The first time I went to see Madame Caroline, I thought to myself, "What the hell kind of name is that? Shouldn't it be more like Madame Cosima, or Madame Sirene, or Madame Zora?" It was just punishment for a bet anyways, and I knew she was fake. Still, I always hold up my end of the deal, and I had lost. She got out her upended fish bowl, sat it on a lace doily, and told me she saw good luck in my future. I told her I saw bankruptcy in hers and cursed under my breath for the twenty dollars I had just wasted. I slammed her door on my way out.

     I found a five dollar bill in the gutter in front of her house and quickly tucked it into my pocket. It would buy me a pack of Marlboro Menthols at the least, I figured, since Newports are now for rich people.

     How's THAT for luck Madame Caroline, HA!

     Life went on, and I forgot all about her and her shabby thrift store furniture and beaded curtains. My fiancee became my wife, we bought a house bigger than necessary, and soon she began to swell with the filler. The job was looking good, and the promotion I needed to pay for said filler was at the tips of my fingers.

     Nan called me one day at work to tell me she was in labor, on her way to the hospital by squad, and not to panic. Yeah. Right. She also said she'd forgotten to get deodorant for her suitcase, and would I be so kind as to stop at the market and pick some up? 

     So there I was, at Ted's One Stop, running down the aisles looking for her Powder Fresh Secret, grabbing a spring bouquet on a romantic whim, and digging for my wallet as I sped to checkout, when, who should be in line before me? Yes, Madame Caroline.  The one and only.

     There were two lines open that day and I was wheeling around to switch when she turned and saw me. I waved the two free fingers I had, pasted on a smile, and resigned myself to the fact that I had to make nice until her purchases were complete. She gave a little nod and turned her attention back to the cashier. I returned to my mental Kiss-****-To-Make-Partner Checklist. Wrapped up in it as I was, I didn't pay much attention to the line in front of me, until she spoke again.

     "You got it already. They'll announce it tomorrow. Now go see your son."

     The second time I went to see Madame Caroline, I left Nan napping, baby Nicolas curled up next to her, and a note on the fridge saying I was going to get milk. She opened the door with a big toothy grin, hobbled on her cane to the rickety little table, and brought out a deck of cards. Now, I don't know anything about Tarot reading, but it seemed to me a random pattern and I wondered aloud how laying cards haphazardly was going to tell her something. She, of course, told me to shut up and I did.

    After one hell of a coughing and wheezing fit, Madame Caroline studied the mess in front of her, then looked up at me and said she saw wealth and prosperity in my future, but also a loved one's death. I asked her who and when, but she muttered something about taking what you're given and told me to leave the money on the table and see myself out. I closed the door gently this time.

     I was spooked, to be honest. On one hand, I still believed she was a phony. But then, on the other, hadn't she read my mind in the store? And how did she know my wife was having a baby, a baby boy, at that, since even we didn't know the gender? So I did what any man would do in my situation.

     "Mom? Hello?"

     Yeah, I called Mommy. She listened and laughed, told me not to worry about it and enjoy my family. The more I talked to her, the more I felt silly, and by the time I hung up with her, I'd decided to let it alone and stop being paranoid.

     Nan and I spent the evening trying unsuccessfully to keep Nic awake, talking and cooing to him. After his late feeding, I carried him upstairs to his nursery while Nan freshened up in the bathroom, already salivating at the thought of her in the sexy lingerie I had bought her, but reluctant to leave our sleeping baby's side. He looked like an angel, soft and warm, nestled into the quilt Nan's mother, Barb, or, as I call her, Lucifer, had made for him.

     In the end, my hormones won out, and I took the steps two at a time, giddy as a child on Christmas morning. My present was found in front of the fireplace, all wrapped up in red and black satin, with two glasses of wine on the coffee table, and a come-get-me grin. I made love to her right there on the floor, twice, and when we were both spent, I grabbed the throw off the couch, turned on the baby monitor, and cuddled with her the way she likes. I was just about to drift off to Nan's soft snoring when the phone rang.

     "Hello? John? It's me, Deb."

     "Everything okay sis?" I asked.

     "No, honey, everything is not okay. It's Dad, John."