I wouldn’t say the weight had entirely gone from Paul’s shoulders, but some shadow of care seemed to lift from his expression as he sat down next to me and stared off into the distance at the graceful arching bridge and sorrowful shapes of the weeping willows.
“You could always take up a second profession as an L.A. tour guide if the whole psychic thing doesn’t work out,” he remarked.
“Are you saying I’m not good at being a psychic?”
“You know that’s not what I’m saying.” Again, he reached out and gave my hand one of those reassuring little squeezes. “I just meant that you’ve done an amazing job of navigating us out of trouble.”
“Well, I am a native,” I said, a bit mollified. “I just wish I could have done more to get us farther along. Thank you for being understanding, for realizing t
