Page 106 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
At the front, Cordelia climbed up onto a picnic table that had been set perhaps a little too close to the bonfire. Minna scrambled up to stand next to her mother.
Reno moved through the crowd. She didn’t get up on the table, but she sat on the bench at their feet, keeping her gaze directed up at the stars that blinked above the sparks.
When the guests finished forming a semicircle around the fire, and when all eyes were focused on Cordelia, Minna, and Reno, the three of them raised their hands into the air.
Then firmly and at the exact same time, they clapped once.
As one, the crowd clapped once in response.
Beatrice’s hands went together too late, softly. Silently. Not knowing it was coming, she’d missed the moment.
“Greetings! Welcome to our Celebration of the Dead!” Cordelia put her arm around Minna. “Tonight marks fifteen years since I lost my husband and Minna lost her father. Tonight it’s four years since Reno’s wife, Scarlett, died. This night has come to mean a lot to a lot of people, not just us, and I’m grateful you’re all here.”
She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now, y’all know what to do, and if you don’t, someone will tell you. Goddess bless, let’s burn some shit!”
The crowd murmured and began moving.
Someone touched Beatrice’s elbow. “You burning something?” asked a man quite young to be so bald.
“I don’t know.”
“You can write a note if you want.” He pointed at a table she hadn’t noticed. “To your people.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Dad was already there, bent over a scrap of paper illuminated by a gas lantern.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He folded the page.
“I want to, too.”
He passed her a piece of paper.
“Thanks.”
But when she picked up the pen, her mind went blank. What to write to Naya? Carefully, she pressed her fingers against the fabric of her long-sleeved blouse, feeling below it the plastic wrap covering the tattoo at her wrist. How could she possibly respond to the letter she’d received the day before?
So she just wrote,Thank you for teaching me about anger.Naya had always said that no matter how much it hurt, the pain from a pepper, or from anger, would eventually stop. Faster with a glass of milk or a beer. Chocolate milk worked, too.Thank you for teaching us about love.
She turned back toward the crowd.
A large woman with dark, glossy hair that fell to her waist was herding people into rows. “Three years? That line. Seven? Over there. See? Between six and five. Clever, right?” She beamed at Beatrice. “Ah, Cordelia’s twin. How gorgeous you are. What time zone, love?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”
“That’s right, you’re new to this. How much time since your loved one died?”
“Oh. Two years?” Why had it come out of her mouth like a question?
The woman touched her shoulder. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Now go stand with Horace over there, in time zone two.”
The line for the forty-one-year time zone was the oldest one, and it went first. There were only two people in it, a man and a woman. They held hands at the edge of the fire. Cordelia, still standing on top of the picnic table, raised her arms.
On this cue, the man and the woman each threw a note into the flames. The fire was so hot, the paper flared for only a split second.
Then, conducted by Cordelia, the entire crowd clapped exactly forty-one times.
