The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin: A Novel (10 page)

Lily watched Seth. Small lines creased his forehead. The angles of his face had sharpened over the years. But at that moment, she saw the ten-year-old boy who had saved her from bullies all those years ago at school. Despite the way things ended between them, Seth had always looked out for her. Now it sounded like he was doing the same for Rose.

“I’m glad you were here for Rose,” she said. “And Antoinette.”

He bobbed his head once, an almost imperceptible nod.

The forsythias lining the drive were still in bloom, making Lily feel like Dorothy following the yellow brick road. In minutes, she would see Rose. Every muscle in her body tightened, and she started to shake.
What am I getting myself into? Will Rose still be angry? Can we ever be close again?

Asphalt changed to gravel as the drive split, one half leading to the farmhouse and the other to the drying barn. At the intersection, a profusion of yellow daffodils bloomed. In a week or so, pink tulips would also sway in the wind.

Seth parked and shut off the engine. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, without looking at her. Then he climbed out of the truck and shut the door before she could respond.

Lily sat in the truck, hand pressed over her heart as if holding it in. Driving up, she felt the way she did each time she came home. Her body recalled every dip, every bump.

Seth rapped on the window. “Coming in?” he asked.

Unable to stall any longer, she stepped out of the cab. Like it or not, she was home.

Chapter Six

Early morning sunlight fell in pale streaks across the wood floor. Antoinette lay sprawled in the middle of a sunbeam, her arms stretched over her head, her legs bent at the knees. If she were a cat, she’d arch her back, then curl into a ball and let the heat sink through her skin.

The kitchen smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, which was a Saturday smell. But today was Tuesday, and the kitchen should smell like coffee and toast. Also, Antoinette should be sitting at the table with flash cards spread out in front of her.

She was homeschooled, but she didn’t study math and English. Each day, Jenna, her therapist, arrived at their house carrying a black bag filled with bits of chocolate, animal crackers, and pretzels.

Weekdays, Antoinette and Jenna would sit at the table. Jenna would take two laminated flash cards and hold them up. On the cards were words like
home
and
chair
and
Mommy
. Antoinette understood the words when they were spoken, but the letters swam when she looked at the cards.

“Show me
‘
Mommy
’
!” Jenna would say in her bright voice. Staring at the cards hurt Antoinette’s head, so she never looked at them. Some days when Jenna said, “Show me
‘
Mommy
’
!” Antoinette would point to her mother who often sat at the table with them, going over the farm’s financial records.

“No, silly,” Jenna would say as if Antoinette were two years old. “On the card. Show me which card says ‘Mommy.’ I’ll give you an animal cracker if you get it right.”

Antoinette was not a baby, and she was not a dog. She didn’t want an animal cracker.

They’d continue this way until Antoinette either randomly tapped a card and by chance landed on the correct choice or, more often, started screaming.

That was usually when her mother would intervene and suggest that they were finished for the day.

But not today. Today they were up early, and her mother had already told her that Jenna wasn’t coming.

Plus, they had company. Cora Jenkins sat at the large oak table, across from Antoinette’s mother, their heads bowed toward each other, their voices rising and falling.

Antoinette didn’t like the morning therapy sessions with Jenna, but disruptions in her schedule made her feel like there were ants crawling over her. She twisted on the ground, trying to calm the itchy feeling. Everything had felt off since last night’s storm. Even her seizure had been worse than normal, and her body still didn’t work right.

“Lily’s the only family Antoinette will have when I’m gone,” her mother was saying.

I don’t need any family except you.
Antoinette shoved her feet against the floor and tried to push herself out of the room, but her knees were locked. She couldn’t move.

“Lily hasn’t acted like family,” Cora said. She stood up and walked to the counter. “I can’t just sit here waiting. I need to do something. Your mother always brewed a pitcher of hibiscus tea for company.”

“Lily’s not company,” Antoinette’s mother said.

Antoinette squirmed. Her skin still itched. She wanted to leave the room. If she tapped on her mother’s leg, she would understand. She would pick Antoinette up and carry her away.

Cora shrugged as she opened the blue canisters on the counter. “She hasn’t been home in years. That makes her company.” She measured out a cup of dried hibiscus petals and one-half cup of fresh lavender. She emptied the petals into a large saucepan, filled it with water, and then added one-third cup of sugar. She found a glass pitcher in the cabinet beside the sink and set it next to the stove. “I’ll make enough to last several days,” she said.

“Family isn’t company,” Antoinette’s mother said, but she didn’t tell Cora to stop brewing the tea.

Antoinette closed her eyes and focused. Everything would be better once she left the room. Her feet were bare and the floor was slick.
Move.
She willed the muscles in her legs to contract.

Nothing.

She groaned in frustration.

At the sound, her mother said, “I know. This isn’t a normal Tuesday. Cora, turn on my iPod. It’s docked in the speakers next to the stove.”

Cora hit a button and Vivaldi’s “Spring” rolled out of the speakers. Still, the familiar music didn’t help Antoinette.

If Seth were here, he would play for her. His music was alive. He would slide the bow across his violin, and she would move.

“Better?” her mother asked.

Antoinette groaned. The violins soared, but they didn’t mask the whir of the refrigerator or the sound of water dripping from the faucet. They didn’t mask the sadness in her mother’s voice.

“What should I do?” Her mother had turned back to Cora. “Pretend I don’t have a sister?”

