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your destiny?”
    She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, her voice was almost inaudible. “Strange
     questions from a man who doesn’t believe I could have seen my future—or anybody else’s.”
    Tucker didn’t hesitate. “I’m willing to suspend my disbelief—if
you’re
willing to accept the possibility that what you saw—or at least the outcome—can be
     changed.”
    Again, Sarah took her time responding. She sliced bread and ladled out stew, setting
     his meal before him and then placing her own so that she was sitting at a right angle
     to him. She tasted her stew almost idly, then said,“I saw a hotel fire that killed people, and I couldn’t stop it. I saw the man I loved
     killed by a train, and I couldn’t stop it. I saw a serial killer commit horrible acts,
     and I couldn’t stop him. A week ago, I saw my house burn to the ground, and today
     it burned.”
    Tucker began eating to give himself time to marshal his arguments, and in the meantime
     asked a question he was curious about. “Why didn’t you call the police when you saw
     your house burn?”
    “Oh, right. Officer, somebody’s going to burn down my house. How do I know? Well,
     I saw it in a nightmare. A nightmare I had while I was wide awake, not under the influence
     of drugs, and cold sober.” She gave Tucker a twisted smile. “Been there, done that.
     And I’d really rather not become the poster child for the Psychic Early Warning Society.”
    Tucker shook his head. “Okay, so maybe nobody takes you seriously—at first. But sooner
     or later, that’s bound to change.”
    “Is it?” She shrugged. “Maybe. But in my case, that’s hardly relevant, is it? I have
     this…rendezvous with destiny next month.”
    Like most writers, Tucker had a head stuffed full of words, and a very apt quote sprang
     readily to mind. “‘I have a rendezvous with Death at some disputed barricade,’” he
     murmured.
    “Who said that?” she wondered.
    “Alan Seeger. It’s always stayed with me.”
    Sarah nodded. “Appropriate.”
    “I think so. Think of the phrase he chose, Sarah…
some disputed barricade
. Maybe there’s always room for argument about where and when we die, even if there
     is such a thing as fate. Maybe we change our fate, minute by minute, with every decision
     we make. Maybe destiny becomes the sum of our choices.”
    She frowned. “Maybe.”
    “But you aren’t convinced?”
    “That I can choose to avoid the fate I know is in store for me?” She shook her head.
     “No.”
    “Sarah, you didn’t see your death. You saw an image, a symbol of death. And symbols
     can’t be interpreted literally.”
    “A grave is pretty hard to interpret any other way.”
    He shook his head. “In tarot, the death card can mean many things. A transition of
     some kind. The death of an idea or a way of life, for instance. A turning point. The
     grave you saw could mean something like that. A change in your life that you’re thrown
     bodily into, maybe against your will—which would explain your fear. You never saw
     yourself dead, did you? You never saw your death occur literally, an accomplished
fact
.”
    “I never saw David’s death as an accomplished fact either.” Her voice was quiet. “But
     I knew he was going to die at that railroad crossing. And he did.”
    That stopped Tucker for only a moment. “But you saw the
means
of his death clearly. In your—nightmare—about your own fate, there’s no weapon, no
     method by which you could be killed. So it
could
have been a symbolic grave, a symbolic death. At least it’s possible.”
    Sarah pushed her plate away and leaned an elbow onthe bar, looking at him for the first time with her certainty wavering. “I suppose
     so. Possible, at least that I saw something other than a literal death for myself.”
    Tucker didn’t make the mistake of hammering his point home. Instead, he said musingly,
     “I’ve always thought that if it
was
possible to see into the