The Miracles of Ordinary Men Read Online Free Page A

Julie and the accountant.”
    â€œProfessor,” he said. And, “Maybe.” He couldn’t think about Julie right now. He needed to get Bryan out of the house.
    â€œWant me to make coffee?”
    Sam shook his head. “No. Must be tired — should just go back to bed.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” and Bryan clapped him on the shoulder, narrowly missing one wing. Sam bit his lip and fought to keep from crying out. “See you later in the week?”
    â€œSure.” He closed the door as soon as it was polite, then stumbled to the bathroom and stretched out on the floor, the wings a feathery mass between his back and the tile. It hurt to breathe, and still the air pushed onward, through his lungs.
    After a long moment, he dragged himself to sitting and blinked at Chickenhead, who hadn’t moved from her perch on the toilet.
    â€œI think I’m going crazy,” he said. Something in his voice moved her, because she jumped down and crawled into his lap. Her purr was robust and warm against his stomach. He ran his hands through her fur and stopped just short of praying. Here he was, with his wings and his cat. Her eyes were amber slits in the soft light of the bathroom. If she could talk, give him some of her nine lives’ wisdom, she might have said: this is just the beginning.

X
    It’s a cold night in February 2001 , and Lilah is very drunk. A party, a boy who kissed her in the bathroom, and Lilah, waking up outside. She stumbled home and now she’s trying to sneak in through the back door. But it’s locked. When she checks for the spare key, it isn’t there.
    Timothy opens the door instead. “I heard you outside,” he says.
    â€œThanks.” She whispers from the porch — even here, the word feels too loud.
    â€œMom’s asleep,” and now he’s whispering as she steps past him, into the house.
    â€œI know.” She stumbles again and the world tilts for one crazy moment. Then she’s at the kitchen counter, heaving into the sink.
    â€œDo you want some hot chocolate?” he asks from behind her.
    Hot chocolate is the last thing on her mind. “Sure,” she gasps.
    Timothy pads to the cupboard and takes out two mugs, then pulls the spoons from the drawer. He is trying to be quiet — the cutlery is muffled, the mugs placed so delicately on the counter it’s a wonder that she can know he’s done anything at all. But he has, and she knows. She always knows with Timothy. She rests her forehead against the edge of the sink and breathes in deeply. The counter is smooth beneath her hands.
    â€œMom waited for you,” he says. “And then she got mad and locked the door.”
    â€œI noticed.” She speaks the words down into the floor.
    â€œI waited for you,” he says. “I didn’t want you to sleep outside. It’s cold.”
    â€œThanks, Timmy.”
    â€œThat’s okay.” The kettle hisses. When she turns around, finally, Timothy is holding the two mugs carefully in his outstretched hands.
    â€œI made this one with milk,” he says. “Just for you.”
    Their mother will not do this, because milk in hot chocolate is
wasteful
and
unnecessary.
But since Lilah was small, she’s been sneaking milk into her cup when Roberta isn’t looking. Timothy has learned all of these habits from her. He hands over her mug. He is so young, so solemn. She places her palms around the mug and lets the heat burn her hands until they hurt.
    â€œYou look sick,” he says. “Are you okay?”
    She can’t remember the name of the boy she kissed. She woke up with dirt in her mouth, and black spots in her memory. Whole hours she doesn’t remember. “I’m fine.”
    â€œMom says you’re going to get in trouble.” He sits on the bar stool and stares at her. He is pale, as always, and too small for a ten-year-old child. His toes dangle far from the