Cora took two white mugs from the cabinets by the stove. While she waited for the water to heat, she put a spoon of raw brown sugar in each mug. “You could ask Seth,” Cora said. “Or me, for God’s sake. Either of us would help with Antoinette. She probably doesn’t even remember Lily.”

That wasn’t true. Antoinette remembered a woman with dark hair and moss-green eyes. A woman who looked like something that bloomed at night.

Cora put the lid back on the canister. “Have you ever thought about expanding into flower-based products? You could sell teas, handmade soaps, lotions.”

The whole room smelled sweet. Antoinette squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw until a hard ache formed behind her teeth. It helped her focus. She bit down harder, catching a piece of cheek between her teeth. This time her hands flopped against the floor, but her arms didn’t budge.

“Seth and I have thought about it,” Antoinette’s mother said, “but we decided not to make any major shifts right now. Maybe once Lily’s here—”

Cora sighed. “Who says she’ll stay, even if she does show up? And Antoinette doesn’t know her.” The water finished boiling. Cora turned off the burner and fit a metal strainer over the pitcher.

“Seth called from the market,” her mother said as Cora poured the tea through the strainer. “He ran into Lily there and is driving her home. Besides, it’s my fault Antoinette doesn’t know her aunt. I should have called Lily before things got this bad. Antoinette needs her family.”

I don’t need anyone except you.
Antoinette tried to scoot closer to her mother, but her feet wouldn’t budge.

“Seems like she’s done just fine without Lily for all these years,” Cora said. She dumped the spent hibiscus and lavender into a bowl by the sink. “I’m experimenting. How do you feel about candied hibiscus flowers?”

That’s right. I’m fine.
Sometimes when Cora spoke, Antoinette leaned against the older woman’s leg. When she did, Cora’s voice vibrated through her body, and Antoinette pretended the woman’s words were her own.

She loved the way Cora’s hair, black laced with silver, hung straight to the middle of her back. Once, Antoinette had tangled her fingers in a hunk of that hair. It was thick and coarse, and Antoinette had not wanted to let go. Thinking about it now made her hands flick open and snap shut.

Flick. Snap. She giggled at the movement.

“Antoinette might have been fine without Lily,” her mother said, “but I haven’t been. I was just too stubborn to admit it.”

In the stillness, the house creaked. Water dripped from the faucet. The refrigerator whirred. Vivaldi’s violins hummed.

“And candied hibiscus flowers sound too pretty to eat,” her mother added.

Again, Antoinette thought about Cora’s rough black hair tangled around her fingers. This time, she was able to lift her head and let it thunk to the floor. For a moment, everything was beautifully quiet. She could move. Quickly, before the noise returned, she pushed her feet against the floor, scooting along on her back until she was under the table.

Cora handed Antoinette’s mother a mug of tea and sat down. Antoinette’s mother shifted in her seat and tucked her feet under her chair. When she did, her pajama leg moved, exposing a band of skin above her slippers.

Antoinette wanted to hear her mother’s song. The last time she had touched her mother, the tempo had been too slow, and every once in a while a sharp note grated against her ears.

Recently, her mother stepped away each time Antoinette reached for her. Antoinette missed the feel of her mother’s hand against her cheek. She missed curling into her mother as they sat side by side on the couch, the heat from her mother’s body pulsing through Antoinette like a bright orange sun. If she could wrap her fingers around her mother’s ankle, everything would be better. But anxiety forced her knees to her stomach and her arms to her chest. If she were normal, she would sit up and take her mother’s hand. Instead, she lifted her head and dropped it to the floor.

Thump.

Again. Thump.

The tension in her body broke when the back of her skull hit the hardwood, and she let out a happy shriek. Her mother sighed, but she didn’t press her hand against Antoinette’s forehead and say, “Stop.” So Antoinette hit her head again.

“I worry about you,” Cora said between Antoinette’s head thumps.

The words made Antoinette’s hands twist into tight balls. She worried about her mother too.

Her mother sipped her tea. “This is good. It tastes just like Mom’s.”

“Who do you think gave me the recipe?” Cora said. “And don’t think I’ll give up just because you ignored my remark.”

“I know you worry.” Her mother sighed. “But you don’t need to. On my thirtieth birthday, I found honeysuckle twined through the fence. Lily had been here. As girls, we had promised each other to be there when we turned thirty. I forgot, but Lily remembered. She might have caused our rift, but I kept it alive. I don’t have time to be angry any more. And I suspect Lily knows that.”

“I don’t know, Rose, you might be asking too much. Lily might come home, but will she stay? You asked her once before and she ran off.”

“I know. But I have to try. I want Antoinette to know her family, and Lily’s the only family I have left.”

Antoinette drew her legs up and pushed against the floor. She was all the way under the table now. Outside, a car door slammed.

Both women started. “She’s here.” Her mother stood.

Antoinette shoved her body until she was at her mother’s feet. She concentrated and flung out her arm.

Chapter Seven

A deep porch encircled the blue farmhouse. White rockers flanked the door, and baskets overflowing with yellow pansies hung from the eaves. It was inviting, but Lily and Seth walked around back—only strangers used the front door.

The back porch had a crisp new coat of white paint, and purple clematis scrambled up the posts. The swing where Lily and Rose used to sit and watch as storms rolled in was still there. Lily gave it a small push as she passed.