. “How so?”

“Danny.”

For a moment I forget to breathe. The origin story I tell my audiences about the tarot reader in Haight-Ashbury, my first customer, Bethany, and the old guy, Arthur, is true. But I never mention that the tarot reader wasn’t a stranger—he was Danny.

The train rolls by a field of wheat that sways in the wind. I imagine I’m a single stalk, bending but never breaking. “How’d you find out about him?”

Thomas leans in a fraction. “The same woman still owns that magic shop in Haight-Ashbury. Gigi remembers you fondly—a true believer. She remembers Danny, too.”

Taking a moment to trace the bumps of Chris’s prominent vertebrae, I say, “I would hope Gigi remembers me. One day I told her she needed to rush home, that her husband was in danger. She found him on the floor, heart attack, called an ambulance, and he lived.”

“You said he was in danger. He could’ve been standing on a ladder, using a sharp knife or a saw. You didn’t say heart attack.”

I smile. “Yet still, Gigi is a believer.”

“But also a smart businesswoman. You were young, attractive, and convincing—a good way to drum up business for her shop.”

“I was young and attractive? But at twenty-four I’m over the hill? Not sure where you learned your interview technique, Thomas, but insulting the subject doesn’t win her over.”

“What I did learn of interest from Gigi,” Thomas says, ignoring my attempt to both shame him and flirt, “was that you began your career with a partner.”

My stomach drops but I keep my voice steady. “Danny was an acquaintance. Our partnership didn’t last long enough to mention. Where’d you find him?”

“I haven’t. But I’m still looking.”

My pulse slows. “If you do locate him, please let me know. I’d love to catch up.”

Thomas nips his lower lip. “Huh. Since you never mention Danny, I assumed he knows that you’re a con artist and has dirt on you.”

Now I know Thomas bites his lip before he says something mean. “You’re way off base, but wherever he is, I’m sure Danny’s doing fine. He’s a survivor.”

“Takes one to know one?”

“Not really. Danny had a rough childhood. Drug-addicted dad, mom took off, lots of shuffling between relatives. I had two loving parents, three meals a day, birthday parties, Christmas with loads of presents, even Easter egg hunts in the orchard. Couldn’t have asked for more, really. So. Shall we move on?”

“I’d like to hear how you and Danny met.”

I shrug good-naturedly. “Sure. We met at a youth hostel when I first got to San Francisco, agreed to share a studio apartment near Golden Gate Park. Two futons, an illegal hot plate, and a rusty mini-fridge. Danny didn’t mind that it was a dump. He always said every dream had a price.”

“What was his dream?”

I pretend to think about it. “If I remember right, it was to save up money, move to LA, and become an actor. He never graduated high school, worked a bunch of low-paying jobs, so it was slow going. My options weren’t much better. As you know, I was a waitress. I can give you the address of the restaurant in case you want to check it out? Maybe my old boss still works there. Vincent. Spoiler alert, he’ll tell you I was a crappy server. I once delivered the wrong meals to every customer at a table for twelve. In my defense, once the red sauce went on, a lot of dishes looked the same.”