Page 140 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
Her sister.
Cordelia held her hand the way Beatrice would have held Cordelia’s, had her twin been in the bed. She got confused occasionally, thinking Cordelia was in the bed and she, Beatrice, was sitting with her as she recuperated. They talked constantly, Beatrice nodding and murmuring, her voice becoming stronger as Cordelia spoke. At first, they talked about Taurus and saving Minna, turning it over again and again, making sure they hadn’t missed a single detail. It turned out Beatrice still liked to understand things.
“But it was out of order,” insisted Beatrice. “Seven miracles, and then I would die. That didn’t happen. It was six miracles, then I died, then a miracle let me come back.” What if it had all gone wrong because of the wrong order, and she was only a moment from losing everything again?
It was Evie Oxby, of all people, who cleared it up. She and Cordelia were in the same Facebook group (Beatrice had boggled).I didn’t say seven miracles andthenshe’d die. I told her “You’re going to experience seven miracles. And you will die.” I honestly didn’t think the order would matter that much.
In the end, the order had been perfect.
Eventually, Beatrice and Cordelia talked about other things, from their favorite childhood foods (they’d both loved Top Ramen with the addition of frozen peas), to the make and colorof their first cars (used purple Honda Civics). But even when they stopped talking, the conversation didn’t cease. For Beatrice, just being next to Cordelia felt like a discussion. It was the conversation she had come back to keep having.
When she was strong enough to ask what had happened, Cordelia said, “Reno was the one who brought you back. I was busy being with you in the middle space, and Astrid was busy casting spell after spell of healing and protection on both you and Minna. But Reno started CPR instantly. She didn’t let up until the paramedics got there. A firefighter had to physically tear her off of you so someone else could take over.”
But Reno didn’t visit. Beatrice never woke up to find that Reno was the one holding her hand.
Sometimes, though, even Astrid came. No hand-holding, of course. The first few times, they sat together in awkward silence until Astrid said briskly, “Well, I left a concoction for you on your tray. See if that male nurse will give it to you with your water—he’s sensitive enough that he might be on our team. Or just tell him it’s powdered electrolytes; I don’t care.”
The next time she visited, Astrid brought the grimoire with her. “Thought I might read you some spells. Tell you what I think of them. How to do them right.” Relieved, Beatrice nodded, and as Astrid told her how to warm raindrops on a chilly day, she realized that maybe she was atinybit like her mother. Maybe.
One afternoon, as Beatrice came out of a nap, she opened her eyes to see Astrid staring at her, with tears running down her face.
Unable to stop herself, Beatrice held out her hand. “It’s okay,” she whispered.
Astrid grabbed her hand, holding it tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“You don’t even know for what.” Astrid sniffed. “I could be sorry for giving you that rather crooked top lip.”
“I love my crooked top lip.” Beatrice was saying something else, of course.
And Astrid heard it. She nodded. “I’m glad.” She stood and gave her one swift kiss on the forehead. “I’m very, very glad.” The moment of vulnerability passed like a summer thunderstorm, and Astrid swept dramatically away, leaving the scent of cinnamon and cranberry in her wake.
Winnie came by and gave her a tarot reading. She said when the Death card came up that it only meant change, and Beatrice just laughed, choosing to believe her. What choice did she have? Fritz was with her, and the besotted looks they tossed each other were so wholesome, they helped Beatrice’s stitches itch less.
Keelia came by to give her the Book Concierge. She spent an hour getting Beatrice’s reading preferences, and then she brought book after book, laughing when Beatrice insisted that she hadn’t even gotten through the preface of the last one she’d left. “You won’t always sleep this much. Never too many books. Oh, I just thought of two more you need to read! I’ll bring those tomorrow.”
Often, Minna was there. When Beatrice awoke to her niece, Minna always gave a small, shrill scream before racing into the hallway to yell at any nurse who might be passing by, “She’s awake!” Then she’d scuttle back and refuse to let go of Beatrice’s hand while the staff did the things they had to do. Best was when Minna didn’t ask her a single question, just rattled on about everything and nothing. Still finding it hard to talk in those first few days, Beatrice raised a hand, waggling her fingers in the air. Minna got it immediately. “You want your nails done? Oh, my god, yes. I’ll do them today! The solar system! You want the solar system? I did that on Olive’s nails yesterday and it looks amazing.” Minna clutched Beatrice’s hand in her own, crushing it with excitement,and Beatrice was instantly dragged back to sleep from the sheer exhaustion of the joy running through her body.
A few days later, when Minna was next to her, reading a fantasy novel in a library dust jacket, Beatrice spoke through chapped lips. “What if I called myself Beatrix?”
Minna dropped the book into her lap. “I love that name. But I thought you preferred Beatrice. Wait, why are you asking me?”
Beatrice’s hospital gown felt tight around her neck. “Because it would be me going back to a birth name. Kind of the opposite of what you had to do to become who you really are.”
“Would calling yourself Beatrix feel more authentic to who you are?”
Beatrice balances budgets, color-codes Post-its, and can’t see what’s in front of her.
Beatrix chants spells, communicates with the dead, and saves her loved ones from destruction.
“Maybe?”
“Then try it.” Minna’s expression fell. “Um, I’ve been meaning to say. I’m really sorry I lied to you. About all that stuff I did.”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
“You do?” She blinked.
