Page 95 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Minna had said,A sigil is what you create it to be.
Beatrice could receive miracles.
She could also do magic.
Around Naya’s name, she drew the shape of a bottle, then she connected the letterMand the letterBin long loops around it. Three hearts, one for each of them, and then a large circle to enclose them all, to keep them close together.
She closed her eyes and imagined the ache in her chest moving into the sand, filling the ridges the stick had left.
The scent of gardenia filled the air.
Beatrice’s eyes flew open.
Naya had filled the house with gardenia candles, and wore gardenia perfume every day. Her garden had been full of them, and when the bushes bloomed, she could always be found lying on a blanket next to them with a book, her nose constantly twitching rapturously.
Beatrice’s father sat up straight, sniffing the air. “That’s—do you—?”
“Yeah, I smell it, too.”
“But—is that another miracle?”
Slowly, Beatrice said, “No. Miracles are unearned gifts.” She touched the piece of paper she’d rolled and stuck halfway back into the bottle. Then she pointed at the sigil. “That’s magic.”
“So it’s not real. She’s not here.”
I’m always here.
“I think she is. I think the gardenias are a sign that she sent because she saw my drawing.” Beatrice pulled out her phone and took a picture of the sigil. Then she turned the phone around and held it up, grabbing a quick selfie of the two of them, her father managing a small smile.
He drew a shuddery breath. “You’ve changed.”
“I’m just trying to learn new things.” A wave of light-headedness washed over her, and she changed the subject. “How’s Grant?”
“He looks fine when I see him, which isn’t often. I’ve only glared across the street at him a couple of times. How are you doing with the idea of him? The marriage?” He waved the letter in the air. “Et cetera.”
“I’m furious with him. But I’m not brokenhearted.”
“What? You should be!” he blustered. “If you’re not wrecked to leave him, how could you have loved him enough to marry him?”
“It made sense. I do love him, as a person. Statistics show that marriage reduces things like depression and emergency room visits. People who marry have greater longevity and enjoy better physical health, on average. Plus, you liked him a lot. I figured it was time.”
“Statistics? You can’t be logical aboutlove.”
Down the beach, the lone fisherman was packing up his poles. Beatrice leaned sideways and nudged her father’s shoulder with her own. “Well, you always made logic look pretty good.”
“Blaming me, then?” But there was a smile in his voice. “I’m looking into a condo in Lakewood. Get a little farther away from him. No need to be on his street if you’re not there. Might even start thinking about retirement.”
Beatrice took a breath. “What about looking up here for a place? Cheaper cost of living, I’d think.”
He blinked once. Twice. “But… don’t you hate me?”
“At the moment, yeah. A bit.”
“So…”
“So what? I’m trying to believe in more things than I used to. I believe you love me, even though you had a really shitty way of showing it. And I love you, even though you fucked up.”
Her father’s smile bloomed slowly, and then all at once. “Oh, honey. But oh, lord, if I lived on an island with your mother—yeah, there might not be enough room in the whole Pacific Northwest to…” He trailed off.
