A Season of Miracles by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

him. Of course she knew him she told herself; Connie had just introduced her. But she felt as if she had known him before. A long time ago. Was it true, she wondered, that you recognized people in life who you might like, who would be your friends, given half a chance?
    Suddenly she noticed that the conversation had stopped and he was staring at her, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Look at you, looking so solemn. Lighten up. It’s Halloween. Ghosts and goblins and ghouls. Okay, maybe that’s a bad example. Think Christmas. Santa Claus. Ho, ho, ho. Pine trees, packages, Christmas carolers—”
    â€œReally bad traffic, people shoving each other in stores over the newest toy craze, badly wired lights sizzling families to a crisp.”
    They all spun around. Connie’s husband, Joe, had joined them. Despite his words of doom and gloom, he spoke cheerfully.
    â€œBack to Christmas,” Connie said sternly. “Pine trees, packages, the girls giggling, Santa Claus—and miracles.”
    â€œYou don’t really believe in miracles, do you?” Tip asked.
    â€œAnd why not?” Connie demanded. “There are plenty of strange things in this world.”
    â€œAnd the next, too,” Joe said with a depth of sincerity that caused his wife to stare at him again.
    â€œWhat is this? We’re not here to ponder the next life,” she protested. “We’re partying. Think good times only.”
    â€œAll right,” Joe said. “Let the good times roll. But let’s test out the world of the occult. We won’t say a word to the tarot card reader. I’ll go to her with Jillian on my arm. Connie, you go with Tip. We’ll test her powers.”
    â€œShe doesn’t claim to have powers,” Tip reminded him.
    â€œTip, did I ever tell you how good you look in that color bra?” Joe teased him.
    â€œAh, honey, you’re going to make me blush. But go ahead—test her out. I’ve already seen her. I’ll escort Connie, then you come along with Jillian. You’ll see.”
    Carrying their drinks, they joined the line for the tarot card reader. She was a beautiful woman. Her skin was a tawny copper color, her eyes a hazel that gleamed golden in the candlelight. She was dressed for the part in gypsy attire—a sweeping, multicolored skirt, a gold-colored peasant blouse, and a scarf in various shades of gold and copper tied around her head. She was, according to the glittery name plaque in front of her, Madame Zena.
    From her place in line, Jillian sipped her Guinness and watched as the woman laid down the cards. The customer, a pretty young woman in a harem costume, tapped one of the cards in dismay. “Oh no, that means death, right?”
    Madame Zena shook her head patiently. “It’s not just the cards themselves that speak to you, it is their arrangement. These cards warn you…” She looked up, staring at the girl sternly. “Were you planning on taking the subway back out to Brooklyn alone?”
    â€œBrooklyn—yes, it’s where I live. I’m a Fine Arts student.”
    â€œFrom Omaha,” the guy behind her teased.
    â€œDon’t go home on the subway alone,” the reader warned.
    The young man put his hands on her shoulders. “She won’t,” he said protectively.
    â€œBut you’ll be ridiculously late if you come back to the dorm with me.”
    â€œI’ll sleep on the floor. Janice won’t mind.”
    â€œAll right, all right, Madame Zena—can you tell me about my midterms?” the girl asked.
    Madame Zena leaned forward, then tapped on a card. “You passed. But barely. If you want to stay in New York and avoid Omaha for the next few years, you’d better get cracking.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    The girl slid from her seat, her eyes wide. She was a believer. Jillian had to admit to being pretty impressed herself.
    â€œShe goes