Page 26 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland

Pain comes and goes. When you’re in it, you think it’ll last forever. It won’t. Think of yourself like that kitten in the Hang In There poster. Cheesy as hell, but sometimes all we can do is hang on a little longer. Spirit’s got a reason for you still being here. That much I know.

—Evie Oxby, Facebook Live

The next day, Beatrice went to the library to use the Wi-Fi.

At the table that was rapidly becoming her favorite (next to a window that looked out on the town center’s grassy lawn), she pulled up the medical results from her last routine physical.

Her doctor had told her she’d been in great shape, but what if she’d missed something?

For an hour, Beatrice examined the labs that had come back.

She didn’t understand all the words, but when she cross-referenced her levels against what Google said were normal ones, Beatrice did, in fact, look to be in great shape.

Perfect blood pressure, normal blood sugar levels, a low (but still normal) resting heart rate.

A clean bill of health.

Did that mean her death would be unnatural? Violent?

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her laptop away from her. Enough of this. She’d go back home and work on figuring out the houseboat’s battery storage thing.

As Beatrice walked through town, she remembered what her doctor had said the last time she’d seen her. Enjoy your good health.

So, was the prediction one of those self-fulfilling prophecies? Would she be so worried about dying that she wouldn’t get off the tracks in time to avoid the train?

If something did happen to her, it would kill Dad to lose her. With his own health issues, and after losing Naya, it would be the final straw for him.

Of course, he’d apparently handled losing Cordelia just fine.

In front of the market, she almost tripped over a crate of apples being unloaded from a truck double-parked on the street. “Be careful, lady,” admonished the delivery person.

Good idea.

She was careful not to glance into Fritz’s café as she passed, nor did she look into the bookshop window.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.

She just needed to get back home. Hopefully Reno would be done working on the bookcases for the day and Beatrice could—what?

Bully herself into believing the majority of psychic predictions were bullshit?

She already believed that. Why the hell was she feeling so shaky?

Which Craft was just a few doors up, so she crossed the street and kept her face averted.

In the grassy park at the center of the village, a group of children was racing around the playground, and a joyful golden retriever bounced after a ball thrown by its owner.

The rubble of the burned tree was almost all gone, tidily spirited away at some point, but there was no hiding the blackened grass. She could still smell the char of it.

The same busker she’d seen her first day in town was leaning against an oak tree near the gazebo, playing an old song Dad liked. A Townes Van Zandt tune, maybe? She caught a few words: “I tried to kill the pain, bought some wine, and hopped a train, seemed easier than just waitin’ around to die.”

Beatrice stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. What wasn’t easier than waiting around to die?

She closed her eyes and tried to feel anything wrong inside her body, but all she felt was her heart, thumping along like it always did. Maybe a little faster than normal, but no pain. Just fear.

Open your eyes.

The words were insistent and almost audible in her head—neither male nor female, just there. Fair enough. If she wanted to remain unnoticed on her walk back to the houseboat, standing with her eyes closed in the middle of the sidewalk wasn’t the way to do it.

So she opened her eyes.

Just in time to witness a very small boy dart in front of a fast-moving car.