The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin: A Novel by Stephanie Knipper

violas hung from the white beams. Several metal tables sat on the concrete patio in front of the bakery. They were all empty.
    The air smelled like lightning, and the scent made the tiny hairs on Antoinette’s arms stand. When the rain came, the land’s song would change. Right now, Antoinette heard the low moan of a cello, an eerie sound.
    Antoinette flapped her hands. Change, change. She wanted to stand outside in the rain, listening to the land’s music. She imagined water streaming down her back, flattening her hair against her head, her whole body bright with sound.
    “I still say you need to tell Lily everything ,” Seth said as he led Antoinette and her mother to a table near the bakery entrance. He had been saying the same thing since they left the farm.
    Antoinette’s muscles felt short and her joints stiff. In spite of that, when her mother pulled out a chair for her, she didn’t sit. She leaned against the table, hands curled tight against her shoulders and her head cocked to the side, listening. The music would change soon.
    “The rain should hold off,” her mother said as she sat down. The walk from the van to the outdoor table had been short, but she was out of breath. “At least until we get back to the farm.”
    “You need to tell her,” Seth said again.
    This was one of the few times Antoinette had heard her mother and Seth argue. It bothered her, and she pulled her hands even tighter against her shoulders.
    “You don’t need to protect Lily anymore,” her mother said. “Besides, she was anxious around Antoinette before. Knowing everything will scare her away. I can’t risk her leaving.”
    Antoinette didn’t like it when people talked about her. It made her feel bound up inside, like she was tangled in rubber bands.
    She tried to focus on the music, but over the cello she heard the distant buzz of traffic. She also heard a bird calling from one of the Bradford pear trees lining the square and the rush of wind in the tree leaves. But most of all, she heard her mother’s voice. It was light as a bell with Seth’s lower voice her counterpoint.
    Her mother spoke easily. Words fell from her mouth like water flowing downstream. Seth was deliberate in his speech. Antoinette wondered whether he spent hours in silence, storing his words, savoring their taste before doling them out one by one.
    “You don’t know that,” he said. He sat with his elbows braced on his knees, like he was waiting for something.
    “Why do you care?” Antoinette’s mother asked. She leaned forward and stared at him as if studying his face. “You haven’t talked to Lily in years.”
    Seth pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “It’s not about Lily,” he said. “It’s about what’s best for Antoinette. She deserves someone who knows the whole story. And Lily’s stronger than you think. Have faith in her.”
    “Faith was always your purview,” her mother said, “not mine.”
    Antoinette watched as Seth walked to the corner of the patio and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He leaned against the wrought iron railing as he shook out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. His closed his eyes as he blew out a stream of smoke.
    Her mother stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You still have feelings for her,” she said.
    Seth didn’t answer. He took another pull on the cigarette.
    Her mother pressed on. “When you talk about her, your voice softens, and you get these little lines about your eyes, as if you’re smiling.” She pointed at his eyes. “You’re doing it now.”
    Seth turned away and stared out across the street. “We were talking about Antoinette. Not Lily.”
    “You might want to figure out how you feel about Lily before she gets home,” Antoinette’s mother said.
    He hunched his shoulders and stubbed out the cigarette. “Thanks for the advice.”
    Antoinette cocked her head. He didn’t sound thankful. She rose up on her toes and rocked her head from side to