Divine Intervention

By Anna Hughes

Harry Pendleton stared at his daughter who was sobbing uncontrollably on the living room sofa.

“Poppy, what’s wrong?” he asked, already sure he didn’t want to know the answer. 

“I’m going to end up just like Mom!” she wailed.

Harry mentally kicked himself. He knew he shouldn’t have asked. 

“Considering your mother is currently on a Greek island with Trust-Fund Toby, your future could be worse.”

“Boy-Band Brody,” mumbled Poppy into a tear-stained cushion.

“What?”

Poppy sat up and faced her father. “Mom left Toby six months ago.”

“Oh. Well, whoever she’s with, I’m sure he’s rich.”

“They took his private jet,” Poppy admitted. "But that’s not the point. I want to do good in the world. Like you and your Foundation.”

Harry sat. “That’s sweet, honey, but running a charity isn’t just galas and balls. There’s the Botox brigade to deal with, too. But I can talk to Sophie about a summer internship if you’d like?”

Poppy’s eyes welled with tears again. “What’s the point if I’m going to spend all my time getting divorced?”

Harry felt the conversation spiraling away from him. “What makes you think you’ll end up like your mother?”

“The psychic told me.”

“Would that be the crazy lady from the flier that came last week? The one I specifically told you not to go and see?”

Poppy nodded. “She saw my whole future. It’s horrible - I’m basically Mom.” Poppy burst into tears again.

“Oh, kitten.” Harry kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got a long way to go before you develop those cougar claws.”

🩷🩷🩷

Two hours later Harry entered a room filled with a heady mix of incense and unnamed spices.

“Welcome to Madame Zola’s.” The woman’s voice was as exotic as her appearance. Ebony curls fell elegantly from beneath a vibrant silk turban while large hoop earrings accentuated her high cheekbones. “The secrets to your future await.” 

She waved ring-laden fingers over a crystal ball. A pale blue light emanated from its centre causing shadows to swirl at its edges.

Harry stomped across the room and planted himself across from Madame Zola.

“It’s not my future I’m interested in. It’s Poppy’s. What the hell did you tell her?”

Zola stared at Harry. “I can’t control what I see. I’m a mere vessel for the fates.”

“Oh, cut the crap.”

Zola removed her turban. “Fine,” she said, a broad Boston brogue replacing the foreign accent of moments before. “But I only told her what you told me to tell her. That if she keeps dating football players and skipping classes she’ll end up a bubble-headed trophy wife. Or three.”

“That’s not what I paid you for!”

Zola bristled. “If you don’t like my messaging, you shouldn’t have sent her here.”

Harry snorted. “Believe me, I cannot ‘send’ my daughter anywhere. The only reason she came to see you was because I expressly told her not to. You were supposed to nudge her towards Tommy Mercanti. He’s a good kid with a bright future. Instead, she’s home right now, sobbing her heart out.”

Zola rolled her eyes. “Relax. She’s nineteen. It’s a dramatic age. She’ll have forgotten about it by tomorrow.”

Harry slumped in his chair. “I hope so.”

Zola’s expression softened. “Since you’re here, why don’t I do a reading for you? On the house.”

Harry grimaced. “You know I don’t believe in this stuff.”

“What do you have to lose?” Zola leaned forward. “Besides, my mother was Irish. I really do have The Sight.”

“Pffft.” Harry’s scowl remained but he made no move to leave.

Zola stared into the crystal ball. She frowned.

“What is it?” 

“I see a hospital bed.”

“Who’s in it?” 

“It’s murky. Wait –“ Zola gasped and wordlessly lifted her eyes to meet Harry’s gaze.

“Is it me? Am I dying?” Despite himself, fear slithered down Harry’s spine.

Zola turned her attention back to the ball. “I see Poppy crying. And – someone else. I don’t know this woman.”

“Probably my ex-wife.”

Zola shook her head. “I don’t think so. I feel a lot of love, but also regret. As if an opportunity for great happiness has been missed.”

“Who is she?”

Zola concentrated on the image only she could see. “She’s pretty. Blond hair, green eyes, cute butt?” She looked sharply at Harry, who stared back blankly.

“I feel she is already close to you?” Zola prompted.

Harry shook his head.

“I see the letter ‘S’.”  A hint of frustration crept into Zola’s voice.

Harry shrugged. “The director of my foundation is Sophie. We’re friends.”

Zola leaned back in her chair. “More than friends, perhaps?”

Harry blushed. “I’ve always admired her, but I never thought… Do you think she might be interested in me?”

Zola smiled. “I think there is only one way to find out.”

Harry pushed himself up. “Look, if Poppy comes back, just try and steer her in the right direction.”

As he reached the door, Harry pulled out his phone. “Sophie? Hi. It’s Harry. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner sometime? Really? Great…”

The rest of the conversation was lost to Zola, but the spring in his step was obvious as he strode down the street.

🩷🩷🩷

Zola’s musing was interrupted by the strident ringing of her phone.

“Zola? Hi. It’s Poppy. How did it go?”

“Great. It took some work but we got there. He was asking Sophie out as he left.” 

“Perfect. I’m transferring your payment now.”

“How did you know he would come to see me?”

Poppy laughed. “It was easy. All I had to do was cry. I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Um, Zola?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking about some of the things you said. Like how I could already know someone that would make me happy. Well, there’s this guy. Tommy. He works for my dad but he’s really sweet. Do you think he might go out with me?”

Zola smiled. “I think there is only one way to find out.”

🩷🩷🩷

Anna Hughes lives in a remote corner of the Australian Outback. She is currently working on her first novel.