Thinking of all she faced made the knot in her chest tighten and her stomach churn, but she would make this work. The Dream A Little Dream Foundation was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to make a difference in lots of lives. She loved reading palms, of course, but sometimes it seemed like such an insubstantial thing. The foundation was big and tangible and important.
It would make her mother proud, too. As a dedicated social worker and counselor, her mother had always given so much to her own clients. She was Esmie’s hero. This job was a way to follow in her mother’s footsteps, to honor her memory.
Needing energy, Esmie bent into a fan pose, legs apart, elbows to the floor, and eased into a refreshing stretch.
“So, it went well?” The voice of her assistant, Belinda Warwick, made Esmeralda jump up so fast she had to grab her desk for balance.
“It did. Yes. Once I read her palm and saw what she needed.” That success reassured Esmie that she belonged here. A person without her skills might have funded the well-crafted proposal without noticing the disconnect between the dreamer and the dream. The purpose of the foundation was not just to give out money, it was to fulfill dreams.
“I wish I had a thimble-full of your talent,” Belinda said. “I study, but it doesn’t get through.” She tapped her temple with the nail on which she’d had Esmeralda stencil the star design, making her many bracelets rattle. She’d asked where Esmeralda bought hers and doubled the number she wore.
“It takes time, Belinda. Hundreds of readings, hours of study. You can’t rush it.”
Esmeralda had inherited Belinda, Olivia’s niece, who aspired to be a palm reader. She saw herself as Esmeralda’s protégée and took notes on everything Esmie did, practically giving an “I’m not worthy” bow when she left the room. Esmeralda feared Belinda’s hero worship kept her from picking up her own inner voice, which was crucial for success.
“Your four o’ clock had to reschedule,” Belinda said. “I wasn’t able to get a fill-in.”
“That’s fine. Gives me time to catch up.” She nodded at the towers of proposals.
“We’re still getting calls from the newspaper article.”
“That’s good.” A feature in the Arizona Republic about the foundation had tripled the calls and applications. The story had even been picked up by papers outside Phoenix.
“I’d be happy to go through these,” Belinda said, looking through the top few.
“Let’s see how it goes.” Belinda knew even less than she did about grants and business. Esmeralda had to blaze a trail first.
“I’d love to help…really.” Her voice faded as she flipped through the stack. “Tomorrow, your nine o’ clock is a man you know….”
“Really?” Esmeralda’s heart jumped. Could it be Jonathan at last? Was her ex-husband finally showing up as predicted? You must begin anew with a man from your past were the exact words from three separate readings. Their marriage had ended abruptly and she blamed herself, so a second chance was perfect.
Belinda’s gaze shot to her. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry. It’s not the man from your past. At first, when he said he knew you, my heart flipped, too, but he’s a bartender from Moons. Jasper?”
“Oh, sure.” Esmeralda knew him through a hairdresser at her shop who also waitressed at the strip club. Before Jasper could start the stock group he wanted a grant for, he had to control the gambling impulse she’d read in his hand.
“I’m so sorry it wasn’t him.” Belinda had done one of the readings that picked up the man from her past message and seemed to feel responsible for his arrival. Esmeralda hadn’t mentioned Jonathan to Belinda—she was embarrassed enough about how eagerly she kept an eye out for the familiar dimples, the blond thatch and the big smile of her ex-husband. She really missed him. And she was dying to see him.
“He’ll get here when the time is right,” she said, showing a patience she didn’t feel.
“Shall I smudge your office?” Belinda asked. “Make some tea? Light your incense?”
“I’m fine, Belinda. Truly.” Belinda behaved as though assistant was code for slave. Absolutely not Esmeralda’s way. “Don’t you have a reading in a bit?” Belinda used Esmie’s salon station to see a few clients. “Why don’t you take off early?”
“Are you sure? I really want to help in any way I can.”
“You are helping. You’ve got the appointment calendar just right. The grant evaluation rubric and spreadsheet look great. The Web site’s coming along. The biggest thing is getting the books straight.”
Belinda cringed, ducking her head. “That. Right. I got some help from a friend of mine? Rico? If that’s okay? He did the books for Uncle Louis, so he’s showing me the basics.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She’d never met him, but if Rico worked for Olivia’s brother, he’d be trustworthy. She had some vague recollection that Rico and Belinda had dated, too. “So go. Leave early. Study the palms I gave you.” She’d given her several photos with interpretation for training purposes.
“If you’re sure?” When Esmie nodded, Belinda bounded away, her bracelets jingling, blond curls bouncing. She’d bleached and curled her hair to match Esmeralda’s. Wore similar clothes, too. Esmeralda found it embarrassing—and potentially disturbing—but she knew from Belinda’s palm that she needed a role model to develop security. Esmeralda would do her best to be that person.
She headed into her office for a head-clearing meditation.
Her cell stopped her. It was Annika, her temporary roommate, with an update. One of Esmie’s foster dogs had bitten a hole in the sofa she was holding for a friend; Esmie’s neighbor wanted to borrow her car; two friends needed advice; three people wanted palm appointments.
Sometimes Esmeralda’s life felt so full it seemed ready to pop, but giving felt too good to have regrets. The universe never gave you more than you could handle.
To clear her head for reviewing grants, she warmed her strawberry-scented shoulder bag in the microwave, lit strawberry incense, put Yoga Chill on her CD player, and hefted herself into a legs-up-the-wall pose.
She laid the steamy, sweet-smelling bag across her face so it rested on either side of her head, blocking all but a whisper of music. Air brushed her bare legs, since her skirt had fallen to her lap.
She breathed in slowly through her nose, out through her mouth, letting her thoughts gather one by one.
They were mostly worries. Could she nail the business aspects of the work? Would she make good grant choices? Would she impress the board at the first meeting? Olivia had hinted some board members were skeptical about Esmeralda’s skills. Would she even be ready in a month?
As each worry arose, she pictured a fat, fluffy cloud lifting it away across the blue sky of her mind. What about Jonathan? That was a hope, not a worry, at least.
She’d almost called him in San Diego, the last address she had. But she knew she should let the universe churn, not try to wrestle the prediction into what she wanted—her tendency. As with many psychics, readings on herself
