Page 23 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Minna interrupted her. “Can I tattoo you?”
Beatrice started. “Oh! I don’t know about that. Your mom…”
“She wouldn’t care if it was what you wanted.”
“I don’t have any tattoos, either. Just like her.”Just like my twin.
“How long are you going to be here? Can you stay awhile?” Minna’s gaze was made of hope.
“I wish I could.”
“Why can’t you?”
Reno leaned against the countertop with folded arms. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black.
“I live in LA.”
Minna said, “No one lives in LA. The best they do is survive.”
“What?”
She giggled. “I watchThe Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.You can’t tell me those women are okay.”
Beatrice snorted in appreciation. “Fair. But I do have a life there.”
“You’re mad at your husband, right?”
Lightly, she said, “It seems I might not have one of those for much longer.”
“Oooh. Sorry about that.” Minna paused. “But notthatsorry. Wouldn’t that make it easier for you to stay?”
“I have a job.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a CPA and tax preparer.” She balanced books and gave tax advice for a living, working for her father’s small accounting firm, as she had since she’d graduated college. Dad gave her a tiny raise every year—oh so proudly, with a grin and a hug—and Beatrice would rather jab an ice pick into her own shoulder than let her father know that he paid her less than the newest stock clerk got at Whole Foods (she’d heard them talking about it when she’d been buying fair-trade organic raspberries). She made a sixteenth of what Grant did. So, when she was done with her work, Beatrice was the one in the house who made sure Grant didn’t run out of his favorite Timor coffee or the brand of hand soap he liked best. Once or twice a year, it annoyed her, and she told him she wasn’t a fifties housewife and he should get his ass to the grocery store and pick upherfavorite milk, which, to his credit, he always did, with a laugh, delivering her a milk product that was almost what she’d asked for. Ifhehad to pay the power bill? The lights would go out first. They both knew it. He was fabulous at his job. And at having fun. She was better at doing literally everything else.
Minna fell backward into the couch. “Soundsboring.”
“I love it.” It might be boring but it was true. Beatrice adored the way the numbers fit into each other, except when they didn’t,which was almost better in a way, because then she got to sink deeper in and untwist them.
“Can’t you work remote? Everyone does now.”
She could. But she knew her father wouldn’t want her to, and it was still his business. She’d made most of the major decisions for the last few years, and she’d be the lead on their client pitch on Monday, but she was still, technically, his employee.
Though, honestly, fuck him. “Mmm.”
“You could just stay for a while. In the rental unit!” Minna’s expression blazed with hope. “Yousaidyou’d stay with us if you were staying longer.”
“Is this the rental unit?” Something about this cozy spacewasattractive to her.
“Oh, no. That’s in the house. Like I said, it’s got its own entrance and everything and, like, really nice sheets.Thisis just Dad’s hideout, but sometimes I sleep up there.” She pointed at a loft. “You could buy a house here! If you have the money, that is. Do you?”
She had to admit, Minna’s eagerness was adorable, if a little exhausting. “Not enough for a house, no.” Would she and Grant sell their home? Would he want her to buy him out?
“What about a houseboat? Hector Vino is selling his—I heard him talking to Marion at the library about it yesterday. He says it doesn’t leak at all, and it’s really pretty, blue and yellow.”
“A houseboat?” Not leaking at all didn’t quite sound like the most exciting recommendation.
