Page 11 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

Death, taxes, and holy shit, was that a ghost? We can be certain of these three things in life.

Beatrice followed Reno through the lobby, keeping her eyes on the back of her neck, where the dark hair had been shaved to a vee at the nape, where the blue lines of her tattoos slipped downward under the collar of her red plaid flannel.

The sun was up and shining, but unlike Los Angeles sun, which poured down and into every crevice, here the sun was muted. Subtle, as if it might slip behind a cloud at any moment, even though the pale blue sky held no clouds.

They left the main street, walking a block away from the water, then two.

The houses were mostly Victorians, old and multistoried and grand.

Scattered between them were a few more modern eyesores, and their steel-and-glass look clashed with the aged, graceful wood of the older homes.

Enormous trees arched over the streets, allowing the shy sunlight to dapple through.

Reno’s pace was quick, and Beatrice’s heart rate matched it. She was going to Minna. She was going to her niece. Would Cordelia be there, too? God forbid, would she have to see Astrid?

Reno slowed, opening a white wooden gate.

Beatrice looked up. “Oh. Wow.”

Set on a low rise, the enormous white house reminded her of the aunts’ house in Practical Magic , with a wide, wraparound porch, peaked windows, and an actual turret. The paint may have been yellow at one point, but it had faded to a creamy shade of butter. “This isn’t where Cordelia lives, is it?”

Reno only jerked her head. Was that a yes? A no? She led Beatrice down a path through an overgrown flower garden, stuffed to bursting with dahlias and coreopsis and zinnias and begonias and roses. Bees danced among the blooms, and robins hopped along the crushed shell pathway.

The tips of Beatrice’s fingers tingled. “Is Cordelia here now?”

“Not sure. If she is, she’s sleeping off last night.”

That’s right, the birth Cordelia had assisted with. “What about Astrid?”

“She’s at the shop.”

Whew.

Instead of heading up the porch steps, Reno wound around the house and through another gate, this one made of black iron.

She led them into a gigantic backyard that held an overflowing vegetable garden, two long wooden tables, dozens of cheerfully painted mismatched chairs, three heavy umbrellas, and a fire pit.

It looked as if a party was about to descend, and everything about it was welcoming.

A small white motor home sat on the fence line.

Past the fence was a graveyard.

An old one, by the look of the overgrown weeds and the leaning stones. Dozens of them, placed haphazardly on the hill under the huge, dark trees. Despite the fence separating the yard from the grassy, tomb-filled area, it somehow all felt connected. Peaceful. Beautiful even.

Reno was still moving. At the bottom of the backyard, just on the edge of the graveyard, stood an outbuilding painted to match the bigger house, and just as faded.

It had its own tiny gated garden, which bloomed just as riotously as the front one.

This last gate Reno pushed through was under a jasmine arbor so heavy with blooms, the air itself felt sweet and thick.

The shed-like building had a small porch with enough room for two small rocking chairs.

The door of the shed stood wide open, and inside, Minna was sunk into a battered orange couch, her eyes on her phone.

“Hey, kiddo.” Reno’s voice was gruff.

Minna scrambled up. “Oh!” Light scudded across her face and then her expression fell, along with her gaze.

Feeling a tug she refused to ignore, Beatrice beelined past Reno toward the girl. “I owe you a huge apology. I’m honestly not the biggest hugger in the world, but I’d like to hug you. Would that be okay?”

Minna hurled herself at her.

For a long ten or fifteen seconds, Beatrice held her niece, and for those seconds, her mind was blank of every single thing except the feeling of this girl in her arms, the fingers that dug into her back with a tiny, sweet pulse of pain.

Finally, Minna pulled back. “Hi.”

“Hi back.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “Minna, I’m so sorry that you thought I had any judgment about you. I do have a shitload of judgment, yes, but none of it is about you. You’re nothing but lovely. I’m just currently furious at my father. And my husband.”

“And at Gran?”

How could she have left Astrid off the list? “Oh, yeah. Her, too.”

“Why your husband?”

Beatrice shrugged. “He let me down in a pretty big way.”

“But… you’re not mad about me?”

The look of yearning on Minna’s face came close to breaking Beatrice’s heart on the spot, and she shook her head so hard, her neck cracked.

“ Never. I feel so lucky that I met you, that I have a niece, that you just happened to be in the grocery store when I was there. I’m so happy about that.

” She hadn’t even known it was true until she said the words out loud.

Her niece gave a soft sigh. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too.”

Minna sat back down on the couch and, with a shy smile, patted the spot next to her.

