ALMOST AN HOUR later, I slipped into my own building like some thief in the night. No one stirred. Alone, I crept up the stairs, hesitating only at the door to my floor. Before I stepped out, I pictured the flower I thought I had seen, and I almost turned back, ran to Kent, and hid myself inside his couch. Instead, I swallowed down the acid rising up my throat.
Nothing. The hallway was deathly still. I inched toward my door, holding my breath, expecting Jasper to jump out of every corner. Of course, that didn’t happen. A smile stuck on my face when I realized what it actually meant to be home. I could get back to work.
My key slipped into the lock without a problem. The door opened. For a second I was lost in thought, planning my next moves. Then, when my first footstep echoed, I froze. My finger found the light switch. The overheads flashed on. I had to blink a few times before it registered. Before I realized my apartment was totally, completely empty.
I should have run, gotten the hell out of there. I couldn’t, though. It felt like my shoes had rooted into my bare floor. Like the empty space before me had latched on to my bones, turning them into a solid, rigid mass. I just stood there and stared at where my bed had been, where my stools had sat beside the kitchen. Where my boxes, all my work, had littered the place as if hit by a sudden gust of wind. It was all gone now. Lost. Vanished. I stood alone, among nothing, and just stared.
“Where’s all my stuff?” I whispered.
My voice bounced off every surface. I crept forward, into my own apartment. Slowly I closed the door behind me, my heart racing. I felt exposed. But I also felt, as with the flower, that this couldn’t be real. I closed my eyes. Rubbed the lids into my skull until I saw stars. When I reopened them, though, still nothing.
I reached the counter, and something on the floor of my tiny kitchen caught my attention. It was a book with a dark jacket. My head tilted as I stared at it. Nothing about the pale type on the back or the grainy black-and-white author photo looked even a bit familiar to me. I moved closer, but the spine was turned away, toward the refrigerator, so I couldn’t see the title. After another step, I could make out a few words on the back. One in particular made my stomach turn—forensics.
Somehow I forced myself to lean down, to put my fingers on that filthy thing, even though I knew already what it had to be. I jerked upward, flipping the book over. The title painted a scarlet path across the darkness—Blood Stain Evidence.
Still crouching, I shuffled away, falling to my backside. I slid out of the kitchen, around the counter so I couldn’t see that thing any longer. My chest heaved. I couldn’t breathe. But I pushed myself up and sprinted the short distance to the door. Slamming into it, I slashed the dead bolt home. Then the chain and the lock on the knob. Once it was secure, I fell back to the ground, huffing and sweating.
He was here.
I sat hunched over on the floor, violated and paranoid. Every noise I heard outside, I knew it had to be him. Stalking me. Waiting for me to step out. When my radiator hissed and creaked, I sprang up. I searched every inch of my place, which took only a second because there was nowhere left to hide. Then I returned to the door. As I sat on the hard floor, wrapping my knees in my arms, a second thought occurred to me.
Why?
If he’d wanted me dead, he could have lain in wait. Surprised me when I returned. He could have finished me off and slipped away, free and clear. That’s not what he’d done. He’d broken into my apartment and taken everything. Not just my work, but my bed and my chairs. My clothes—everything but the crappy old phone charger I’d left plugged in behind where my bed used to be.
When I considered that, really thought about it, I laughed. He had done it for the same reason that he’d left that awful book behind for me. To scare me away. Jasper was trying to frighten me off because I was close to something. When I looked around at my bare apartment and thought about the effort it must have taken, I knew for sure that I was close to something huge.
In that moment, my fear vanished. Smiling ear to ear, crackling with excitement, I called Zora’s number. Despite the hour, she answered.
“Where are you?” she asked immediately.
“At my apartment. You’re not going—”
“Are you serious! Kent just called. He told me you snuck off. He also told me about the deal you walked out on. Are you crazy?”
“What?”
“He offered you the silver spoon. And you snuck out in the middle of the night. He told me you stole his doorman’s elevator key.”
“I left it downstairs. Look, it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“I’m at my apartment, Zora. And he was here. He took everything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jasper broke in and took all my stuff. Not just our research either. Everything. He even left that book that Martino told me about. The one from his house. It was a message. He wants me to stay away.”
