The Probability of Miracles by Wendy Wunder Read Free Book Online

trailer with a “fun fact” from a different state. They’d gotten Utah. And their fun fact was about the canyons of the Escalante, which was apropos of nothing except that the four-foot-square image of the canyon was strangely O’Keeffian and vaginal. They were branded with a four-foot vagina.
    â€œOh, God, Cam. Only you would think that,” their mother had said when Cam had objected to it yesterday.
    â€œThat makes me feel really good about myself, Mom, when you imply that my thoughts are crazy. Good parenting.”
    â€œOkay, Cam, I’m sorry,” Alicia had said, exasperated. “Do you want me to ask for a different one? Without a vagina?”
    â€œNo. That’s fine,” she had acquiesced, and when she’d woken up this morning it didn’t bother her that much.
    â€œCome on, Mom, it’s time to go,” Cam said insistently as she tapped her mom on the shoulder.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Alicia said as she peeled herself off of Izanagi.
    Izanagi took a deep breath and composed himself and then walked in his paint-splattered, turned-up jeans to his rusting Honda Accord. He reached into the open window and retrieved two rectangular gifts, impeccably wrapped in brown paper and tied with raffia bows. Izanagi was a stereotypically neat and meticulous minimalist when it came to his artistic pursuits. When he wasn’t working at the restaurant, he wrote spare poems and made paintings that were quiet and clean, like whispers.
    He handed the gifts to the girls, and Perry tore into hers hungrily. Inside was a simple brown notebook and a brown paper–wrapped pencil.
    â€œTo record your trip,” said Izanagi.
    â€œTo record the miracles!” said Perry, launching herself at Izanagi and hugging him around the waist.
    â€œThanks,” said Cam, keeping her distance. “I’ll open mine when we get there.” She was resistant these days to writing anything down. She didn’t want anyone reading her impermanent thoughts after she had permanently left the planet.
    â€œGod, I love that man,” Alicia said as she climbed into the car and blew him a final kiss. He slunk away with his hands in his pockets. He was staying in their house to keep an eye on things.
    â€œYou have a strange concept of love.”
    â€œWhat do you know about it?”
    â€œNothing, obviously. Which way?” Cam was driving the first leg of the trip.
    â€œTake a left.”
    â€œSouth? From what I learned in geography—and granted, I missed a lot of school—Maine is to the north.”
    â€œWe need to stop by Tom’s.”
    â€œOh God. Really?” Cam just wanted to get on the road before she lost her resolve.
    â€œHe needs to give us specific directions. This place is almost impossible to find, even with a GPS. And you know that phrase, You can’t get there from here? People from Maine are really like that. No one will help us once we get up there.”

    Tom lived in an overgrown jungle of mangroves, vines, and palm trees. You practically needed a machete to hack your way to the front door. The inside—and it was difficult to distinguish between the inside and outside—was crawling with mice and salamanders and the five famous iguanas, who roamed freely around the place. The TV was usually blaring something like Judge Judy or Divorce Court , and the only way to determine that this was a place of business at all was a tiny gold plaque next to the doorbell that read THOMAS LANE: HERBALIST, HEALER, SHAMAN, CHIEF.
    â€œLadies,” he said as he greeted them at the door wearing a green and blue tie-dyed shirt and smoking a joint. “Contact buzz?” he asked, about to exhale into Alicia’s face.
    â€œNo.” She shook her head. “I have to drive later.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” he said. His shoulder-length gray hair was washed today, surprisingly, and his jeans were stain-free. His face was relaxed and his