Page 18 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

There’s no hurry. Take your time with your practice—it’s called that for a reason. You’re not going to get it all right, but you won’t get it all wrong, either. Deep breath. Then, when you’re ready, light the candle again.

—Evie Oxby, I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts

Fritz gave her Hector’s number, and he met her at the marina ten minutes later.

Hector was a short, round man who wore a flannel jacket that looked like it had gone through two world wars, and by the looks of his beard, he’d had eggs for breakfast. But his smile was kind as he helped her on board with a warm hand.

He warned her, “This gal’s a ridiculous charmer, I’ll have you know. A forty-foot legend.”

“I’m not really in the market.” Beatrice felt her cheeks flush. “Lookie-looing. That’s all. I hope you don’t mind.”

His eyes twinkled. “Just you wait till we get inside.”

The Forget-Me-Knot was a delightful boat, yes.

That was, if she even was a boat. As Hector searched his pockets for the key, he explained she was more of a stationary houseboat, because she didn’t really go anywhere.

She was attached to the dock, almost growing out of it, and looked from the outside more like a tiny home than a boat.

“It’s why I’m selling her—I finally want to be out on the high seas. Run away to a far-off land, you know?”

Beatrice did know.

“You a sailor?”

“No,” she said apologetically.

“Eh.” He shrugged and two screws fell out of a hole in his jacket’s pocket. “Better that way, honestly. Where are those keys?”

He found them, and they entered through the front door.

(An actual front door proved that it was more house than boat, right?) The main cabin was lined in warm reddish wood, the ceiling curving up like the swell of a wave.

Three skylights let in the sun. There was a tiny galley kitchen, and a table with four chairs in matching wood.

A potbelly stove perched next to a soft-looking sofa, and the brass fittings gleamed.

An armchair made for a person with very short legs looked like it was waiting for Mama Bear to come home.

The space felt roomier than she would have thought possible.

Seven or eight people could sit comfortably inside. If they liked each other.

She wouldn’t—shouldn’t—ask. But the words came anyway. “I know you’re looking to sell, but would you consider a short-term rental?”

“Extended holiday, like?” His bushy eyebrows rose.

“Something like that.”

A pause. Then, as if she hadn’t spoken, he ushered her up six steps to the raised bedroom. The room was small but the bed was a good size. “The way she rocks you to sleep, you’ll never know what hit you. Ever have insomnia?”

Beatrice nodded. “On occasion.”

“Never again. I tell you, never again. Now, look here.” He pulled a knob at the foot of the bed. “ More storage!”

The bathroom (the head, he corrected her) was minuscule and didn’t produce a lot of hot water (“just a wee twelve-volt heater”) but it would do. The rest of the power came from a bank of four six-volt batteries.

The only thing it lacked were bookcases of any sort.

But the space between two of the windows in the main cabin would be an ideal place for a built-in bookcase, wouldn’t it?

And at the end of the counter there was a bit of wasted space.

Another bookcase could go there. And perhaps under the window seat?

And next to it? Beatrice—or whoever bought the boat—would have to figure out how to keep books from getting damp on board. A dehumidifier perhaps?

Hector slapped a pile of battered-looking papers onto the galley counter. “Inspection report! Clean as a whistle!”

She wasn’t buying a boat.

But even if she were considering anything this preposterous, shouldn’t she get her own inspection report, at least, and not just trust his?

What if the deed that was going through the vessel dealer fell through, or if there were liens on the property?

It was a houseboat, not a house, but she should still follow proper protocol.

When everything is in perfect place, worry can be perfectly released.

She pushed her father’s voice out of her head.

So what if it all fell apart? The money was just sitting in Beatrice’s bank account, enough of it liquid to make this happen.

Rather easily, in fact. She’d been saving for a rainy day.

And if there was even a small possibility that she wouldn’t live long enough to see that rainy day (just like anyone else—she wasn’t special in this, she reminded herself), why not spend it on something she wanted?

I want this.

A shiver slipped through her. “Would you rent it to me?”

Hector fixed her with a knowing eye. “No. But I’ll sell it to you.”

I want to live here.

They agreed to the price on a handshake. Hector called the vessel dealer and his friend at the bank, who made a phone call (an actual phone call) to her bank in LA, and the cash flowed through the money pipes. Then he handed her the keys, even before he got the transfer confirmation.

Nine phone calls and three hours later, Beatrice owned a houseboat. Feeling rather green, she shook Hector’s hand one last time.

“Thank you.” What had she just done?

“She’s all yours, and you won’t regret it, my dear!” He spun around, gave the doorframe a friendly pat, and walked down the dock, whistling cheerfully.

Beatrice watched him greet someone in the parking lot, who nodded back to him politely. Reno, dressed in a black beanie and a well-worn jean jacket, headed her direction down the dock.

Beatrice watched her approach, surprised by how pleased she was to see her. “Hey, there.”

Reno stopped at the foot of the gangplank. “I was over at the marina store. Heard a mainlander was looking at Hector’s boat. Wondered if it was you.”

