Michael, unfortunately, came in a package with Alex. He had actually lived with Alex before Miranda did. She remembered Alex introducing them as she walked in to her new home. He was two or three years older; tall and skinny. She never forgot the way he looked at her with his very dark brown eyes. It had scared her even at the time. It wasn’t a jealous look. It was as if he recognized her, but she'd never seen him before. "So you’re Miranda?" was all he said.
Michael's parents had died too. His father Stephen had been Alex's best friend. There was a picture of Stephen on Alex's desk in his study, where Alex spent most of his time when he was at home. Stephen, Miranda thought, didn't look very much like his son. He had red hair and he was smiling like he was happy. Michael never smiled that way. Miranda thought that Michael must look like his mother, Annabelle, but Alex had very few pictures of her.
Five years later, Alex thought it might be best for everyone if Michael went to boarding school. Miranda, then ten years old, had been so excited that she would have Alex all to herself. Unfortunately he was home even less frequently and the very next year he decided to send her away to school as well. She told herself that the reason was primarily for the education, while Michael had been sent for everyone’s safety.
Things broke when Michael was around. Some things were trinkets while others were quite valuable. The games Michael liked to play usually ended in tears for Miranda, whether his big cousin Richard was there to watch or not. He liked to call her names, usually the little, childish names kids call each other, although he used a word once that marked the only time Miranda ever saw Alex angry or raise his voice. Apparently it was the only time Michael had seen it too, and he made sure never to see it again.
Richard wasn’t like Michael. He was taller and quieter, and all of the adults knew he could be trusted to watch Michael and Miranda. He was kind to Miranda and she liked it when he told her about things he had read or places he had visited. She liked it when he was around in general, and not just because Michael listened to Richard and was always a little nicer when Richard was there.
Richard was like a smaller version of his father Jim, Miranda thought. They were both tall, thin and wore glasses. They were also both serious people. Jim didn’t say much, but whenever he did he was always kind and patient. Even Michael, who didn’t seem to like most adults, liked being around his Uncle Jim. Miranda concluded that the Hendrickson’s must be very nice people, and that the same wasn’t true of the Abbots.
Miranda didn’t have a chance to like or dislike Richard’s mother Lucy Bartolome. She was almost never with him. And when she was around, she never seemed to spend much time near Richard, her own son. Some adults were like that, Miranda knew. But she also didn’t spend much time near Jim.
Later that year, Jim Hendrickson passed away. Miranda and Michael sat on either side of Richard at the funeral. It was the only time she saw Richard cry for many years to come. It made Miranda want to cry that he never mentioned his father again after that day. It even made her feel bad for Michael, because Uncle Jim had been kind to him too.
What brought happiness back to her was when Richard’s other cousin, Jessie, was born. Jessie, Miranda decided from there on, was going to be her sister. She insisted on holding the baby at the christening and, with Richard hovering behind her, walking her around like a big doll.
Miranda insisted on frequent play dates with Jessie, most of which were supervised by Jessie’s pretty, young mother, Josie. Miranda thought she was the prettiest, nicest woman she’d ever met. When they would sit and drink tea—real or pretend—with Jessie, Miranda really did feel like she was the big sister in this perfect little family. Even Michael was well behaved around Josie, and Miranda was sure it was because he thought she was pretty, too.
As much as she loved Richard, Josie and Jessie, she did not like Josie’s husband and Richard’s uncle, Tom. Richard and Michael were always a little quieter around him, and she saw Michael make a mean face one time after Tom left the room. It was one of the few times she didn't think Michael was being bad.
But Tom couldn't have been all bad, Miranda thought, because Josie was so nice. She wouldn't be married to anyone bad. And Jessie was so sweet—how could she have a bad father? And yet...Josie was quiet around Tom, too, and she always asked Richard or even Michael to take Jessie if Tom walked into the room.
Miranda did not like Tom, but Alex did. Alex was everything to her, and if he liked Tom...well, maybe he knew something about Tom everyone else didn't. Of course, Alex must have been smarter than Michael, and Josie was so much younger than the other adults. That must be it. But...then why did Richard dislike him so much?
Miranda made up her own mind about Tom when she was nine. She had been playing outside with Michael and Richard. Michael had pushed her so hard that she had fallen and cut her knee. By that point in their lives, he didn't even pretend that it was an accident, although he mumbled "Sorry" for Richard's benefit. Alex wasn't home just yet, of course. Miranda always seemed to have the most accidents when Alex wasn't home. She had scowled at Michael and stumbled into the house. She had heard Richard yell at Michael, but she didn't care. She just wanted to clean up and get a bandage on her cut.
She was in the bathroom and had just grabbed some cotton balls when she felt a shadow pass over her. She looked up and saw Tom looking at her.
"What happened?" he said, not moving from the doorway.
"I fell," Miranda said simply. She suddenly had no desire to get Michael in trouble.
He stood there as she wiped her knee with alcohol, and didn't move to help her get the bandages. Miranda tried to move slowly, afraid of having to speak to him when she was done.
She took a deep breath and turned off the water. "Josie isn't here," she said, making herself look at him.
