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

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    When my muscles unclench, the taste of copper pennies returns. I take a drink of lemonade, but it doesn’t help.
    I try to focus on the daffodil bulb I’m supposed to be sketching for my portfolio. Earlier, I slipped one of Dad’s garden knives through the bulb’s brown papery outer layer. I undressed it, removing the paper scales. Then I cut it in half, exposing the flower bud.
    Most people don’t realize that a tiny plant lies inside of the bulb, already germinating. I plan to create a series of drawings that capture flowers in various stages of germination.
    The flower bud is folded over on itself. I set down the bulb and hold my arm out with my thumb up. I squint, aligning the tip of my thumb with the top of the first leaf. I measure the stem against the base of my thumb. The plant is a green so pale it’s almost white.
    I start drawing. I make my strokes thin and sparse. I concentrate on my arm moving in great swoops over the paper, on the feel of the bumpy cloth canvas under my charcoal.
    I’m not afraid when I draw.
    The charcoal makes a soft phft, phft across the page. I study the bulb and trace the bend of the stem, the pleat in the first leaf. As I work, I try to be the person Lily thinks I am, full of strength and hidden worth. I sit straighter, ignoring the slight pressure in my chest that developed when I hit the six-month mark and never left.
    Lost in thought, I jump when Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. She’s silent for a moment. Then she bends down and kisses the top of my head. The end of her long blonde braid tickles my cheek. “You’re still an artist. Coming home doesn’t change that.”
    When I don’t answer, she turns to the kitchen counter. “Do you like the crib?” she asks. Her back is to me as she pours a cup of coffee, but I catch the slight stiffening of her shoulders that says my answer matters. She was disappointed when I told her I was pregnant, but after the shock wore off she and Dad began a campaign to get me to move home after graduation.
    “It’s beautiful,” I say because it’s true. My father, Wade, made the white crib that now sits at the foot of my twin bed. I see his hand in the precise curve of the spindles and the solid feel of the wood.
    The thought comes before I can stop it. If Lily made furniture, it would look like this. Solid. Beautiful. Something that will last.
    “I’m glad,” Mom says. She looks younger when she smiles, and I wish she would do it more often.
    Another pain grabs me. I groan and hunch forward. “Braxton Hicks,” I say between clenched teeth. I clutch the stick of willow charcoal so hard it snaps in two.
    I hear Mom’s coffee cup clatter into the sink. “That’s not Braxton Hicks,” she says. “We need to go to the hospital.”
    MY ARMS ARE heavy, and I can’t open my eyes.
    “Rose?” My mother’s voice. “Can you hear me?”
    I try to turn toward her voice, but I can’t move. I can only flutter my eyes. Wherever I am, everything is dim. I don’t know whether the light is off or if I slept all day and it’s night now.
    “Is she awake?” My father’s voice. He sounds tired.
    “Almost,” Mom says. “Rose? Can you hear me?”
    Yes , I want to say, I can hear you . Something is blocking my throat. I try to lift my hand to my face, but my arm is weighed down by sleep.
    “Rose?” Mom says. She sounds far away.
    I can’t speak, and I am so, so tired.
    I try to move again, but I’m trapped. I struggle, shaking my head. The pillow crinkles.
    “Rose?” Mom touches my cheek.
    When she does, I force my eyes open and try to take a deep breath, but something is clogging my throat. I can’t breathe! I panic and slap my face. A plastic tube fills my mouth.
    “Don’t,” Mom says. She grabs my hands. “Stop. You’re in the ICU on a ventilator.” Fear is etched across her face and deep lines furrow her brow. Her nail polish is chipped and hair pokes out of her messy braid.
    “You gave us a scare,” Dad says. Dark