The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin: A Novel (33 page)

Lily knelt in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Home
, Antoinette thought.
I need to go home.
She balled her hands into fists and hit her head.
Home, home, home!

“Antoinette.” Will touched her arm. “You need to stop.”

No. She
needed
to go home. She shook her head and stomped her feet. Then she pointed to the door.

“Home?” Lily asked. “You want to go home?”

Antoinette flapped her hands.
Yes, yes, yes!
She knew Lily would understand.

“Will and I haven’t finished the arrangements yet,” Lily said. “It’ll just be a little longer.”

Antoinette wanted to leave
now
. Not in a few minutes. She slumped to the floor. She needed to be with her mother.

“Count with me,” Lily said. She grasped Antoinette’s hand, her skin warm and soft. “One. Two. Three. Four.”

Antoinette had heard Lily’s song before, so she should be able to hear it now. She closed her eyes and concentrated for several long seconds.

When she didn’t hear anything, her last bit of hope drained away. Without hearing the music, she would never be able to heal her mother. She started to cry.

“Why don’t y’all take her home,” Cora said. “I’ll set up the flowers. I’ll keep that chocolate cake for you, Antoinette.” Cora blew her a kiss as she hurried back to the kitchen.

Antoinette was ten years old. She knew she was too big to be lying on a restaurant floor, crying, but she couldn’t stop.

“I’ll carry her,” Will said. “You can’t do it with your bad hand.”

Lily kept holding Antoinette’s hand. “We’ll go home and see your mom. You’ll feel better then.”

Antoinette melted into Will when he picked her up. She wrapped her free arm around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She hiccuped sobs.

“Hey now,” Will said. “It can’t be that bad.”

But it was. Her mother would never get better. Lily still held one of her hands. Anxiety made the fingers on Antoinette’s other hand open and close. Without meaning to, she pinched Will’s neck.

He flinched and took her hand, pulling it away.

At his touch, power jolted Antoinette. Two songs—Will’s and Lily’s—raced through her body. It was as if she had been wearing earplugs until now. She arched her back and tightened her fingers around both of their hands.

She could hear
everything
.

Most of Lily’s song was steady and precise, but in one spot the notes were flat and the tempo a count behind.

Antoinette knew she could fix this.

She was sure of it.

She hummed, correcting the flat notes and increasing the tempo. As she did, a current sparked up one arm and down the other. She was a vacuum, sucking up the wrong notes in Lily’s song and sending everything bad into Will.

She didn’t mean to, but when they touched her, everything sparked to life, and she couldn’t stop.

Lily groaned and tried to twist free, but Antoinette held on tight. In seconds, Lily’s song was fixed. Only then did Antoinette let go. Lily’s bones were solidly in place, and this time, they wouldn’t shift and pop free. Antoinette shrieked with joy.

Will dropped to his knees. “What happened?” He put Antoinette down, staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

At the same time, Lily unwrapped her ace bandage and wiggled her fingers. The bruise was gone. “It doesn’t hurt.”

The room was turning gray and Antoinette’s eyes rolled back.

“She’s seizing,” Will said. He sounded tired.

“Help me get her on her side,” Lily said.

Their voices merged until Antoinette could no longer make out the words, but she didn’t care.

Lily’s hand was fixed. Antoinette didn’t know what had been different this time, but it didn’t matter. She giggled as the room went black.

If she could do this, if she could mend Lily’s broken hand, she could save her mother.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lily burst through the kitchen door, waving her hand in the air. “It worked,” she shouted, but no one was there. She ran down the hall and shoved Rose’s bedroom door open. “Rose, something was different this time.”

Rose wasn’t there either. Her bed was made, the white quilt tucked in around the edges. Lily deflated as she looked around. She wanted to tell Rose what had happened at Cora’s. Something had changed, but she didn’t know what. She curled her fingers into a fist. Not even a twinge. The bruises and swelling were gone.

She went back out onto the porch where Will sat on the swing with Antoinette. “She’s not inside.”

A light rain had started to fall when they got back to the farm, but that didn’t stop artists from trickling in to get ready for the garden show. Several people wandered about the garden, setting up white tents and unloading tables and chairs.

Antoinette slept in the crook of Will’s arm. “You’re a natural,” Lily whispered.

He looked exhausted. On the way back from Cora’s, he had slumped against the van door with his eyes closed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Will smoothed Antoinette’s hair from her forehead. She shifted in her sleep but didn’t open her eyes. “No worse than before.”

He was lying. Lily could see it in the way he avoided her eyes. The porch boards creaked as she knelt by his knees. “Tell me the truth, Will. What’s wrong?”

The rain fell in a soft patter against the porch roof. The show was on Sunday, and she hoped it would be dry by then.

Will raised his eyes to hers. Flecks of purple mixed in with the deep blue. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said.

“I know you well enough to know that you’re lying.”

“Would I do that to you?” He caught her hand and examined it, pressing his fingers along the bones that had been broken. “Does it hurt?”

She wiggled her fingers. “Not at all. Last time, it started hurting as soon as Antoinette let go.”