“He was there?” she asked, her voice suddenly terse. “Are you sure?”
“You want me to text you a picture of the place?”
“This isn’t normal,” she said. “Look, I’m no quitter. Actually, I was thinking of giving you another chance, assuming this Cassandra thing gets smoothed over. But …”
“What?”
“You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t working out. You need to take care of yourself.”
“And do what?” I asked.
She sighed. “Give it up. It’s over. I can get you back to Kent’s. You can lay low until they get that lunatic. Then move on. It’s not too late.”
I laughed. “Are you serious? Aren’t you listening? This is huge! He’s obviously hiding something. And he knows we’re close. That’s why he escaped. That’s why he took everything.
“Move on? The one thing I know for sure is that that just isn’t happening. I’m making this movie. And when it wins the Academy Award, Cassandra can suck it!”
I was out of breath when I finished that soliloquy. As I panted, the last part came back to me. I regretted it immediately. And the feeling grew with every second that Zora didn’t say anything.
“Sorry, I—”
“Just be quiet for a second. I need you to understand something. Every morning, for a few seconds, sometimes even minutes, I can forget. But eventually I see them. The scars on my arm … the proof of how far I fell. I was lost, Theo. Done for. But then she showed up. She let me get involved. She let me lose myself in the story. And somehow, that’s where I found it. My salvation. My strength. It was just enough. Just strong enough to give me purpose. I clung to that when I got clean. I held on with everything I had. And I made it.
“I see you, Theo. And I know the signs. Maybe it’s karma. But I can’t just abandon you. She stuck with me. Helped me when I needed it the most. And I am going to do the same thing for you. No matter what it looks like. How bad this gets. I’m not leaving you.”
I didn’t know what to say, not at first. It was beautiful, really, what she’d said to me. Maybe I didn’t even realize that she was pointing out my own addiction. In the moment, it just sounded like she had my back. Strangely, though, I didn’t know if I wanted that. A part of me just wanted to dive in, alone. Get lost in the film.
“I’m not sure—” I began, but she cut me off.
“Please! I see it, even if you don’t. And I’m going to help you.”
“What about Miracle?” I asked. “We need to talk to her. Keep her safe. He’s probably—”
“I’ll take care of it. Just stay still. Lock your doors and do not move.”
“You think he’s still in the building? I’ll call the—”
“No,” she said. “Just stay still. I’m coming.”
The idea of Zora rescuing me seemed absurd at first. Then I thought about her, the way I acted around her, and it might sound childish, but it helped.
“Okay,” I said. “When will you be here?”
“I’m almost there.”
The knock on my door surprised me. I could have sworn only a couple of minutes had passed since I’d ended the call with Zora. Picturing Jasper on the other side, ready to pounce, I leaned closer.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me. Open up.”
I fumbled with the lock. Rubbing my clammy hands on the sides of my pants, I focused and got the door open.
“Thanks for—”
As the door opened, I saw her. Not Zora, but the young woman beside her. Her dark hair was pulled back, harshly, adding to the unbelievable intensity of her eyes. She was small, but in a way I’d never seen before. As if an average person had simply shrunk down by a third. Knowing her story, seeing her size and her eyes, I knew she had never truly recovered from her tragic beginning.
My mouth hung open as I took her in for the first time. The words stuck in my throat. All I could manage was her name.
“Miracle,” I whispered, in awe.
She raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Zora, as if she couldn’t quite figure me out. I imagined the expression that must be on my face. A reflection of the overwhelming yet unexplainable reverence I felt.
“Can we come in?” Zora asked, with a sigh.
I snapped my mouth shut. Blinked and swallowed. Then forced what I hoped looked like a normal smile onto my face.
“Yeah, sure.” I awkwardly stuck a hand out. “It’s so great to meet you.”
Miracle Jones stared back at me. Those eyes, almost black and sharp as a surgical scalpel, peeled back my layers and laid my every intention at her feet. My hand dropped. I took a hesitant step backward. Then she smiled.
“You’re Theo, right?”
“Um … yeah,” I said. “I’ve met your mom.”
Miracle snorted. “I heard. So … can we come in or not?”
“Oh, sorry.”
