Finding Miracles by Julia Álvarez Read Free Book Online Page B

cabinet or birdhouse came out of it.
    One time, I followed him down there.
    Dad looked surprised to see me. Usually he was the one climbing up to the attic to “talk” to me. “What’s up, honey?”
    “I just . . . I mean . . . ,” I began, totally tongue-tied. “Dad, I’m sorry,” I finally blurted out.
    “What on earth for?” Dad’s head was cocked to one side, as if looking at me sideways might help him figure out what I meant.
    “Grandma,” I murmured. “I feel like you lost your mom on account of me—”
    “No, no, no, Milly!” Dad broke in before I could finish. “Don’t even think that. Your grandma wanted to hurt me. You were just the excuse this time.”
    “She has a point, though.” I was trying hard not to cry. “Technically, I’m not a Kaufman. I don’t even look like any of you guys.” I went through the whole list of little things I’d been noticing lately: how everyone in the family was tall, whereas I was more
chiquita
. How Kate had Grandma’s coloring. How Nate had curly hair like Great-Grandpa in the portrait above the fireplace in Happy’s mansion.
    Dad kept shaking his head.
    “You’re not listening!” I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.
    “You look just like your mother when you do that, you know?” Dad winked.
    Great! I thought. I’d picked up all their bad traits and meanwhile missed out on the good stuff, like being tall, smart, Grandma’s
real
grandchild.
    One afternoon, while Pablo and Nate played video games downstairs and Kate talked on the phone, I headed for Mom and Dad’s bedroom. There it sat on the tall bureau, where it had been for as long as I could remember. The Box. Dad had said there wasn’t much information in it, but even a little bit might fill in a blank or two—some hint of who my parents had been, where they might have come from, why they had given me away.
    My hands were itching like crazy. I felt tempted to high-tail it back to my room. But something held me there, a growing curiosity about my own story. I took it down as if it were some sacred object in a ceremony. Then I did something that totally surprised me. I brought it up to my face and touched it to my cheek.
    From downstairs came Nate’s excited shouts. “I won! I won!” I smiled, thinking about my own quiet victory over my fears.
    “Milly?” Kate had come into the room. “What’re you doing?”
    I couldn’t exactly say
nothing
. I’d literally been caught red-handed. “Just looking at my stuff,” I said, putting The Box back. I actually wasn’t sure if Kate knew what was in it. It was weird how we never talked about my adoption. And with Kate, I felt that it was her more than me who felt uncomfortable with it.
    Kate let herself drop down on our parents’ bed. “Come sit,” she said. “You okay, Milly-pooh?” she asked, once I’d joined her.
    “It’s just been a weird time,” I began. Kate grabbed for my hands so I’d stop scratching them. “Pablo, the Bolívars—it’s all started me thinking about my . . . adoption.” I tried the word. “It’s like I’ve never really let myself feel the feelings.” I could feel them welling up now, but I sensed Kate tensing beside me. “That’s all,” I added, as if putting a lid on both our discomfort.
    In the silence that followed, I thought of a bunch of things to tell Kate. How I wished I could talk to her about stuff. How I always felt she was quick to tell me that we were no different. How I felt she just wanted me to forget the past, even more than I did. But maybe this was part of having a therapist for a mom. We let her dig stuff out of us and hadn’t learned to do it for ourselves.
    Finally, Kate spoke up. “Sometimes I wish I’d been the one adopted.” I must have looked totally surprised, because she added, “I mean it. Then I wouldn’t always feel guilty, like I got something you didn’t.”
    So that was it! “But I got some other stuff instead,” I heard myself saying. Sometimes you