But now Kate is eating something called prosciutto sandwiched into something called a ciabatta and smothered in something called balsamic vinaigrette, which she can only remember by checking the receipt the woman behind the counter gave to London after she paid with Kate’s credit card. The flavours are too salty, too tangy for her tongue. When London gets up to go to the washroom, Kate wraps up the rest of her sandwich in her napkin and tucks it into her purse. She can’t bring herself to throw it away – it is, after all, a ten-dollar sandwich – but maybe where they are going she can find someone who is hungry who might want to take it. London’s sandwich is supposedly roasted vegetables, although from where Kate is sitting she can’t see one vegetable she recognizes. London has also ordered a drink called a chai latte. Kate sneaks a sip and the flavour is so strong she can’t even swallow it. She is still holding it in her mouth when London comes back, so Kate makes a motion towards the door and runs for the bathroom, where she spits it out in the sink and then splashes cold water on her face as though that is going to make the taste go away. Back at the table London looks at her quizzically, but doesn’t ask if she’s okay – Kate suspects that the ins and outs of her grandmother’s digestive issues are not something London is interested in discussing over a meal.

—

One rainy afternoon when they were stuck inside their room at Madame Clou’s with nothing to do but read the same books and listen to the same records, Lydia presented Kate with a book on palm reading she’d bought at a used bookstore. They spent the afternoon lounging on pillows on the floor, poring over the book, memorizing the diagrams, figuring out what the lines were called and what they signified. The most important thing, the book stressed, was to instill faith in your clients by using the right terminology, which was all the book could really teach you. After that, your success as a fortune teller hinged on your ability to read people, not palms.

Kate was surprised that a book that was supposed to teach her how to be a palm reader was actually confirming that the entire discipline was basically a sham. “It’s an art, not a science,” said Lydia, her head resting on Kate’s stomach as she held the book open above her head. “And like with all art, there has to be talent. Either you have it or you don’t.”

Kate snatched the book from Lydia and slammed it shut. “That’s not true,” she said. Having been raised with a strict Protestant work ethic, Kate found it hard to fathom something that you could not work at to achieve. “All I need is practice.”