Page 5 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Oh, Grant already knew how she felt. “In my brief remaining time? Sounds like I’m going to be busy.”
“Ah, fuck it.” Winnie looked miserable. “I know you don’t believe me. After you receive those two miracles today, maybe you will.”
The woman’s pained face made Beatrice regret her sarcasm. She pulled out a twenty, the price listed on Winnie’s sign. Gently, she slid it across the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a dick. Please take this. I’d pay more at the movies getting popcorn and candy for myself. And if nothing else, this was more entertaining than any movie I’ve seen in a while.”
CHAPTER THREE
What we fear seldom comes to pass. Of course, whatactuallycomes to pass would have scared the heelie-bejeezees out of us had we known it was on its way.
—Evie Oxby, in conversation with Terry Gross onFresh Air
Once off the ferry, Beatrice took a deep breath and pulled up Google Maps on her phone.
No signal. She held it into the air.
“You won’t get cell service most places here,” said the woman who’d been reading the Oxby book. “Skerry is Scottish for ‘island,’ but around here we say it’s Scottish for ‘stuck in the eighties.’ You’ll have Wi-Fi at your hotel, though. Are you at Skerry Cove Lodge?”
Beatrice nodded.
“It’s that way, two blocks, then right on Third.”
“Thanks.” She waved as the woman and her daughter trundled off.
Not a big deal. Seriously, not being able to open GoogleMaps wasnota big deal. But Beatrice’s heart hammered in her chest.
Of course I’m not dying.
Obviously, Beatrice wasn’t about to expire. Real life was run by making good, sturdy plans that were backed up by numbers, and then executing those plans well. Real life wasnotrun by hysterical hunches and random pieces of colorful cardstock wielded by a stressed-out blonde on a boat.
Walk. Move your legs.
It was still a bit too early yet to check in at Skerry Cove Lodge, but her carry-on bag was light. A stroll would do her good.
Skerry Cove appeared to be the kind of adorable that TV producers made whole series about, filled with people bustling about like they were in a Richard Scarry book. Over here a baker, carrying a tray of still-steaming muffins, over there a woman leading a parade of toddlers holding hands. Sunlight streamed through the old trees that lined the sidewalks, and the air smelled like brown sugar and salt.
The whole downtown area didn’t look to be more than seven blocks long, if that. A hand-lettered sign in the window of a general store proclaimed it was the General Store, and the pharmacy was called Your Pharmacy. Maybe you didn’t need a catchy name or a great marketing plan when you were the only game in town? Beatrice passed the Skerry Cove Bookshop, but she wouldn’t stop yet—book shopping in a new town was a pleasure she never missed, even though she loved her Kindle, too. She’d want time and energy for a good bookstore plunge, not to mention the mental bandwidth to work out how many new books would fit in her carry-on to go home.
Home.Where was that? Not Dad’s. Not the place she’d shared with Grant. Living with him for six years had never made his house her home.
Later. She’d figure it all out soon.
Later, bookstore therapy might help. But she couldn’t help slowing down just enough to eye the new releases in the window.
The bookshop’s door stood open invitingly. “Hey, there,” the bookseller called from the counter just inside. She was maybe a year or two younger than Beatrice, and wearing a red jumpsuit that complemented the scarlet beads at the ends of her dark twists.
“We got it!” the woman said.
Beatrice scrunched her face into a squint. “Pardon?”
“That new knitting memoir you wanted. It’s in. I just have to pull it from the box; give me a sec?”
“Sorry, you must have me confused for someone else, I think?”
“Oh, my god, you’re a riot. Be right back, don’t move.” Laughing, the woman turned and walked toward the rear of the store.
Weird. Beatrice didn’thaveto wait, did she? Of course she didn’t. A weird hard sell, that’s all it was. She strolled another block, passing a violet-scented soap-making shop and a pet-grooming place, which had not one but two short black dogs lazing in front. Both leaped up and wagged their tails when they saw her, as if she was an old friend. Because she wasn’t a psychopath, Beatrice complied with their requests to be petted before continuing down the street.
There must be a café nearby—she could smell coffee beans roasting in the air. It was totally going to be called something like Java Jive or Espresso Express. And yep, there it was on the corner, Java Express (she was so close!), and the extra-hot cappuccino she got from the incredibly friendly barista was excellent.
