Page 139 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“Really?” A tendril of hope bloomed somewhere deep inside Beatrice’s non-body.
“I think you might have one more miracle waiting for you. If you want it.”
Oh.
Oh!
Minna’s sweet face, and the rapturous look she got when she couldn’t fit all her excitement into her skin, when it exploded out of her in bounces and exclamations and awkward, too-tight hugs.
Cordelia’s hands with the yarn trailing through them, the way she held together her world and moonlighted by spendingtime here, wherever here was. Forty-five long years ago, she and Cordelia had lived someplace like this, swimming through a void side by side. They’d been together, and that had been enough. Beatrice had missed her every moment since then, but hadn’t recognized it as loss until now.
Reno’s eyes. The grief she bore like a war wound, the way she thought she shouldn’t be trusted even though she was trust itself. Her stillness. The joy that shimmered just under her skin.
“I want…”
Knowledge. Understanding. Certainty.
But—she’d had plenty of that in her life.
And none of that knowledge or learning had ever given her any control over a single damn thing. Ever.
First, she spoke to Naya. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you at the end.”
You were there.Naya’s words weren’t audible, exactly, but they rang clear.And it wasn’t the end.
“I love you.”
I know.
Then, she spoke to her sister. It came out in a whisper, but it came out.
“I want to live without needing the knowing.”
The pain came then.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
I don’t know what happens when you pass over. I only have some guesses. But I have to say, I think it might turn out to be a good time.
—Evie Oxby, in conversation with Michelle Obama
It wasn’t like in the movies, at least not as far as she could tell. Beatrice didn’t wake up in the hospital with a small moan, only to spend long minutes figuring out where she was by puzzling over the beeps and IV lines.
No, she woke up hard and fast andloud.
And she woke up so panicked that it took two nurses and one grumpy-looking orderly to hold her in the bed that first time. She couldn’t scream. Had they taken her voice completely? But she knew exactly where she was—a hospital. And she knew what she wanted—to get out of it as fast as possible.
Apparently after a major skin graft to her upper thigh, getting out quickly wasn’t an option.
Every time she woke up punching things, they slipped another cocktail into her IV and she slept again. The sleep wasn’t restful, though. Desperately, she wanted that deliciously lightweight nothing-feeling of the in-between place she’d shared with Cordelia. Instead, she got nightmares and hallucinations. Taurus loomed over her, the tattoo gun rattled, and Minna stopped breathing over and over again.
But in between punching sessions and nightmares, sometimes she had a few minutes of holding someone’s hand.
Sometimes it was her father’s hand. She’d never seen himcry, not even when Naya had died. Then, his eyes had just been red all the time with the heat of unshed tears. Now? He cried. Then he laughed. Then he cried again.
Once, it was Iris. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said. “Oh, babe, I’m so glad you’re alive. Don’t ever do that to us again, you hear me?”
Sometimes the person next to her when she woke up was Cordelia. Her sister.
