Page 93 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
She didn’t look at the man who’d lost the right to tell her how to do anything.
The glass was buried deep, but at least it gave her something to do for a minute or two, a reason to avoid looking at him. It was a squat beer bottle, remarkably still whole, though the green glass was worn and clouded. Wedged in the neck of it was a cork, but the bottle felt empty and light.
“Wouldn’t that be something,” her father offered, “if there was a message in there? You remember that day we sent those messages out?”
The memory flooded back. The three of them on Venice Beach on Mother’s Day. She’d been what, fifteen? Sixteen? Naya had just started struggling with chronic bronchitis and various respiratory infections that never really cleared up, even though the COPD wouldn’t kill her for another twenty-seven years. Beatrice had been so scared—looking back, she realized they must all have been. It had been Naya’s idea, of course: the greenbottles, the yellowed paper with the artfully burned edges, the quill pens they’d dipped into a pot of purple ink. They’d each written letters, corked them, and tossed them into the water off the pier. Beatrice’s letter had been a kind of prayer for Naya, she remembered. Also, she’d mentioned Tony Valdez and the hope that he’d kiss her someday, even though he’d never spared her a second glance in the quad.
The poignancy of the memory felt too intense. She didn’t want this.
But she did want to pop out the cork to see if someone on the other side of the world had put a message in this particular bottle. She had a tiny corkscrew attached to the house key she was still idiotically carrying.
Her father plopped onto the sand next to her.
The cork crumbled, but then it was out. This was silly—it was just an old beer bottle, right?
She held it up and peered inside.
“Anything?”
Beatrice swallowed. “Paper.”
“Seriously?”
Her first finger wasjustlong enough to fit down the neck, if she pushed and twisted—yes, here it came. Here they came, rather.
Two sheets of yellowed paper, burned on the edges.
At the top of one page,Mitchell, my love.And on the other,My darling Button.
Scanning the end of the first page, there it was:Love, Naya.
Beatrice’s own words rang in her head.
A fucking miracle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Angels? I don’t know. Maybe? For sure, though, our loved ones are watching over us. I adore that about them. Unless I’m naked and doing something I don’t want them to see. Then, I gotta admit, yes, the idea creeps me out. But they get it. I hope.
—Evie Oxby,Outmagazine
Her father didn’t even try to bluster his way through his disbelief—how could he, when he had the proof in front of him?
Silently, they read their letters.
My darling Button,
Now, I don’t expect to go anywhere for a while yet. I have a feeling I’ll beat this. But in case I don’t, I know one thing, and I know it truly and surely and deeply—I know it in exactly the same way I fell in love with you about three seconds after I fell in love with your father. You are my daughter. Yes, your birth mother loved you—of course she did. Sometimes I swear I feelher near me, her hand on top of mine as I touch your hair, like she’s a ghost, but alive? I know that doesn’t make sense. Anyway, you having had a birth mother doesn’t mean you can’t have two moms, and thank you for letting me be that to you. You are the delight of my soul, the lyrics to my song, the brilliant burst of color in everything I see. No matter where I am when you read this, I’m with you. (Because you will read this someday. Isn’t it silly that I believe that? But I do.) Tell your father nothing bad will happen if he widens his own beliefs. Contrary to what he thinks, it won’t kill him. If I’m not around, tell him to get a girlfriend. He’s not the kind of man who should live alone. Cheese sticks and apples with peanut butter shouldn’t make up more than one meal a day. And you, my love: perhaps your beliefs are already widening? The truth isn’t relative, but it’s more expansive than some people think. My deepest truth is that I have loved you with my whole heart. I always will, for eternity. Can you feel me now? I’m right here. I’m always here. Love, Naya.
There was no use in trying to stop the tears, so she didn’t bother. “She said to stop eating cheese and peanut butter apples.”
Thickly, her father said, “Oh, yeah? She said for you to fall in real love.”
Beatrice’s heart thunked. “Well, she said foryouto get a girlfriend.”
“Is this… is this real?” His hands shook as he held up the paper. “Honey, what’s happening?”
She took a deep breath. “I was told by a psychic—”