Antoinette sighed. It sounded like a word. “Mmmmaaa.”

A tickle of guilt began somewhere below Lily’s stomach, and intensified when she looked at Antoinette. The seizure had been smaller this time. That had to mean something. “Is she okay?”

Will kissed Lily’s forehead. “She’s fine. I’m fine. Go find Rose.”

Lily hesitated. She looked from Antoinette to Will and back again.

“Go,” he said, shooing her away. “Before the rain gets worse. We’re fine.”

She took one last look at them, then ran down the porch and into the rain.

LILY FOUND ROSE
and Seth as they left the drying barn. Seth carried a basket of white tulips in one arm and steadied Rose with the other.

“Lily,” Rose said. She stopped under the barn eave. Seth stood in front of her, shielding her from the rain, which was falling harder now. “I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

Lily’s hair was wet and it stuck to her face. The air smelled like ozone. “You won’t believe what Antoinette did.” The words tumbled out as she recounted what had happened at Cora’s. When she finished, she held up her hand. “The seizure was smaller than before. Less than a minute. Something’s different this time. I don’t have any pain. And Antoinette’s okay. Will’s with her now. He promised she’s okay.”

The rain was now a downpour, and Lily raised her voice to be heard. “My hand is fixed, Rose. Completely. If she can do this for me, there has to be a way she can heal you.” In her eagerness, the words tumbled out.

Seth set the basket down. “Can I see?” he asked. She held out her hand. “It doesn’t hurt?” He ran his fingers over hers.

Lily shook her head. By now they were both soaked, but neither of them noticed.

“She’s right,” Seth said. There was a trace of excitement in his voice. He held her hand a moment longer. “There’s not a mark here.”

“What if we’re missing something?” Lily asked.”What if there’s a solution?”

Rose’s eyes were sad as she shook her head. “It’s never been about whether she can heal me. It’s about the price she pays. It’s too high.” Rose took Lily’s hand and laced her fingers through hers.

“But the seizure was small.” Lily squeezed her sister’s hand; it felt cold. “What if you both can live? What if it’s not a choice between you or her?” She started to tremble.

Seth placed his hand on the small of Rose’s back and pressed. “Maybe she’s right,” he said. “If there’s a chance, and we give up—”

“I’m not giving up,” Rose said. “I’m making a choice.”

Rain now fell in sheets from the barn eaves. It splashed over their feet, turning the ground to mud. “But I can’t lose you,” Lily said. “Not again.” Rivulets of water ran down her nose, but she didn’t wipe them away. She knew Rose was right, but it hurt to admit it.

Gently, Rose released Lily’s hand. Despite their best efforts to shield her from the rain, she was soaking wet. “Sometimes the best love means letting go.” She pointed at the basket of flowers on the ground. “Seth, give them to her.”

He took the bunch of tulips and handed them to Lily.

“Forgiveness,” Rose said. “That’s what white tulips mean—right?”

Lily couldn’t stop shaking. White tulips were also a symbol of heaven and remembrance, but she didn’t say that.

“I need you to forgive me,” Rose said. She raised her voice to be heard over the rain. “For staying mad so long. For taking things out on you that weren’t your fault. I can’t leave things unsaid between us.”

“I abandoned you. If anyone needs forgiveness, it’s me.” Lily dropped the flowers and gripped Rose’s hands.

“We’re sisters. There’s nothing to forgive.”

The rain kept falling. It mixed with Lily’s tears as she said what she should have said the morning of their parents’ funeral. Unlike then, the words came easily now: “I promise I’ll keep Antoinette safe.”

ROSE’S JOURNAL

April 2013

I USED TO
believe life was easy. You walked in the direction of your dreams, and abracadabra, they appeared in front of you. You only needed to scoop them up and tuck them in your pocket or press them, like a flower, between the pages of an old book.

Now I know the best parts of my life have been the moments I didn’t dream. Like Antoinette.

Life is not a straight line. It’s a spiderweb that twists and tangles. We crawl along our strands until we touch the people who are meant to be in our lives. The strands can knot, as mine did with Lily’s, but they don’t break, and the unexpected paths are often the best ones.

The life I planned bears little resemblance to the life I have lived, but I don’t mind. Not even a little.

Still, I dream.

In a corner of my heart, the one I don’t allow myself to examine too often, I hope for a happy ending. Who doesn’t?

Some mornings, when the light is pink and the air is sweet with lavender, I wake believing this is it. This is the morning the room won’t spin when I sit up. I’ll fill my lungs with air, and hold my breath until I feel like I’ll explode. When I let the air out, I won’t cough, I won’t pass out, my heart won’t throw itself against my ribs. I’ll run to Antoinette’s room, legs steady, heart strong.

Then the best part: she’ll be sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for me. She’ll look into my eyes, and I’ll find myself reflected there. She’ll smile, and it will be more beautiful than any sunset I’ve ever seen.

“Mommy,” she’ll say in a bright silver voice.

This is my fairy tale. No prince. No castles or spinning wheels to turn straw into gold. Only my daughter and me, both of us whole, both of us here together.

That’s my idea of happily ever after, and it’s enough for me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight