Free Finding Miracles by Julia Álvarez Page A

over the whole story in case you have any questions. Okay?”
    And then they told me a story I’d heard in bits and pieces before. I listened. I didn’t ask any questions. Even when they asked me if I had any questions. Really and truly, the only part I worried about was when they said they weren’t sure about my birth date. August 15 was just the date the orphanage had registered me. I thought they were trying to take away my birthday.
    Dad was squeezing my hand. “Any more questions, honey?”
    “You understand what we’ve told you?” Mom squeezed my other hand.
    What wasn’t there to understand? Once upon a time, some parents who had been in the Peace Corps decided to stay an extra year in their host country. They worked at a school teaching English. Their first daughter was born. They called her Kate. One day, the mom visited an orphanage close to where they lived. There she met a beautiful baby who had been left at the doorstep. The mom couldn’t resist; she brought the dad over; they fell in love with this baby; they knew that baby was meant for them, and so they adopted this baby. Wonderful story. But it didn’t seem to have anything to do with me.
    “You were just a tiny little thing.” Dad held his big hands about a foot apart, smiling proudly.
    Mom smiled, too, like she was really looking at that baby, not just the empty space between Dad’s hands. “The sisters just adored you. Especially Sister Corita. She was the one who found the basket just outside the door. You were wrapped in a shawl with a little piece of paper pinned to your dress with your name on it. And this was also in the basket with you.” Mom nudged the box toward me.
    “Beautiful wood, isn’t it?” Dad stroked the box. “Mahogany,” he pronounced. “Shall we open it?”
    I eyed the box—which had suddenly been transformed into The Box, with scary capital letters. “What’s in it?”
    “Nothing to worry about, honey,” Mom reassured me. “It’s just like a memory box, with some pictures and souvenirs and newspaper clippings. Plus, all your adoption papers and naturalization papers we put in there later. You want to look in it?”
    I shook my head and pushed The Box back toward them.
    “We don’t have to open it now,” Mom agreed. “Any time you’d like to look inside it or talk about it...”
    “You okay, sweetie?” Dad was starting to worry.
    “It’s a lot to take in, we know,” Mom added.
    I knew I would start crying if I didn’t get out of there soon. I looked up, and instantly their eyes were on me like they were hungry for me to say anything.
Say something,
I told myself,
make them feel better
. But all I could come up with was, “Can I go out and play now?”
    My parents looked at each other helplessly. “Sure, sweetie,” Dad said. “Of course you can,” Mom added. But I had to tug at their hands to get them to release mine.
    I stood up, pushed in my chair like this had been some kind of formal session. I remember noticing my hands. They were covered with a rash again. Maybe they were itchy, I don’t know. I was too numb to feel anything.
    Out in the driveway, I stared at my new bike for a while like I couldn’t figure out what it was for or how to use it. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Somehow it seemed like I would have to be a whole different person from now on.
    Then I remembered what I’d said inside.
Can I go out
and play now?
That’s right. Continue as before. Put this story back in The Box and push it away.
    I got on that bike and pedaled furiously around the driveway and out into the street, where I was not allowed to go. Somehow, I knew that today, I would not get in trouble for breaking the rules. Looking back now, I can see that I had kept on pedaling ever since. Until the day when Pablo leaned toward me in the lunch room and with a simple question—click!—opened the lid.
    Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Bolívar and I took the bus back from the mall. It dropped us off at the town