Tom almost smiled. "I know. I'm here to see Alex."
"I think he'll be home soon." Now she just wanted to leave, but he was blocking her way.
"I know." Now he wasn't smiling. Miranda felt the tiny hairs on her cheek stand up. She wanted to run—she could probably push past him—but she wasn't going to move first.
"Tom." Miranda let out a sigh as Tom turned around to see Richard. He was now almost full grown, but his uncle was still taller. Richard looked at Miranda. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," Miranda said, working hard to use her normal volume. "I just needed a bandage."
"Okay, good." Miranda could tell that he was thinking. "I couldn't find you, and then I asked Keith, and we've both been looking for you for the last five minutes."
"What a conscientious young man you are." Tom curled his lip. "But we've got it all taken care of, don't we, sweetie?"
Miranda felt a little sick. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
"Good," Richard said, and held out his hand to Miranda. She clasped it quickly and said, "Excuse me," as she went past Tom. Richard half-dragged her down the stairs in silence.
"I’m going to tell Alex," she said quietly once they were outside again.
Richard shook his head. "Don’t."
"Why?" Miranda asked angrily.
"Because you might make things worse."
She was shocked. "What things?"
"Grown up things," he said quietly. Miranda didn’t understand, but she trusted Richard and didn’t say anything.
Soon enough though, it didn’t matter. Tom Bartolome had passed away too. Oddly, Miranda noticed that Josie was much more nervous than she had been before Tom’s death. She still brought Jessie over to play, but now Richard had to be there as well, and while Josie would still sit for tea with the dolls, she never played the same way again.
The next year Josie was gone too. Alex had told her that Jessie’s mother had passed away, but he never answered any questions about how or why. Richard had also refused to answer any questions. Miranda could usually get anything she wanted if she persisted, but she thought she shouldn’t.
"Will you help me take care of Jessie?" Richard asked.
"Of course. She’
s my sister."
Richard patted her on the head. "You’re a good girl. I hope Jessie’s a good girl like you too."
"Jessie’s always good. And isn’t your mother gonna help take care of her?"
Richard, already so tall, looked down on Miranda. His eyes were red. "It’s just that...my mother isn’t very good at taking care of things sometimes."
"So who takes care of you?"
"Josie used to, and sometimes even Alex."
Miranda felt so bad for Richard all of a sudden. She threw her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. "But Alex is still here! You can come and stay with us."
"Thanks, but my mom would never let me do that."
Miranda was starting to panic. "So who’s going to take care of you? And what about Jessie?"
"I can take care of myself now, okay? I’m a big boy now. Sometimes when Michael comes over I even take care of him too, and we don’t get into too much trouble. Usually." Miranda laughed through her tears. "But sometimes...I may need a little help with Jessie. She really misses her mom. Do you think you can help me?"
"Okay," Miranda nodded solemnly. "But it would be much easier if you came to live here."
"Sometimes we just have to make do with what we have. Think we can?"
"I think so."
So Miranda was with Jessie and Richard almost every day, sometimes at her house, sometimes at theirs. Very rarely did she see Lucy, but there was a cook to make sure the two ate and a housekeeper to make sure that the house was tidy.
Jessie was the cutest thing Miranda had ever seen. She was pretty like her mother, but with Richard’s smart eyes. She was funny too.
"Knock-knock," she said one day to Richard and Miranda. They both looked at each other and laughed to themselves.
"Who’s there?" Richard said.
"Kanga."
"Kanga-who?" Miranda asked.
"No, but I have a pocket!" And then she laughed. Miranda and Richard laughed too, half at the joke, which was pretty sophisticated for such a little girl, and half at Jessie.
"That’s the stupidest joke I’ve ever heard." Richard and Miranda hadn’t heard Michael come in, but apparently he’d been standing there long enough for the punch line. "It’s only funny if you have a lisp. Jessie, do you have a lisp?"
Jessie bit her lip, shaking her head. Despite her best efforts, a little tear rolled down her cheek.
Miranda stood up. It was one thing to bully her; it was entirely different to bully a little girl. "Shut up, Michael," she said quietly. "You wouldn’t know how to tell a joke at all, because you’re not funny. You never laugh and you never make anyone else laugh. You just know how to make people miserable, and no one has ever done anything to you."
Richard was shushing Jessie. Miranda was glad, but she wondered why he never did anything to shut Michael up when things like this happened. Michael stepped toward Miranda. She’d thought, when they were younger, how cute Michael was, with his dark, wavy hair and his deep brown eyes. But as he’d gotten bigger and his voice got deeper, he’d gotten meaner. She didn’t think there was anything cute about him anymore. "But I think you’re pretty funny. Does that count?" Michael said.
Miranda put her hands on her hips. "I don’t care if it counts or not, because I don’t care what you think. You’re nothing but a bully, Michael Abbot."
He wasn’t as tall as Richard, but he still towered over Miranda. She wasn’t afraid. "And you," he said, "are just a piece of charity trash Alex picked up off of the side of the road one day. That’s okay, because someday he’ll put you back where you came from."