I stepped aside, giving them plenty of room. As they entered, Zora looked around. Her tongue clicked off the roof of her mouth.
“I thought you were making this up.”
“He was here,” I insisted.
“I really doubt that,” she said.
“Then how …”
I waved my arms around, frustrated. Then I grabbed her hand and led her into the kitchen. I felt almost childish as I pointed at the book.
“See!”
Before I could realize what she was doing, Zora bent at the waist and scooped the foul thing up.
“That’s evidence,” I screamed.
Miracle startled. Zora shook her head.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “But you shouldn’t touch that.”
“It’s just a book,” she said.
“It’s his!”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s the exact book that Martino told me about. The one I saw at Jasper’s house.”
Zora frowned. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I told you about that.”
Her head shook slowly. “No, Theo. You didn’t. You’ve been maverick since we started.”
“Seriously?”
“Um, yeah,” she said. “But let’s worry about that later. You’re sure this is his?’
“One hundred percent. He was here.”
“He’s not anymore,” Zora said.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know he’s not stupid. Sick and a total weirdo, but not stupid.”
When Zora said that, I noticed something strange. Miracle shot a look at her, the kind that would have made me apologize. Zora saw it and shrugged.
“We’ll have to deal with him. Whether we like it or not.”
Miracle’s eyes narrowed for just a second; then she walked away, moving confidently around my apartment. She said something under her breath, but I couldn’t hear it. Then she vaulted up to sit on my kitchen counter.
I still felt inexplicably overwhelmed by her presence. Maybe I knew she was the focal point of the ending I yearned to uncover. Or maybe it was something else. Something I just couldn’t explain yet.
“Can I get you something to drink,” I finally said.
Miracle smiled. There was something about it. Something natural. It reminded me that she was a real person, with real pain, real love, real loss. She was more than the story. And, in a way, less, maybe.
“Sure,” she said. “Maybe water.”
I nodded, feeling stupid for some reason. When I got to the kitchen, I threw open a cabinet and realized that Jasper had taken all of my glassware too. The absurdity actually made me laugh.
“Um, sorry, no glasses,” I said. Then I turned to Miracle. “Hey, have you spoken to your mother?”
“Excuse me?” she said, her smile gone.
“Your mother. She thinks you’re missing.”
“I called her,” Zora said. “Left a message right after I got ahold of Miracle.”
My head tilted. “When was that?”
Zora rolled her eyes. “I knew where she was before all of this. I just thought you were going to drop this project the second you heard about Cassandra.”
“So you did know about Cassandra too. Before me?”
“Yup,” she answered, unabashed. “You know that already, Theo. Remember? But when Jasper got out of prison, I couldn’t mess around. I went to get her.”
“She saved me,” Miracle said, mockingly.
“I didn’t say that,” Zora said softly.
“I know,” Miracle said. “I just feel like my life has turned into a movie.”
Zora shrugged. “It has.”
To my surprise, Miracle laughed. “You’re right. I guess it has.”
My head was spinning. Our small gathering felt unnaturally familiar all of a sudden. I wanted to ask Miracle about her child. How she had just left him. But I stopped myself.
“You seem really relaxed, considering,” I did say.
“God, Theo,” Zora said. “You just can’t stop yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Miracle said. “I mean, I’m pretty shaken. He’s out there. I know he is. But he has no reason to be interested in me. He doesn’t even know I exist.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I said.
Miracle glanced at Zora before saying, “Maybe.”
“Yeah,” I said. “In fact, he threatened to kill me if I talked to you.”
I saw the first flash of fear touch her eyes. A hint of vulnerability. And it helped center me. Bring me back to what was important.
“Can I ask you something?”
Zora interrupted before Miracle could respond.
“You two are going to stay right here, with the door locked. I’m going to the police. Let them know about what happened here. I have a contact that will take it seriously. I’ll bring him back; then we’ll go from there. Good?”
“Yeah,” I said, then pointed at the book she still carried under her arm. “Are you taking that with you?”
“Yup. Otherwise, they’ll never believe this one. You two behave while I’m gone.”
My cheeks burned when she said that. Miracle just laughed, vaulting off the counter and locking the door after Zora left.
“Are you upset that your mother talked to me?” I asked.
