Read Online Miracle by Elizabeth Scott - Free Book Online Page B

Vietnam. Not during the fighting, of course, and certainly not after, but sometimes when I’m talking about the war, or even when I think about everything that happened, I’ll remember that, how pretty the land was. I don’t think I noticed it more than once or twice, really, but it’s stayed with me all these years.”
    She opened another cabinet and got out two plates. “Rose didn’t agree with me, and after a couple of fights, I just stopped trying to explain how I felt to her.” She glanced at me. “You want mayo?”
    I shook my head. She was making deviled ham; I’d smelled it as soon as she’d opened the can, and I only liked ham with mustard on it. I didn’t know what to think about what she’d just told me. I didn’t know much about Vietnam and I didn’t know what her story meant.
    I guess she could tell because she stopped making sandwiches long enough to squint at me. “When we got back, I couldn’t stand loud noises. Reminded me of things I didn’t want to remember. So I made myself walk by Derek Ginty’s house back when he got his first car—this was well before you were even born—and listened to it backfire when he was trying to work on it. I used to end up standing there looking like you did today. And Rose . . . it was different for her. She couldn’t stand hospitals. The thought of all the sick people inside, all their suffering, it—it got to her. So she stayed away from them, and wouldn’t hardly ever even go to see a doctor. She had a hard time going to LaMotte, even when it was toward the end. A bitter, hard time.”
    She put a sandwich in front of me. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
    I stared at her and my throat felt tight, like there were things—words—trapped in it.
    “I should go wash up,” I said, and pushed away from the table.
    “Down the hall on the left,” Margaret said. “And don’t use the soaps in the little basket. Or touch the green towels.”
    The bathroom, small and painted a pale green, was right across from a bedroom. The door to it was closed, and I figured it had been Rose’s. I washed my hands and dried them off on thelittle green towels I wasn’t supposed to use, glancing at the other door in the bathroom, the one that led into Margaret’s room.
    I fiddled with the door that led back out into the hallway, and then looked at the other one. I couldn’t help but wonder what Margaret’s room was like. I bet everything was arranged according to size or alphabetically, something like that. I didn’t know how Rose had put up with her, best friend or not, for all those years.
    But the room wasn’t Margaret’s. It was Rose’s. I could tell as soon as I opened the door. The walls were a sunny yellow, the bed had a bright homemade quilt on it, and a couple of the bears she’d made for every kid in church the Christmas I was seven were on a dresser, the ones that hadn’t been taken because some of the parents wouldn’t let their kids have them. There were some pictures too, but I wasn’t close enough to see them and I didn’t feel right walking around the room.
    I saw a pair of Margaret’s glasses next to one of the pictures, like she’d come in to look around and had to leave in a hurry. I guess she didn’t feel right in here either. That was sad.
    I went back into the bathroom and headed into the hallway. I didn’t feel bad about peeking in the other room now, especially since I’d already accidentally seen Rose’s. Plus I really wasn’t in a hurry to go back out to my sandwich and Margaret. I’d wanted someone to understand how I felt, but Iwasn’t so sure I wanted that someone to be Margaret.
    I opened the other door.
    It wasn’t Margaret’s room. It wasn’t a bedroom at all. It was a study or something, a desk with an old computer in one corner, and a bunch of bookshelves along the walls. There was a comfy-looking sofa in the other corner, two more of Rose’s teddy bears sitting on top of it. One of them was wearing