I have never seen a Tarot card in my life. I’m from rural southeastern, Louisiana. I spent my young life working the farm with my dad, played football and baseball in high school, dated the cheerleader, went to college and law school at Tulane—and here I’m sitting with an old black woman named Mama Vermillion, listening to her sing and pray and now she’s got me talking to my unborn child. Wait a minute, I thought, it’s time to go home. I started to squirm in my seat and I glanced at my watch. It was 7pm.

“It’s all right, Mr. Jim, Mama’s done. Let’s get you those flowers. You got supper and Maggie waiting for you.”

She blew out the candle and walked into the refrigerator, and in seconds she emerged with a beautiful bouquet of native wildflowers.

“Since I knew you were coming I made these up this afternoon. Now get on home to Maggie, and don’t forget my gifts for Layla.”

For Layla!

How did she know her name?

How could she possibly know her name?