Page 92 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
“Guess you’re right.” He frowned into the sky again. Wrinkles cut deeply across the face Beatrice had always thought handsome. When had he gotten so old? Sure, he’d been slowing down, but Beatrice realized that if a stranger looked at him, they’d just see an old man in wrinkled chinos.
Beatrice stopped walking and turned to face him.Don’t cross your arms. He always knows when you’re nervous.Helpless to stop herself, she crossed her arms. “You let a woman steal my sister from me. You let a daughtergo. Did she matter that little to you? I don’t know who you are anymore, and I’m not sure I ever did.”
His eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “You’ve always known me. I’m the one who loves you most.”
“Did Naya know?”
“No. She… suspected I was hiding something. But I never told her.”
Beatrice gave a half laugh. Was she glad that Naya had also been kept in the dark? Of course she was—maintaining that kind of secret would have eaten Naya alive. But oh, how heartbreaking. “So she never knew who you were, either.”
“Both of you knewexactlywho I was. Who I am. A man who would do anything to protect those he loves.” His gaze fell to the sand. “I’ll never forgive myself for the shame of letting Cordelia go, though.”
“Nor should you.” She walked away from him.
“Beatrice—”
Her stride didn’t slow, even when she tripped over a piece of driftwood. She wheeled her arms, keeping herself upright and moving fast. When her father caught up with her, when he grasped her arm, she was panting. He must have had to run.
“Please,” he panted, his face streaming with tears.
She pulled her arm away sharply, but she slowed. Then she stopped, digging her toes deeply into the sand, finding the chilly dampness under the top layer of warmth.
This hurt—it hurt so much, and honestly, she could admit that this betrayal was small compared to some. Her father had just loved her very much. The one he’d truly betrayed was Cordelia, not her.
Still, her very soul ached.
He breathed heavily, recovering.
This was on him. This wasallon him.
Finally, when he’d stopped wheezing, her father said, “What’s it going to take, Beatrice?”
“For what?” There was no reason to make any of this easy.
“For you to forgive me.”
Beatrice couldn’t help it—she laughed. “You think you can snap your fingers and I’ll just forget the fact that you lied to me about everything for the entirety of my life?”
“Just tell me what it will take.”
“A fucking miracle, Dad.”
He glanced to the left, where the surf was breaking. “Watch out.”
A wave larger than the others crashed, racing up the sand toward them. It wouldn’t have been big enough to knock either of them over, but instinctively, they dodged backward.
Beatrice felt something cold and hard catch her heel just before she went down with a thump. Any other day, the fall ontoher backside would have made her laugh. Today, though, the jolt felt like just another slap in the face.
Her father reached out his hand. “Need help?”
“Absolutely not.” She brushed the sand off her palms. What had she tripped over anyway? It hadn’t felt like driftwood or seaweed… Scrabbling at the place her heel had caught, she felt it. Rounded glass, partially buried.
Naya had loved finding old glass on the beach, the sharp edges worn down. She’d even resembled the glass at the end, something Beatrice had thought but never said. Her sharp elbows and knees had softened, her chiseled jaw melting. Her brown skin, always soft, had felt like the lightest silk. Only her voice, always sharp and bright with love, had never dulled.
Beatrice pushed more sand aside.
“Careful. It could be broken.”