It had been ten minutes since we were left alone. Although I took a seat on the counter across from her, by the sink, neither of us had said a word. I’d started to think Miracle was just a tough case. She’d been hurt at a young age. I saw it all the time. The walls had been built. And those eyes of hers were probably enough to keep everyone at a distance, unsure what she might do next.
When I spoke, she just stared through me. Then, Miracle blinked. When her eyes reopened, they had changed. Somehow those weapons had become windows. And I knew that her pain wasn’t as far from the surface as I had first thought.
“No,” she answered softly. “You’re not the first, either. When they identified my mother, my biological mother, every reporter in the world called me. Called my mom. It was crazy.”
“I guess … that’s probably not cool.”
“No, it’s not.”
For a second, I found myself soul searching, seeing my career in a new light. It sounds strange, but she had that way about her. With just a few words, she turned people inward. But not necessarily in a bad way. It was more like a shot of sudden honesty. Luckily for me, she let me off the hook immediately.
“I’m not saying that about what you do. I’ve had two people want me in their documentary. One back then, and someone right before Zora found me.”
I leaned forward. “Seriously? What was her name?”
“I didn’t say it was a woman,” she said, smiling. “Anyway you guys are different. More professional. Less like vultures.”
“Thanks,” I said, still feeling sick.
I’d had no idea. I should have. Or, at the very least, Kent should have known. He should have told me someone had already worked on a piece of the story. But maybe, like me, he hadn’t connected the dots.
Miracle smiled at me. “I mean it. But I guess it’s all got me thinking. Since I … found out about my biological mother, I also found out what happened to her. I couldn’t really accept that, I guess. I didn’t know what to do with it. I’d wanted to know who she was. Why she … I don’t know. But you want to know the worst part? I should have felt sad for her. About what happened to her. But I didn’t.” A nervous laugh burst out. “That probably sounds horrible.”
“No,” I said, feeling a little choked up. “Not at all.”
Miracle watched me for a second. There was more to Miracle Jones. In that moment, I knew it for certain. Then she smiled again, and those kinds of thoughts seemed like nothing more than paranoia.
“How did you find out … who your real mother was?” I asked quietly.
A darkness crossed her face like a sudden storm. “She wasn’t my real mother.”
“Sorry, I meant—”
The cloud passed as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind sadness like a faded rainbow.
“It was Meg … my real mom,” she said, interrupting me. “She gave me a DNA test.”
“She mentioned that,” I said.
“Wow. Did she tell you the rest?”
“No.”
“Well, I guess I might as well.”
ACT TWO/SCENE 10
INT. MIRACLE’S HOME—DAY
Miracle Jones stands alone, crying. Looking at herself in the mirror. Touching her stomach as if it represents both the hope of life and the damnation of the past. A knock sounds on the door. It is her baby’s father.
Miracle spit into the plastic vial, no problem. She resealed the box and took it out to the mailbox without a second thought. The next day, her morning sickness was the worst to date. She knelt in the bathroom, dark hair sticking to her left cheek, and she cried. Alone, she sobbed as her dog scratched at the closed door.
She had read the internet. Articles about depression and hormones. Raising a child as a single mother. Her eyes ran along the page and the words simply merged into nonsense, neither touching her nor explaining away the crushing weight that only grew heavier every day.
Standing, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, even for the season. Tears clung to her eyelashes, making them look even longer than usual. Her mother had very short, light lashes. Her father barely had them at all. She’d noticed that long ago. How different she was from them.
As if on cue, someone knocked on her door. Max went insane, his bark mixed with a deep growl as he scurried away from the bathroom to the front of the apartment. She heard his alert turn to a frantic whine. It was someone he knew. Her mother, probably.
After a pause while she considered cleaning herself up, Miracle simply shook her head. She moved to the front door, wondering why Meg had come to visit. Then she saw him through the clear glass panel of her storm, and her nausea flared back up.
“Hey,” he said, just loud enough to hear over Max’s racket. “You going to let me in?”
For a second she didn’t say anything. Instead she stared at him, taking in his square jaw that jutted out in perpetual challenge. His light eyes that countered his dark hair and thick, perfectly groomed shadow. The way his lips curled up, the opposite of her resting frown. For a second she saw both herself as she had looked in the mirror a moment before and his face, merging, becoming one, becoming a new life, a life that still grew inside her.
