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1
SILAS
It's a cold-ass winter, and it's Christmas Eve. And every song on the radio feels like the universe is playing a trick on me.
“Miracle” by Bon Jovi.
Next, “When You Believe” and “Miracles” by Mariah Carey.
I switch the stations. And suddenly, Kenny Chesney is crooning “No Small Miracle.”
I chuckle and look out the windshield of my truck. Speaking of miracles, the fact I got leave to come home for Christmas at all is a gift my mom won’t see coming. I'm in the Navy. And most of the time, I'm out to sea. But somehow, the ship came into port just in time for Christmas.
I only have a few days to spend at home, so the moment I got off the boat, I jumped in my truck and started heading east, over the mountains in Washington State toward my parents’ home in the small town of Briar Valley. It's a good enough place to grow up. There's a main street, a bakery, a café, and a church. A few churches, actually. But only one that matters to my mom.
Tonight, we will be going to midnight mass at Saint John’s Church, though we only go to service there a few times a year. Still, tradition is tradition, and growing up going to mass always meant seeing her—Miracle Lane.
I change the station. This time, Kelly Clarkson is belting out “Some Kind of Miracle.”
I run a hand over my clean-shaven jaw, thinking about therealmiracle. And sure, in my mom's eyes, it will be me coming home for Christmas. But the only miracle I've ever dreamt of is Miracle Lane, the most beautiful girl in the world.
I went to school with her, and kindergarten until graduation, we were in the same buildings. She and I were opposites, though, from the get-go. When Miracle was a little girl, she was already bowing her head and saying prayers.
And as soon as I could, I was running rowdy at recess, hollering in the lunchroom. As we got older, she always volunteered the food bank in town. I'd pass her on my way to my pop’s auto shop, where I worked after school, learning the tricks of the trade. I'd smoke cigarettes as I walked to work, and if I caught her eye through the window of the food bank, she'd smile warmly, but I was all bad boy vibes, and she was angelic through and through.
Still, that's how Miracle was. She'd smile at everyone. It wasn't her being nice to me in particular. Of course, it made me want her. Badly.
She was beautiful, curvy in all the right ways. She'd wear these pleated skirts and knee-high socks, knit sweaters snug across her chest. God, she looked like a Catholic schoolgirl, even though we went to public school. Somehow, she still played the part, having no idea just how damn sexy she looked with that skirt skimming her ass. The sweater pulled tight. And if she put her hair in two braids, I would need to skip class, go home, and rub one out.
Crass, maybe. But every time I saw her, I felt something, wanted something, hell, I started praying for something. And I wasn't exactly the praying type, never have been. But God, I'd convert if it meant having Miracle.
It was never gonna happen. By graduation day, though, I'd signed up for the Navy. Which wasn’t the real roadblock. The dead end was Miracle’s choice.
She signed up to head back east to become a nun. A real-life forgive me, Father, Hail Mary nun.
Apparently, there was some convent in Maine. She was headed there to learn what it meant to be a nun. I googled it, not really knowing much about nunneries.
Turns out she was going to marry Jesus and like never have sex.
Which, if that's the case, and Miracle's still a virgin…
I shake my head. I've been gone from home for four years, but I ask Mom about Miracle sometimes. Mom just smiles and rattles off everything she knows about anyone we went to school with. Like I said, it's a small town and a small school. She would tell me things like Miracle had been assigned a nunnery in North Seattle, that she had done whatever you do to pass the test to became a nun, probably about the same time I left bootcamp. Haven’t seen her since.
But hell, these songs are making me think of her.
I take the exit off the freeway as Chris Tomlin's song “Miracle of Love” comes on.
At this point, I got to laugh. "Is the universe playing tricks on me?" I wonder aloud as I pull into town, turning my blinker on left to head to Mom and Pop’s house.
Before I get there, I pass the Catholic Church, stained glass windows all lit up. For some reason, there's a tightness in my chest as I pass, wishing for a miracle tonight.
There has only been one miracle I have ever wanted, though. And it is crazy. But when I show up for midnight mass with my mom and pop, my wish is for Miracle to be there.
And instead of wearing her habit, or whatever it is nuns wear, in my fantasy, she'd be wearing nothing at all. I grin as I pull into my parents' driveway. I'm here to surprise them. But hell, I am a grown-ass man back from sea. I can't help it if I'm feeling a little swept away.
2
MIRACLE