As she sank into it, Reno moved to a woodworking area, where a half-built kayak sat on a pair of sawhorses.

She had already tugged on a pair of headphones and picked up a plane.

Her arms moved precisely, patiently, sending long curls of wood to the floor.

She kept her eyes on her work, but Beatrice could feel her paying attention to her and Minna.

Reno wasn’t going anywhere, obviously. She still didn’t trust Beatrice, and Beatrice didn’t blame her in the slightest.

Next to the woodworking area was a small collection of tools she didn’t immediately recognize, all gathered onto a rolling multilevel tray, the side of which was covered with stickers of Disney princesses.

Some boxes held needles, according to their labels, and a red sharps container sat on the top shelf.

Cords trailed from several electric tools—maybe Reno was a tattoo artist?

And also a fan of Moana, Elsa, and Merida? That part didn’t quite jibe somehow.

The couch Beatrice and Minna sat on was broken in and comfortable, and the blue blanket at its foot looked cuddly.

There was a miniature kitchen with a small stove and a half-size fridge.

The open door let in the town’s salty air along with dusty rays of sunlight, and the whole place just felt snug .

“Okay.” She turned to face Minna and firmly pushed away any thought of her life outside this room.

There was just this girl, this one right in front of her, the one with the perfect winged eyeliner (seriously, what brand was that?) and eyes that, even so piercingly blue, reminded Beatrice of her own boring, round brown eyes.

How was that possible? She wanted to stare at Minna for hours.

Days. She wanted to examine each finger, the curve of her ear, the crook of her elbow. She was perfect.

No, cut it out. Minna wasn’t a baby, and Beatrice didn’t want her brain to freak out even more than it already was. “I can’t believe I get to talk to my niece . Can I ask you some questions?”

Minna smiled hugely and nodded.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Her response was instant. “Green.”

“Me, too!”

“You’re kidding .”

Warmth spread in Beatrice’s chest. “I would never joke about something like that. What grade are you in? I mean, at the end of summer, what grade will you go into?”

“I’ll be a junior.”

“Do you like school?”

“I hate it with the fire of a million exploding stars.”

“That’s a lot of fire. Favorite subject.”

Minna squinted at her. “Art.”

“Oh! What kind of art?”

Her face remained cautious. “Um. I draw.”

“I used to draw.” About a million years ago. Dad had hated it so much that she’d eventually stopped. “What medium do you use?”

“Ink? Yeah, ink.”

“Cool. I used pen and ink, too.”

Minna folded her lips tightly, obviously trying not to say something.

“You can tell me anything,” said Beatrice, meaning it.

“Eep! Okay. In school, I do pen and ink.”

Interesting. “And… out of school?”

Minna looked across the room. “Reno?”

Minna’s voice wasn’t loud, but Reno tugged an earpiece out. Maybe the headphones were just for show. “Yeah?”

“Can you show her my art?”

One slow eyebrow lift. Then a nod.

Reno pulled up a low leather ottoman and straddled it, slipping off the red plaid she wore over her T-shirt.

Tattoos in a deep blue ink wrapped around her forearms and up her biceps, accentuating the hard musculature below them.

The lines were intricately drawn—the overall impression was one of climbing vines, but when Beatrice leaned closer, she saw each leaf was actually a curved line drawing that held something else.

A key in one, a star in another. Some lines looked like letters, as if words were climbing Reno’s skin, but she couldn’t read them.

“This is your art? You drew these for her to get tattooed?”

Minna’s smile grew. “Um. Kinda?”

Reno flexed her forearm, and a tiny rabbit inside a letter G seemed to move. “Her. She did it.”

Surprise jolted Beatrice into a laugh. “No. You’re fifteen!”

Reno shrugged back on her shirt. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Beatrice got it. It was on her to prove that she meant Minna no harm. “Obviously, yes. I’m just amazed, that’s all. It’s incredible work. How long have you been doing it?”

Minna said, “Drawing? My whole life. Since I could hold a pen, probably. My dad was a tattoo artist, a famous one. Taurus Diaz? Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

She hadn’t, but she nodded encouragingly.

“I inherited his tools, but Mom won’t let me ink anyone but Reno until I’m eighteen, not even myself.”

“Especially yourself,” said Reno.

They shared a smile, and Beatrice felt a sharp pang of longing. “What about your mom? Can you tattoo her?”

Minna laughed. “Oh, Mom would rather die . She didn’t even let Taurus ink her—she’ll never let me.”

“You inherited his tools. So… he died?”

Another smaller nod.

“I’m very sorry.”