“Hey, Eddie,” she said finally, then added without opening the door, “I guess we need to talk.”
Miracle had been dating Edwin Marcone for a little less than a year. He’d been the perfect match, exactly what she’d been looking for at the time. Fun, beautiful, tall, free, and living over an hour away. They saw each other on her terms, mostly. He’d come down a dozen times. They had met in Philadelphia more than that. Miracle had kept that fact from her mother the entire time. Meg Jones wasn’t fond of her daughter visiting Wilmington. The idea of Miracle driving up to Philly, alone, not to mention meeting a boy there, would have given her a heart attack.
Max felt none of her trepidations. He bounced, all four paws leaving the floor, over and over in a frantic circle around Eddie. Miracle didn’t move. Eddie tried to hug her, but the dog made that impossible. So he gave in, dropping to his knees and letting Max unleash a proper greeting.
“It’s good to see you too, buddy,” he said, hands on the sides of Max’s wrinkled face. “I missed you.”
“You’re the only one he acts like this with,” she said. “Other than me.”
“I told you I was a good guy,” Eddie said.
“Yeah.” Miracle moved away, back toward the bathroom. “Give me a second.”
She stood in front of the mirror again. She could hear Eddie and the dog playing, his nails scratching up the hardwood even more. The sound gave her no joy. Instead, she stared into her own dark, unblinking eyes. The weight pressed even harder, like it might crush her soul.
He would stand by me.
He would be a good dad.
Meg would be an even better grandmother.
The thoughts peppered her like machine-gun fire. But they meant nothing compared to the other one. That one hung right behind her eyes, a throbbing cloud of pain and fear and confusion. No matter how hard she tried, she could not force together the pieces of that puzzle. She couldn’t put it into words. Yet the more it pushed back on those other thoughts, the more it took over the basic commands of her life.
Like an automaton, she cleaned her face, brushed her teeth, put her hair up, and left the bathroom. Eddie had taken a seat on the couch, and Max took a seat atop Eddie. They were both all smiles and tail wags, but that lasted only a second. With one look at her, the mood changed to match her own.
“We need to talk.”
Eddie frowned. “Yeah, you said that already.”
“Let’s go into town.”
He nodded. Gently, Eddie slid the dog off his lap and got up. He followed Miracle outside and down the steps. When she headed toward her car, he paused.
“Am I coming with you?”
“We should probably both drive,” she said.
“It’s that bad, huh?”
Miracle didn’t answer. Instead, she got behind the wheel and pulled off, alone.
“I’m pregnant.”
Miracle dropped it like a bomb the second they took their seats outside the café. A woman at the table next to them stiffened, obviously overhearing. Eddie glanced at her, then at Miracle.
“I had a feeling,” he said; then his expression turned very serious. “I’m excited. I think this is great. I—”
“I’m getting an abortion,” she said flatly.
The woman behind them actually gasped. Eddie didn’t. He froze, his mouth open, his eyes wide, his breath caught up by the sudden announcement. For her part, Miracle stared back, defiant, daring him to question her. That dark cloud had fully taken over. It called the shots, while she struggled against it like the bars of a prison cell.
“You’re not serious,” he said.
The storm raged inside her head. The real her tried to take it back. Tried to tell Eddie that she loved him. That she would have his baby. But the other thing was ready to fight, to push him away, forever. To be alone, like she’d been so long ago.
“Say something,” he said.
But she couldn’t. No words could escape that raging battle inside her.
A deep red spread across his face. “What gives you the right?”
“Just go, Eddie.”
The words slipped out like shards of ice. He stared into her eyes and found nothing he recognized. As if in a daze, she rose, turned her back on him, and walked away.
“You can’t do this,” he called after her.
She didn’t turn back. “Yes, I can.”
Weeks ground by. Miracle noted ever passing minute as if it were a black X on a calendar. Every day she checked her email. Some days she didn’t even know what she was waiting for. Other days, the anticipation, the need—it burned like fire.
