Page 107 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Who were the couple remembering? By the way they never let go of each other’s hands, Beatrice guessed it might be a child. A lump rose in her throat, one that only got bigger as she looked around and saw her father behind her, in the same two-year line, watching the couple at the edge of the fire.
Then, line by line, people walked forward. They threw their items into the fire. Most of them tossed in notes, but Beatrice saw a teddy bear, and a T-shirt, and three or four bunches of dried roses. One woman threw in a whole chocolate cake. After the items were thrown and Cordelia raised her arms, the crowd clapped the appropriate number of times, and now that Beatrice knew what was happening, she clapped so hard her palms stung.
When Cordelia and Minna walked forward, arms around each other, something about the way the crowd clapped those fifteen times made Beatrice want to howl into the night sky. Instead, she bit the inside of her mouth and tasted salt at the back of her throat.
Reno didn’t toss anything into the fire when she went forward with the four-year time zone. She just bowed her head and folded her hands over her chest, keeping them there as the claps resounded through the garden.
And when the two-year line moved forward, Beatrice waited for her father to join her. She didn’t want to hold his hand, or have his arm around her shoulders—and thank goodness, he seemed to know that intuitively—but she did want to be near him. Together, they leaned forward, and as their notes caught fire, the paper with their words flew upward, twisting and dancing together, before flaming out, the blackened ashes falling back down into the pyre. She watched their flight so closely, she realized she hadn’t even heard the claps, and her chest ached as if her heart would break in half.
Then, the one-year line moved forward. It was too long a line, at least twenty or twenty-five people.Car accident, Beatrice heard someone say.Dougie would have been a senior. So loved.Three teenage girls held hands and put into the fire a poster with a large red 37 painted on it. One was crying so hard, she couldn’t have been able to see. But what threatened to break Beatrice’sheart in half was the expression of the woman who was obviously the mother. Her face was somehow both blank and, at the same time, totally wrecked. A man on either side of her held her up, and after she threw in a red-and-black flannel shirt, she stepped back, her head low, her knees buckling.
There was a long pause, all eyes on the woman.
Finally, she straightened, raising her head. Her shoulders rose as she drew in a shuddering breath. Cordelia, as if she’d been waiting for her to breathe, raised her arms.
The crowd gave one single thunderclap.
Just one heartbreaking crack of loss.
Beatrice thought she might die from all of it. Fuck the two other miracles—how did any heart keep beating after witnessing love like this?
Then the moment—all the moments—were over, and people turned to each other, some hugging, some laughing gently. A man wiped the tears off the cheeks of his two young boys, and an older man threw his arms around a woman who had rushed at him with an overjoyed shriek.
Her father waved and closed the gap between them. “That was good, huh?”
“Yeah. Really good.” Her voice was thick.
“She forgives you, you know.”
Beatrice’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Naya didn’t need you to write an apology letter.”
But—she hadn’t.
“I know she forgives you. You were doing your best, trying to save her. She knew that. It was okay that you weren’t there for her at the end. I hope you truly, deeply know that, Button.” He gazed over her shoulder. “Ah, there’s Astrid. And I’ve thought of a few perfect things to say to continue our fight from earlier. I’ll see you in a bit?”
“Dad, no! Iwasthere for her.”
But he was already gone, leaving Beatrice gut-punched and alone in the middle of a crowd that was somehow celebrating the loss of their loves.
Her head swam with confusion.
She’d been there for Naya.
Shehad.
Dad was simply wrong. Maybe she hadn’t supported Naya the same way he had, but she’d been there the only way she knew how to be, with spreadsheets and research and action points.
A screaming kid ran past, wearing a ghoulish skeleton mask that was dripping with blood.
How, exactly, did people survive loss and death and then throw a party for it?
How could Cordelia and Minna and Reno bear this every year? Or did having this celebration every year on their terrible day make it easier? She spotted Minna sticking marshmallows onto a skewer with Olive. Next to her, Cordelia shot the wide-shouldered man a look that Beatrice resolved to quiz her about later. Astrid stood beside them, handing out chocolate bars for the s’more making. Her father was already sidling in their direction, and Beatrice tried very hard not to care.
Reno was nowhere to be seen.
And the space where Reno should have been was the thing that suddenly made Beatrice feel like she really might cry, if she didn’t get away from this cloud of celebratory grief.
