Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel - By Elizabeth Berg Page 0,2

up and begin my talk.

Forty minutes later, I end by saying, “When I was a junior in high school, I was sitting in my world history class when the teacher suddenly asked this question: ‘What is truth?’ There was a long silence, we all just sat there, and then finally Janet Gilmore, the smartest girl in the class—and also, unfairly, the prettiest—raised her hand and she said, ‘Truth is what you believe.’ Mr. Sanders nodded approvingly. I was thinking, What does this have to do with history? But of course it has everything to do with history, because history is shaped by the belief systems of those who made it.

“Our own individual life history is also shaped that way. In large part, when you factor out fate, what we are is because of what we believe about ourselves. Wherever we are in the world, we mostly live in the small space between our ears.

“I challenge you to acknowledge and affirm your innermost beliefs: bring them into the light. When you know what the truth is for you, you can help create not only your history, but your destiny.”

I thank the audience, then step from behind the lectern to applaud them. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that many women are inspired, but some who walked in here cynical are walking out the same way. In some respects, I’m among them. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years as a motivational speaker, it’s that most people need someone else to tell them what they already know. I include myself in this. I include myself most keenly. That, in fact, is how I start my talks: I say I am forever a physician in the act of healing myself, that to be human is to live in wonder and in need, and in perpetual evolution. I say that no matter what our occupation, our real job is to help each other out. Penny was the one who helped me. It kills me to use the past tense when I talk about her. It frightens me to think that there may never be anyone who can take her place.

Times when we were stumped and unable to advise each other about problems, we used to go out on my porch at night with my grandfather’s box. We would light candles and hunch over a table and inquire of the oracle. In addition to Cosmina’s fortune, which I wrote out all those years ago, the box holds a lot of different things for playing medium: cards, books, stones.

Penny and I asked about relationships, about work, about friends and relatives, and occasionally about politicians. We asked if the end of the world was nigh; we asked if the Twins would win the series. We were often playful but just as often we were deeply respectful. It was eerie how “on” the answers sometimes were, how using two or even three different methods for posing the same question could yield the same answer. I think on more than one occasion we kind of scared ourselves.

And then there was the time after Penny was first diagnosed, when I did the cards alone. I sat at my kitchen table and closed my eyes and simply thought, Penny. I was too afraid to ask a specific question. But the question was heard anyway, because I pulled the death card. I reshuffled the deck once, twice, and made a new spread. Pulled a card. Got the same thing.

I laid my head down on my arms and wept. Since that day, I, the motivational speaker, have not been able to motivate myself into making a new life without her.

“I’LL STOP SOON,” I USED TO TELL PENNY, WHO IN RECENT YEARS had begun advising me to quit working or at least cut down enough so that we could travel together. It was a dream of ours to go to Japan; I think Penny bought every book published about traveling there. We also wanted to take a leisurely driving trip across the southern states. Brice didn’t like to travel and was all in favor of Penny “getting it out of her system” with me. I had never married, and though I almost always had a relationship, sometimes a serious one, I never thought any of those men would be as much fun to travel with as Penny would be. We were passionate about many of the same things: small towns, vintage quilts, unique breakfast places, cobalt-blue glassware, spontaneous conversations