On a Thursday, when time had finally turned into the kind of torture that she would not survive, she went on the internet. She searched on abortion. The responses broke her heart, but she scrolled through each. Then she searched on abortion maximum weeks. She clicked on the first link, and the tears started. With them came a helpless anger. If someone threatened her, she would fight. She would win. But how could Miracle defeat herself?
Max whined, but she didn’t notice. Instead, she went to the web page for the genetic testing company and found a phone number. When she called, a very friendly representative answered.
“Can I help you?”
Miracle almost hung up.
“Hello?”
With effort, she broke through the pain and spoke. “Yeah, hi.”
“Hi,” the woman said. “How can I help you?”
“I … took a test. Three weeks ago. I know the instructions say it could take eight weeks, but …”
“Yeah,” the woman said. “I understand. It’s hard to wait. But we have a queue that—”
“I’m pregnant,” Miracle blurted.
“Okay,” the woman said, uncertain.
“I … I don’t know how to explain this. But I … might need to … have an abortion.”
“Oh! I don’t know—”
“Please, wait. I know. This isn’t your problem or anything, but …”
“Are you worried about the baby’s health? Is that it?”
Miracle closed her eyes, seeing the truth within that darkness. “Yes … Yeah, that’s it. I …”
“It’s okay,” the woman said. “I totally understand. Let me get your information.”
Miracle gave her everything. Then she paused.
“I’m not asking for anything, really. I guess I just wanted to see if—”
“Miracle, I will do whatever it takes to save your baby. If that means I need to risk my job, I’ll do it.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s God’s will, sweetie.”
Miracle had no idea what to say. Therefore, she said nothing as the woman spoke to herself.
“Let’s see what we have here … Yeah, here’s your file. Your test has been processed, but the data hasn’t been entered. You … Wait, I think there’s a mistake. You only purchased the ancestry test, not the medical screening.… Miracle, are you there?”
“Yeah,” she said, feeling dizzy. “I didn’t know.”
The woman didn’t say anything for a moment. When she spoke, her voice sounded airy, almost ethereal.
“This is my time. I understand that now. I am going to upgrade this as our mistake. And rush the response. It will take a few days to get the sample reprocessed. But I’ll check every day. You just hold off. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Can you promise me that?”
The nausea threatened to double her over. Sweat dampened her face. Max licked her hand, manically.
“I will,” she whispered. “Um, you said that the ancestry portion of the test has already been processed?”
“It has. But that won’t have the information you need, sweetie.”
“I just … it would help … to see that.… It would help me wait for the … rest.”
“Oh,” the woman said. “Okay, I guess. I can get that done. Today, maybe. If you think it would help.”
“It would.”
“Okay, then. Because all that matters is that beautiful baby of yours. Have you decided on a name?”
“I …”
“You need to give her a name. Mary would be nice. Your daughter, Mary.”
“Yeah,” Miracle said.
“God bless you, Miracle. And God bless Mary too.”
“Thank you.”
The call ended, and Miracle barely made it to the bathroom before she got sick.
The results showed up in Miracle’s email less than an hour later. Her finger, which felt disembodied, hovered over the link to her identity. The moment dragged, as if her reality and the truth battled to a bloody stalemate. The protective wall her younger self had built, the barrier that had kept her questions at bay for so long, still stood. It still ruled. Yet a new force pushed against it. Something far bigger than Miracle could have summoned on her own. This power radiated from her core as her other hand gently cupped her stomach.
That was enough. It was everything. The pad of her index finger touched the screen. Like a flash of lightning, the page opened. Lost, she scrolled down, barely noticing the percentages of her heritage. Instead, her eyes searched for something else, something more real. When she saw the word RELATIVES, her heart nearly stopped. Regardless, the momentum of her search could not be dulled. She followed that link, and a list of names appeared on the screen.
Strangers. All strangers. Miracle swiped down. Names like Taylor and Crestworth. Henshaw and Foote. She scanned, her eyes burning. Jones was a common name. Almost as common as Smith. Even if it showed up on her list, it would mean nothing, statistically. Yet she needed it to be there. She needed one tether, no matter how thin, to tell her that maybe everything wouldn’t change. That somehow she could be the person she wanted to be.
The distance of the relatives advanced. She passed third cousins, fourth, and still nothing. Tears clouded her vision, so much so that she could hardly see the screen. Still she searched, until the names ran out.
