© 2021 Phylicia Joannis
Wally Ferguson’s cold eyes found mine, and I shivered. “Miracle, thank God you’re safe!” Wally pulled me into the warmest embrace he’d ever given me. I cringed and shrank away. Zinnia Gonzalez placed a protective arm around me, pulling me out of his grip.
“Who are you?” Zinnia demanded. Ryan Parker stood next to her, arms crossed.
“Wally,” he stated nervously. “Ferguson. I’m Miracle’s foster father.” Wally turned to me, his gaze slightly less cold. “Miracle, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I’m fine,” I squeaked. Except that my father paid my mother to get rid of me, and now he’s dying. Oh yeah, and I spent the better part of a day trapped inside a tunnel.
But I’d survived. My courage welled up, and I looked Wally straight in the eye. “How’s Betty?” I asked.
He faltered. I knew he would. He mumbled something about her having a headache, leaving out the part where he’d pushed her down the stairs. That’s how I’d gotten the marks on my neck. Wally and I had been fighting, and my foster mother had gotten in the way.
“I think you should leave,” Zinnia stated.
“I have every right to be here. I’m her guardian.” Wally’s words came out stilted and weak.
“She’s been through a lot.” Ryan took a step towards him, and Wally took a step back, eyeing the people in the room.
“I’ll be back to check on you, later,” Wally stammered before slinking out of the room.
I closed my eyes, willing tears not to fall. When I opened them again, I took another look around the room. Zinnia Gonzalez, the level-headed Nurse who kept us alive in the tunnels. Ryan Parker, the Climber, more penitent now than I’d seen him before.
Finally I looked at Jane Truman, the Old Woman with kindness carved in every groove on her face. She opened her arms to embrace me, and I didn’t hesitate. I let her hold me while I cried.
I cried for Dreadlock, or Domingo Reyes, who never got his second chance. I cried for the Congressman, Chase Avery, who was fighting for his life somewhere in the hospital. And I cried for myself. For the briefest moment, I’d thought I had a family, and I realized I didn’t want to be alone in the world anymore.
I had to find Chase.
***
I walked into the ICU with a mask and a blue smock. Chase was still in a coma. He’d lost a lot of blood and needed more. His face was pale, his breathing labored. I walked up slowly and placed my hand in his.
“You’re his daughter?” a nurse asked softly. I started to nod, then hesitated. Was I his daughter? I thought so. Our stories matched so well it couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Do you want to donate blood?”
I nodded, more confident. Anything to save his life. It only took a few minutes. The nurse guided me to a small room, they strapped a tourniquet around my arm, I felt a slight pinch, and a few minutes later it was done.
“How do I know he’ll get my blood?” I asked. “Is it enough?”
“We’ll have to test it first,” the nurse replied.
I nodded and the nurse told me to wait for the doctor. Fifteen minutes passed before I saw him. I had already returned to Chase’s room and was sitting by his bed. I couldn’t stop staring at him. My father was in front of me. I had a father.
“Miracle Foster?” a voice called my name. I turned and watched the doctor enter the room. “Could you come with me for a moment?”
“Why, what’s wrong?” I asked, eyes wide. I followed him outside the hall.
“There seems to be some mistake.” The doctor shook his head. “He’s your father, you say?”
I nodded yes. “I think so.”
The doctor crinkled his brow. “Were you perhaps adopted?” I shook my head no, and the doctor sighed. “Here’s the thing. Your blood types don’t match.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, his blood is AB negative, and yours is O negative. He couldn’t possibly be your father. I’m sorry.” I stared at him, stunned, and the doctor cleared his throat. “The good news is you’re a universal donor, so he can still use your blood.” A few moments of awkward silence passed.
“Yes, please help him,” I whispered.
***
Miracle cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes. “Standing in the hospital that day, learning that Chase wasn’t my father was a shock. But it was also a turning point for me. If he wasn’t my father, then who was? There was only one way to find out. I needed to find my mother. That’s when I made up my mind to ask for help. I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I didn’t have any resources, but I did have some friends. At least, the closest thing to it.
“Zinnia offered to help me right away. She risked her job to help me, going through records, exhausting connections, calling in favors. She found a copy of my birth certificate. The original had burned in a fire, along with hundreds of other records from the clinic, some years prior. From there the process was relatively simple. My mother had gone by her maiden name at the time of her affair, but after a little digging we found her.”
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