She clutched the railing. “I think I bought a boat. Oh, shit.”

“May I come aboard?”

“Yes! Of course.”

Reno boarded easily, not even watching her feet. “You talk him down?”

Down? The boat had been so cheap, she hadn’t even thought of it. “Well, no wonder he seemed so chipper.”

“Now what?”

Beatrice held up her phone. “I’ve already got a guy coming over to haul away the old mattress.

” While waiting for the banks to do their things, she’d already called the one furniture store that sold beds.

It had taken five minutes to tell the owner she wanted a queen mattress, firm, no springs.

She’d been prepared to offer a hefty bonus for immediate delivery, but the woman had offered to deliver it herself that afternoon.

“This town is a force of nature. Come in, please?”

Following her across the deck, Reno said, “When you live on an island, you take care of each other.”

“That must be nice.”

She pressed her thumb against a small nick in the wood next to the front door. “I can fix this if you want.”

“Can you?” Beatrice was surprised by the offer—the woman was so quiet, she’d all but convinced herself Reno disliked her. Then she remembered the gorgeous wooden kayak Reno had been building in Minna’s hideout. “Um. Do you build bookcases?”

Another nod.

“Are you hirable?”

Reno closed her eyes, squinching them up as if she was in pain.

Oops. Had she said something wrong? Or was Reno sick? “Are you okay?”

Reno rubbed her chest. “Yeah.” She coughed. “Fine. And yes. Hirable. But…”

She waited a moment, and when Reno didn’t finish the sentence, she said, “But what?”

Her gaze stayed down. “You would want to hire me?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Reno shook her head.

Strangely relieved, Beatrice said, “Good. You’re hired. Let me show you.”

She pointed, and Reno made notes. Then Reno peered around the cabin and bedroom, determining the best place for the bookcases.

Quietly, she took measurements using the tape she pulled out of her pocket and jotted numbers down on a small notepad that came out of another pocket.

She was methodical and silent. Beatrice didn’t get the impression Reno didn’t want to talk—instead, it felt more like she didn’t need to speak as much as other people.

Beatrice pushed down a jangled clang of nerves. “I’ve got to go buy some things. Sheets, a kettle, some towels. Can you tell me where I should go?”

“Housewares store on Main, three doors down from Keelia’s bookstore.”

Had she really just bought a houseboat? She looked at her phone for the time—she’d only just missed the plane she would have been on to go home.

Soon her father would be looking for her to arrive home.

He didn’t even know she’d met Cordelia and Minna.

And his ex-wife. All their talk of magic—had they put some kind of psychological spell on her?

What the hell was she doing here?

And how was she supposed to talk to her father about all of it?

Reno stopped making measurements and fiddled with a sticky galley drawer. Then she jiggled the handle of the small sink. “What?”

“Sorry?” Beatrice hadn’t said anything out loud. Had she?

“You look… sad.”

“I think I have to quit my job. Which involves quitting my father, I think. No, I know. That’s why I have to quit my job.”

After a few seconds of consideration, Reno said, “Sounds like you know what’s right.”

A tug, like the feeling Minna had put into her chest last night. “How do I know for sure, though?”

“You don’t.”

“I hate that.” Beatrice looked under the galley sink and found exactly what she was looking for: a bottle of cleaning spray and a pile of clean rags.

She sprayed the countertop and wiped it down.

At home (at Grant’s house), the counter had been so big that it had taken at least five minutes to clean all of it.

This one was, what, twenty inches long? It took seconds.

“Do you know how much I’d pay for a life manual?

Like, why hasn’t someone written a book with all the advice in one place?

I mean, obviously, there’s all the religious texts, but I don’t mean that.

I mean something bigger. Something that has every answer.

You could input something and read the output, and that would be that. ”

“Would that be fun for you?”

Of course it would be. So much fun. She would always know what to do. She’d always get it right. But something about Reno’s voice made her look at her sharply. “Are you teasing me?”

“Maybe.” Reno rubbed the side of her neck where the blue tattoos spiraled upward. “Maybe not.”

“I’ve just got some hard decisions to make.”

Reno said, “Some people would say buying a houseboat is a hard decision.”

True. And she’d done that without blinking, hadn’t she? “Good point, yeah. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Reno’s dark gaze remained locked on hers as she nodded.

“Do you believe in magic?”

There was a pause, not an easy one. The air between them was thick with something Beatrice couldn’t name.

When Reno finally responded, her voice was low. “Don’t fuck with them.”

“Wait. What—”

“When you walked into the store—Cordelia’s face… She’s been hoping for you her whole life. If you hurt either her or Minna, you’ll answer to me.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. This woman would protect Cordelia and Minna; that was clear.

And Beatrice’s heart, which it seemed was completely and intractably twisted up in this place now, approved of Reno’s motivation.

Beatrice placed her hand on her chest as if she were saluting a flag. “I promise I won’t hurt them.”

A nod was all she got in return, but it was all she needed.