Page 108 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Spirit is just waiting for you to ask. Didn’t you know that?
—Evie Oxby,Come at Me, Boo
Out. Beatrice neededout. Her feet carried her through the crowd, and her face cooperated with her flight, smiling politely at people who smiled at her, and then, yes, thank god, she was on the edge of the party, and then she was in the garden that led to the hideout.
Beatrice pushed open the low gate, passing under the jasmine-laden arbor. The twinkle lights twined through the white flowers and along both sides of the fence. Overhead, the blackness of the sky was studded with pinpoints of light, and even though she couldn’t see the bonfire from here, the smell still clung to the night air.
The door of the shed stood open, and there Reno was. Of course. She stood at the workbench next to her wooden kayak. Her back was turned, and she spoke without turning around.
“Was wondering when you’d come find me.”
Oh, god, was Reno hoping for someone else? Would she be disappointed? “It’s Beatrice.”
Reno turned slowly, setting a piece of sandpaper down on top of the workbench. At her feet curled a pile of wood shavings. She was wearing a thickly knit black beanie and her red flannel shirt, making her look like a sailor home from the sea. “I know exactly who you are.”
The air in Beatrice’s lungs got caught somewhere near her heart. “Oh.”
Half a crooked smile laced across Reno’s face, but she didn’t offer anything else.
“What are you making?”
“A gift. Want to see?”
Beatrice nodded, moving closer.
Whatever it was, it was small and thin, maybe four inches wide and two inches long. There was a hole drilled in the middle, and on both sides, it curved out like an elongated eye. The wood was dark red and already looked soft as silk.
“It’s beautiful,” said Beatrice.
“Do you know what it is?”
“Not a clue. Oh, wait! Is it a pasta measurer? You put the pasta through the hole and that tells you… um, that you need more pasta?”
Reno shook her head. “Nope.”
“I have no idea.”
“Book holder.”
Beatrice remained puzzled. “How?”
“One-handed.” She reached for a book on the closest bookshelf. It was a hardcover, something about building wooden boats. Reno held it out to her. “Open it.”
She did.
Then Reno reached for her hand, slipping the piece ofwood onto her thumb. Beatrice wasn’t sure what felt better, the smoothness of the freshly sanded wood, or the warm touch of Reno’s fingers against hers.
The point of the wood fit exactly into the seam of the book, and the flanges, curved as they were, rested against the pages. With her other four fingers under the book, it was easy to hold the book open one-handed.
“You like books,” said Reno simply.
“You… you made this for me?”
A nod. “Did I get it right?”
Beatrice’s voice came out breathier than she’d expected. “I love it.”
