Atlas shuddered out a contented sigh.
For that. This was his shot—the real one, the one that could turn a guy who lived in a van into a guy who could give his son a life.
Could he even do the kitchen test?
Yes, but that wasn’t the real test, and Chef Vega had made that clear. His life was being tested.
School wouldn’t work. Daycare wouldn’t work. Family could help, but not three nights a week plus Saturdays. There was no one he could ask for that kind of commitment.
He needed a Plan C. For Clueless.
The answer was out there somewhere. It had to be. Because Jonah Lawson had spent the last year clawing his way back from the worst version of himself, and now he had a son who needed someone to look up to and emulate.
He started the Honda. Atlas slept. And Jonah drove home to the Summer House, skipping his lab. He might be running out of plans, but he wasn’t out of hope.
Not yet.
July 12, 1994
Dear Diary,
Today was unforgettable! Madame Celestine told our fortunes!
We all went down to the harbor for the annual Seafood Festival with games and craft vendors and so much fried food I think I got a new pimple just breathing. Tessa and Kate and I were left on our own, natch, and in between boy watching (Tessa’s favorite activity) and skeet shooting (I’m surprisingly good) we found a fortune teller! It was crazy!!
There was this weird little booth with a purple velvet curtain in the window, a neon sign of a glowing hand, and a chalkboard outside that said: “Madame Celestine Sees All. Past, Present, Future. $5.”
Five dollars! Tessa was inside before Kate or I could say abracadabra.
We pulled back the curtain and met Madame Celestine, a wise old owl of a lady in her sixties with rings on every finger and eyeliner that might have been applied by a drunken raccoon. She wasincredible.
She had a crystal ball! It was just decoration, but still.
She took one look at us, zeroed in on Tessa, and demanded to see her palm. After Tessa put a fiver in Madame Celestine’s palm, of course.
She knew everything! It was FREAKY. She told Tessa that she was a great beauty (duh) with a tender heart (not so sure about that) and—get this—she would marry a man of deep feeling.
Of course, Tessa rolled her eyes and asked four times, “Is he rich? Is he cute? Does he drive a good car?”
She also said Tessa would have one child but love someone else’s. That was kind of weird and sad, but Tessa laughed it off and said a baby would ruin her body anyway.
Then it was my turn. She told me I was very creative and would marry a man who’d be my partner in life. I somehow resisted asking, “Is his name Peter McCarthy?” Whatever, it could all mean literally anything, but it was fun. Oh!
She also told me I would have a daughter, and she could see her running through yellow fields of buttercups.
Again, nonsense, but it’s a pretty picture that I hope to see someday. I paid my five dollars and left feeling a little fluttery, which is probably the whole point.
Then we turned to Kate.
Kate, who had been standing near the curtain with her arms crossed and her glasses pushed up on her head, said: “No.”
Just no. Not “no, thank you.” Not “I’d rather not.” Just no, the way you’d say no to someone offering you a plate of worms.
Tessa begged. I begged. We told her it was five dollars and ten minutes and it’s fun. Kate said she wasn’t going to “pay a stranger to make things up” and that fortune telling was “statistically indistinguishable from random guessing.”
Statistically indistinguishable. That, dear diary, is my friend Kate in a nutshell. Like, what does that even mean?
Tessa told her she was being ridiculous. Kate said Tessa was being gullible. I stood between them the way I always do and tried to negotiate a peace treaty, but Kate wouldn’t budge.