Miracle’s hand shook more severely. She froze, staring through the screen, through time, back across an endless field of falsehood and lies. The list told her so little. It revealed an empty series of words. Nothing more. That was the truth of it. But to her, Miracle Jones died that day. At the same time, a new life came into existence. Like the birth of any newborn, however, this life remained blank, unwritten. As Miracle closed her eyes, she wondered if she had the strength to fill these new pages. She wondered if it was even worth it.
Hours later, she lay in bed, staring up at nothing, feeling nothing. The names clung to her, though she wished for a time that they wouldn’t. She wondered what she had expected to find. What silver bullet could have appeared on that tiny screen that might have changed anything. Something that could have answered the questions that had burned a hole into her soul since the day she’d figured out she was pregnant.
Nothing. It showed nothing. It meant nothing. She rolled onto her side and Max groaned, shifting to press back up against the warmth of her body. When Miracle rose, he whimpered, as if sensing what was next.
The house was dark by then. She shuffled out to the couch, bending over to grab her phone off the floor. Miracle sat, her eyes intense and fixed, as she searched for the nearest clinic. Without a thought, she called the number. It went to a messaging service, and she hung up. Then she noticed the time: 2:34 AM.
“Shit,” she hissed.
It was time. She didn’t care about the test, about Eddie, or about Meg. Her decision was made.
No matter how much Miracle told herself that, some deeper instinct disagreed. She found herself opening the test results again, going to the list of relatives. This time she started at the top, focusing on the first name on the list: Roberta “Bunny” Henshaw. Opening another browser page, she Googled the name. Bunny lived no more than twenty miles away. The results said that Bunny was her aunt. Her mother’s sister.
Miracle dug deeper, stalking Bunny as well as other genetic relatives. Maybe she dozed off. Maybe not. Eventually the sun came up. The clinic opened. But she didn’t call back. Not that morning. Instead, still in the clothes she’d worn the day before, she grabbed her keys off the hook by the door and put Bunny’s address in her GPS.
The trailer sat alone on a swampy lot adjacent to the Delaware-Maryland border. A rotting plank walk led from the gravel drive over the muddy pine needles to a front entrance painted a sun-faded pink. A pickup rested on three wheels and a stack of cinder blocks in the side yard, and a dog barked from where it was chained in the back. Miracle reached out to knock, but the door opened before she could. A woman stared out at her, defiant.
“What do you want?”
“I … I’m looking for Roberta Henshaw.”
“You a bill collector?”
“No.”
“That’s the only folks who use that name.”
Miracle dug her nails into the sides of her jeans. “I’m … my name is Miracle Jones. I—”
“What kinda name is …”
The woman trailed off. She stared at Miracle for a time, suspicion rearranging the deep lines of her face.
“You were that Miracle Baby?”
Miracle nodded. “Yeah.”
Roberta’s head tilted, but her eyes narrowed. “I read about you. A long time ago. Why’d you come around here?”
“I … I took a DNA test, and I …”
Without meaning to, Miracle looked around her. She took in the condition of the trailer, the truck. She heard the dog baying in the back. She turned back to Roberta, noticing her frayed housedress. Her bare feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up.
“Hold up,” Roberta said, stepping out onto the planking. The look on her face had shifted, turning to an urgent need. “You took that test? And I showed up?”
“Yes,” Miracle said. “I think …”
“Roberta ‘Bunny’ Henshaw?”
Miracle went still. “Yes.”
“Ha! I never even seen my own test,” she said. “When my sister went missing, a friend of the family, the lady our mamma cleaned houses for, paid for it. But I lost my job and had to move out of the house I was renting. Forgot all about it.”
“Your sister went missing?”
“Yeah, Honey … I mean, Abbie Henshaw. She went missing a … long time back.”
Miracle fought through her demons to ask, “How long ago … did she disappear?”
“Just over twenty years now.”
They stared at each other for a moment. The pieces fell into place.
“I … I think you’re my aunt.”
“Seems I am.”
“Do you know—”
“Honey,” the woman said, shaking her head. “That’s what we called your mamma. She was Honey and I was Bunny.”
“She …”
“Come on in, child. We have a lot to talk about.”