Page 31 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

I didn’t need him to say the rest:unlike Maisey Phillips.

“Education, yes,” Sloane admitted with a wrinkle of her nose. “Wisdom, no. I’ve never had much of that. My sister did, though. I was the sensibility to her sense, the Marianne to her Elinor.”

Arthur released a sound somewhere between a snort and a cough. “That’s not anything to boast of, girl. Austen wrote Marianne out to be a fool. A sappy, melodramatic fool who’s only redeemed in the end by having the romance literally bled out of her.”

“I know.” Sloane sighed. “It’s always been a source of great shame to me.”

Once again, I felt myself getting abandoned in the shallow end of the pool—only this time, Sloane robbed the sting of it by bestowing a sunny smile on me. “Go ahead, if you please. I bet you’re really good at this. You have a way of making people feel comfortable.”

My eyes swam as I ducked my head and made a quick survey of Sloane’s palm. As before, her hand felt clammy to the touch. It could have just been her natural state of being, but it also could have been a sign that she was prone to panic attacks.

Bella got those, so I understood. When she’d been little, we used to blow them away with paper bags and silly songs, but those stopped being effective around the same time I had.

“You aren’t going to read my love line or anything, are you?” Sloane asked as I continued examining her hand. “Because I’m not sure how much I want you peering into that.”

“Not if you wouldn’t like it. But if you want to know about work or your past lives or even which scratch tickets to buy, feel free to ask.” I paused. “Well, that last one can be a bit dicey. I’ve never actually predicted any lottery winnings, but I know which ones are the most fun. I like the ones where you get to play a crossword puzzle while you try to win.”

She laughed softly. “Thanks, but I don’t need any of that.”

I could feel Arthur watching me closely, taking notes on my technique and storing up insults to throw at me later. It was strange to be doing this in person rather than over the phone, but the principles were the same: be chatty and open, lower your client’s guard, and get them to tell you all the things they’d never willingly put into words.

Then pounce.

I wasn’t sure when I’d first discovered this gift in myself, but it was something anyone could do, as long as they were willing to play the part. I wasn’t bitter about it—I really wasn’t—even though it sounded that way. I used to read tarot cards, back when all this had been a hobby instead of a career, and the one that had always popped up in my own readings, no matter how many times I shuffled the deck, was the fool.

Immature and inexperienced, full of innocence, a blank slate.

At first it had hurt, this idea that I’d never be more than the butt of other people’s jokes, but people underestimate fools. When they’re in a fool’s company, they feel safe. They stop trying so hard.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind knowing a little more about my love life,” Sloane admitted. “If you’ve already seen something, that is. We might as well not waste it.”

See? I hadn’t even done anything yet, and I was already well on my way to answers. Not all was well with Sloane’s engagement—that much I knew for sure. She hadn’t mentioned Brett a single time since he’d been over here cleaning windows. Like me and my silence where Bella was concerned, it was the nothing that said the most.

“I was almost married once,” I said. I could feel Sloane’s start of surprise, but I wasn’t ready to let go of her hand yet. The process was just getting started. “He was the lead singer in a rock band. You wouldn’t havebelievedthe abs on this guy. We’re talking all six cans, lined up in two perfect columns. He used to wear these tiny leather pants—I tried putting them on once and I couldn’t even get them over my knees, they were that tight. He used to have to peel them off like wet skin. But in, like, a sexy way.”

“This can’t be happening to me,” Arthur moaned.

“That’s amazing,” Sloane breathed. “Why didn’t you go through with it?”

I rolled my shoulder in a shrug. “The usual reasons. Rock star impregnates groupie. Groupie manages to rope him into about six months of cohabitation before things go south. It’s a pretty boring story, when all’s said and done. I could name you three other girls who went through the exact same thing.”

“What doesanyof this have to do with palm reading?” Arthur asked. “I think you should demand your money back, Sloane.”

“Before things have a chance to develop? Absolutely not.” Sloane settled more comfortably in front of me. “That’s who you had your daughter with, right? The one you mentioned before?”

I nodded. “About a year ago, she decided she’d rather live with him.” The cool parent, the one who owned every record known to mankind, the one who didn’t spend all day chatting with strangers about their love lives. “He’s got this great new wife who’s done a lot to steady him. He even teaches music lessons down at the Guitar Shoppe now. I get custody one weekend a month.”

“Oh. That’s not very much.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry.”

I ducked my head again, grateful for the distraction of her hand to keep me busy. “The point I’m trying to make is that your story isn’t like mine. You started with stability instead of the other way around.”

“This is just nonsense. Every word of it. I thought we were here to discuss literature.”

“Thisisliterature,” Sloane insisted. “It’s the story of my life.”

“Your life isn’t—”

“I know. It isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. But it’s the only one I have, so I’m keeping it.” She nodded at me to continue. “You think Brett is stable? That’s good to hear. I like stable things.”