In Wunder’s opinion, Faye was kind of a weirdo. But he also knew that some people probably thought he was too. Miracology was not exactly a typical childhood pastime.

His parents hadn’t seemed to think he was weird though. They had bought him The Miraculous. They had read every entry, searched through old newspapers with him, bought him books, driven him to the sites of local phenomena. Back when he had believed in miracles, he had been sure that his parents would always be there, listening to him and supporting him. Loving him.

But now everything had changed. If his sister’s death was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, his parents’ grief was a close second. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“Then why do you believe in that stuff?” he asked Faye. “Witches and werewolves and zombies?”

Faye stopped midstep to pin her bangs back. Wunder waited for her, although he wished he hadn’t when she finished and stepped very close to him.

“Because I know enough to know that I don’t know everything,” Faye said, staring into his eyes. “I know you liked your sunshine-and-sparkles miracles, Wundie, the ones where the bad thing doesn’t happen, where life is always perfect. But sometimes the bad thing does happen. People hurt your feelings and disappoint you. People die.” She was silent for a moment. Wunder thought she would flip up her hood, but then she took a deep breath and continued. “But sometimes the brightest miracles are hidden in the darkest moments.” She nodded, almost to herself. “That’s right. But you have to search for them. You can’t be afraid of the dark.”

Then she unpinned her bangs and started walking again.

“I’m not afraid,” Wunder said when he caught up to her. “I just don’t believe in miracles anymore.”

He was thinking about Faye’s words though, thinking about the light and the dark as they entered the woods where the color was creeping up the green of the leaves, taking them over, bit by bit. Wunder hadn’t even realized they were going that way, but of course they were. And now that they were there, he felt himself speeding up, moving faster. Soon they were at the head of the dirt trail where the live oak and the resurrection fern were as green as ever.

And there she was. He could see her through the branches, sitting on the porch. The spiraling house rose up behind her, crooked and crumbling. The spiraled chair rocked back and forth, back and forth. The newspaper flutter, fluttered on her lap.

She saw them right away, almost like she had been waiting for them. She waved.

And then she stood up and she beckoned.

“Do you think we should go over there?” Faye asked out of the side of her mouth.

And Wunder knew what he had said. There was no reason to talk to her. She was just an old woman. Nothing she could say would make anything better.