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pre-law—not being a guinea pig in a medical study.  
    “Ms. Sparks. Do you have any intuition or feelings or a sense of who I should see or where I should go while I’m here in L.A.?” I asked.
    “Close your eyes,” Lizzie said.
    I did. We were both silent and held hands for a few awkward moments.
    “Your heart is closed,” Lizzie said. “Your heart is closed down, shut tight, locked up. And you are scared to open it. Go to the healers who can open your heart.” She released my hand but rubbed my arm maternally. “Does that make sense?”
    “No. I don’t know who can open my heart.”
    She was being too generic. She could be saying these things to anyone. I came here for answers. I didn’t come to be coddled.
    I pulled a list of names of healers and healing clinics from my purse that I’d printed out and thrust it in front of Lizzie. “These people, these types of healing? I’ve read about all of them. They all claim to have success for diseases like MS, Lupus, even Huntington’s and/or certain types of cancer.” My hand that held the paper shook a little.  
    I heard the nurse’s voice in my head, “Take it easy for a few days, Sophie. Give your body a chance to rest. This isn’t a suggestion. It’s an order.”  
    Lizzie beckoned to me with her index finger. I gave her the list. She picked up a pair of glasses from the side table, slipped them on her face, clicked her table lamp to a brighter level and perused it. Shook her head, grabbed a pen from the table and drew brisk lines through people’s names, their occupations and contact information.
    “Don’t ask me why I’m doing this. I don’t want to bad-mouth anyone. Feel free to ignore my recommendations. Let’s just say I’ve been in this business for a long time and know the good ones, the opportunists, and jury’s out on a lot of other folks.” She handed the paper back to me. About a third of my potential saviors had inky black slashes through their names and contact information.
    “Thank you,” I said. “Out of all the people left, who should I go to? Who should I trust?”
    “Considering you don’t trust anyone right now—including me? I’d say that’s going to unfold pretty quickly. You already set your intention to explore healing. You put it out into the universe and prayed about it. The wheels are turning and the right people—and believe me that does not mean they’re all loving and kind—but they are exactly the folks you need because they facilitate your lessons. The right people are being cast, just like actors in a play. I bet they’re already showing up in your life.”
    “Okay,” I said . Why wouldn’t she be more specific? I wasn’t here for something I could read in one of her books.
    “What happened to your face last night?” she asked.
    My hand flew to my cheek. “Some drunken asshat pitched a beer bottle at another guy. His aim was a little off.”
    “That’s not the easiest way to spend your first night in a new city. Even though you hate hospitals, looks like someone took good care of you.”
    There was a gentle knock on the door. “Come in,” Lizzie said.
    Indira cracked the door open and whispered, “Your next client is here.”
    I got up from the chair and walked toward the door. “Thank you, Ms. Sparks.”
    “Wait,” Lizzie said.
    I stopped in my tracks and faced her.
    “I don’t make a habit out of asking folks this but you’re on a bit of an extraordinary journey. Keep me updated on how it’s going? I’m primarily a medical intuitive but only possess a pinch of psychic ability. And by the way, no extra charge for future check-ins.” She pointed to Indira. “Note that.”
    Indira nodded, pulled a card off the side table and handed it to me. “This is Lizzie’s private e-mail.”
    “Use it,” Lizzie said.
    “I will.” I palmed it. “Thanks so much.”  
    “You’re welcome. Be sure and tell me his name when you realize who he is.”
    “Huh?”
    “Come with me.”