Have your read part 1?
Her hands were warm holding mine which always feel cool and dry and slightly dusty to me. Warm heart, warm hands. And when she took mine in hers, I felt a shiver of fear scurry across my wrist and up my arm. You never know what a palm reader will say and there is something scary about someone who might have insight into your future whatever it might be. If I were a palm reader, I think I would take great pleasure in playing off people's darkest fears. "I'm sorry. You have a very short lifeline. Looks like tomorrow is the day. Live it up while you can!"
But, no, this is a room full of kind people and good juju. She took one hand and said, "This indicates you have a big event coming up in your life. Oh! Maybe your book launch!" (We had talked earlier about the novel I was working on.)
Then she took the other and said, “This hand shows your life rather than your current state. The lines are broad and heavy here. You have strong true bonds. This one is your lifeline. Look how long it is. Why, it even wraps around and keeps going right to the knuckle. You are going to grow to be very old.” I told her that was perfect because I wanted to live forever. I invite all vampires to come and have their way with me today, right now. Just take me with you into forever because I want to see what is coming next. And next. And next. Anne Rice said in The Queen of the Damned, “I don't think you can hold in your mind the full conception of what the world is.” I agree. And I want forever to explore it and discover all the flavors and nuance of this thing we called life. Electric word, life, that means forever. And that’s a might long time. But I’m here to tell you. There’s something else.
I hit the button on my phone and the screen lit up. The teenager beside me muttered, "Oh, that's great. Come on mom.”
I turned over my husband's hand and held the light to it. What good is a long lifeline if the one on the hand of the person held between mine isn't a twin? Or at least really, really close? Who wants to be here if he’s in the afterlife, in a world of never-ending happiness where he can always see the sun? That doesn’t seem fair.
The comedian behind me was hissing to turn off the phone but the only one embarrassed by it was my son next to me. He scooted lower in his seat. “Oh. My. God. Mom. Your phone.”
My husband was pulling at his hand, but I'm a determined person and after a moment, my infatuation had piqued his curiosity and he was leaning in with me to stare at his palm. "What is it?"
Curses behind us. Now my two little boys further down the row had caught the vibe that something was going on. They have laser-like focus too. Until they hear swearing. They think swearing is the funniest thing ever created by man. My husband can get them to giggling until they have to pee by throwing out random swear words. The youngest got out of his seat and came to stand in front of us. I guess the comic should have just shut up and let it go.
My husband shielded the phone with his hand and whispered over my shoulder, "Sorry. Hold on a sec."
"Turn the f**** phone off."
The boy standing in front of me started laughing, but my husband's patience runs rather thin on a good day and he felt compelled to reply. "F**** off."
Meanwhile, I'm still staring at his hand trying to determine whether I should start planning a wake. Truthfully, I don’t even know what a wake is. Or what my husband would like done with his body when he dies. I made a mental note to ask him when we get in the car. Nothing like freaking out the kids… I can already here them, “Dad’s dying? Can I have his phone?”
His lifeline is definitely shorter than mine. But what does that mean? His hand is bigger. Should I measure each of our lines? Maybe it’s a percentage thing. You know, a line that goes 80% across your palm means you will live to be 80?
I turned off my phone. I can research it after we leave.
"About time, B****," I heard from behind me and I wondered if that comment would be why my husband’s lifeline was shorter than mine.