Stephanie Crawford texted me that she and Courtney wrote the apology letter to Xander the Doll, and the two of them signed it, as did Farah. Actually, Farah had Stephanie sign her name. Hopefully that'll be enough. Time for work. I'm not exactly in the mood to read other people's futures right now, but folks count on me. I close my eyes, surround myself in God's protective white light, and get down to business. Mrs. Harmon from the yarn store is worried about whether a large mole on her back is cancerous. I'm psychic, not a doctor, and I would never give advice about such a deadly disease. "You need to call your doctor and have it looked at," I say to her, stacking the tarot cards and refusing to make a medical diagnosis. "He's the one who will have answers for you." She widens her eyes like this is the smartest thing she's ever heard. "Why, Kendall, you're so intuitive. I'll call the doctor tomorrow." She pays Loreen twenty dollars at the register and leaves a five-dollar tip for me. I feel like a charlatan taking a tip for something so obvious; I just told her what any normal person would have.
