The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

laughing when tears accumulated in her eyes, until her friend, and neighbor, Seth Hastings, shoved through the crowd. Seth grabbed the ringleader, threw him to the ground, and punched the boy in the gut. Then Seth hooked his arm through Lily’s and walked her to the bus. When the stress of the situation made Lily start counting, Seth added his voice to hers. After that, Seth walked her to the bus every day, and no one called her “the Count” again.
    Lily had since learned to count silently, but she hadn’t been able to stop the habit. She had reached the number seven when Will called from the kitchen. “I can’t find the coffee.”
    She closed her eyes and murmured, “Eight,”—she never stopped on an odd number—before answering. “It’s on the counter.”
    “Lils! It’s not out here.”
    His words were long and rounded, but if she didn’t know him, she wouldn’t realize he was high. She wondered if he ever went into work at the hospital that way. She pictured him in a white lab coat, sneaking into a supply closet and shaking a few pills into his hand. Maybe thinking you were invincible was a trait all doctors shared. Or maybe it was just Will.
    “It’s not here!” he said again.
    She pushed back from her desk. Today wasn’t a good day for work anyway. Every year, as spring beat back the winter gray, a sense of depression stole over her. Redbuds bloomed and daffodils poked their heads from beds that lined the streets. It was beautiful but felt somehow artificial, and it made her miss the farm.
    Rounding the corner to the kitchen, she nearly ran into an open cabinet. All twelve doors were open. “I can’t find it,” he said.
    She crossed the room, closing doors as she went, and picked up the bag next to the coffeemaker.
    “Thanks.” He measured out even scoops. “You want some?”
    She nodded and grabbed tomatoes and cheese from the refrigerator. Since she couldn’t work, now was as good a time as any for lunch.
    As she put the meal together, she glanced out the window. Off of the kitchen was a small wooden deck with rickety stairs leading to a brick patio that filled what passed for her backyard. It was surrounded by a high stone wall. In late spring and early summer, white clematis and New Dawn roses scrambled up the wrought iron lattices covering the wall. It was beautiful and practical at the same time, providing a small barrier between herself and her neighbors. On one side was Will and, on the other, an artist who made kinetic sculptures out of Campbell’s soup cans. While she loved her old brick house, living so close to other people was difficult for her, even after six years.
    Everything was crowded here. The sidewalks were cracked and not quite wide enough. When passing someone, she had to twist sideways to avoid touching them. Birds fought to be heard over the constant rumble of cars and buses. Plants jumbled together, vying for the little pockets of soil that served as yards around the houses.
    Lily carried the plates outside to the bistro table on the deck. Will brought their coffee. He placed her cup next to her plate, but he didn’t sit. He paced, sipping his coffee and shading his eyes. There was a slight breeze, but the sun warmed the last of the winter air. Aside from the squeak of a rotating sculpture in the artist’s yard and the street traffic, the day was quiet.
    “How can you stand it out here? It’s so bright,” he said as he shoved a piece of cheese into his mouth.
    She shrugged and held her face to the wind, feeling the coolness on her cheeks, drawing memories of her younger self to mind.
    “That’s right, you were a farm girl.” Will laughed. “I wish I had seen that. Bet you were cute with your brown hair in braids and pig slop on your feet.”
    “It was a flower farm. There weren’t any pigs.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the red glow of the sun behind her eyelids.
    “I can see you now. Barefoot in the dirt. A chicken in each hand.”
    With her