"No, Alex likes me. No one likes you."
"I bet he does," Michael hissed.
"Michael, sit down!" Richard yelled, and they all jumped. Richard never yelled. Before Michael could move, he suddenly bent over in pain. "Ow!" he screamed.
Jessie had kicked him in the shins, and then she kicked him again. Michael cursed and tried to push her away, but when she saw his hand, she bit it. He screamed even more. Miranda pulled Jessie away, just before Alex came in.
"What’s going on in here?!"
"Michael was being mean!" Jessie cried, pointing in his direction. Michael, bent over, alternately howling and sucking his hand, looking ridiculous. Alex walked over and looked at his hand, then at Jessie, then at Richard.
"What happened?"
"Michael didn’t realize," Richard said slowly, "that Jessie might not appreciate his sense of humor yet."
Alex shook his head a little bit, and led Michael out of the room. "And stay out!" Jessie screamed when the door shut. Miranda and Richard both laughed. After that, Michael left Jessie alone.
CHAPTER 3
That same spring, Alex finally tracked down Miranda's relatives in Israel. It was a dream come true. She knew her grandmother had asked Alex to track them down, but she knew that he had very little information to build upon. Alex had gotten a hold of her parents’ marriage certificates, and to this day, it remained one of Miranda’s most treasured possessions. Husband: Asher Harel. Wife: Tatiana Hamilton. Daughter, she thought when she’d looked at it, Miranda Harel. He had also managed to find one single picture of them together, perhaps on their wedding day. He was young and skinny, with quite a lot of curly dark hair. He was holding her mother very closely, and she had her cheek pressed up against him, staring out like a beautiful, fragile fairy into the camera, protected by their love. Miranda had often stared at their photo; the one piece of tangible proof that she came from somewhere.
The Harels had been difficult to track down. Judah, her great-grandfather, had died just a few days after her father’s funeral. Tatiana had sent the Harels a letter announcing Miranda’s arrival, but it hadn’t gotten to them for years due to an error of the postal service. By the time they had gotten word of Miranda’s birth, Miranda had already left her first home. The family had spent fruitless years trying to find her.
The Harels were overjoyed, Alex told her, when he contacted them. So much so that they insisted that she come for a visit that summer. Miranda had cried at first, unwilling to leave Richard and Jessie, but once Alex had promised her that Michael would get a trip of his own so he wouldn’t torment them while she was gone, she reluctantly agreed.
Once she got to her grandparents home in Israel, it was as if she were coming home for the first time. Her grandfather Dov and her grandmother Sarah cried when they saw her, telling her how much she reminded them so much of their son. Miranda cried tears of joy too.
Her days in Israel were filled with trips to the beach with aunts, uncles and cousins and then huge family dinners almost every night. She had been nervous about not speaking Hebrew, but her cousins, most of them with the same dark curly hair she had, used her to practice their English, which she thought was already very good. It was amazing to be with these people who looked so much like her and who welcomed her immediately as a member of the family. She couldn’t believe such things could happen so easily.
She left Israel two weeks later with a heavy heart. She promised to return the next year, hoping to be able to speak Hebrew at that time. Her grandfather had already told Alex—not asked—that Miranda needed to begin Hebrew school immediately. Even Alex wasn’t able to negotiate his way out of her grandfather’s obligation.
Richard had welcomed Miranda when she returned, but Jessie was almost as sulky as Michael usually was. "Didn’t you miss me?" Miranda asked at last.
"No, and I don’t love you anymore."
"But I had to go," Miranda said gently. "My grandparents really wanted to see me. They miss my father, and they wanted to see me because...I’m all that’s left of him."
Jessie’s eyes filled with tears. "But you didn’t take me."
"I’m sorry sweetie." Miranda hugged her. "I couldn’t take you with me—you’re too little. But when you’re older you can come with me."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
Miranda started Hebrew school that same fall. She found, much to
her surprise, how much she liked the religion and asked Alex to take her to temple for the High Holidays. Alex had smiled when she asked and patted her head. "That would have made your parents very happy...both of them." Miranda hugged Alex, thinking about him with her parents. He must have known them both. Then she giggled a little bit. What would they have thought if they had known that this was the man their daughter was someday going to marry?
Miranda had been inconsolable when Alex told her the next year that she was going away for school. She refused to go until he promised to bring her home every other weekend to see Jessie and Richard. Sometimes she made it home on her off weekends and would surprise Alex, or sometimes she’d make it home and just visit her friends. It was lonely without them, but she took solace that they’d be there when she got back.
Her friends at home were her only constant friends, and she was even more grateful for them as other people and friends came into her life. She could make other friends easily, but she was never sure how long she’d be able to keep them. Michael took great pleasure in making his presence known to them, and Miranda could never predict when he would be around. How long would he last at his latest school? How long until he was banished by Lucy, again? It was always home to Miranda and Alex, no matter what havoc he might bring.
Sometimes it was teasing or hair pulling; sometimes it was a pretend shove down the stairs. Always, always, it ended with one more friendship gone awry.
Sophie Gorman had been the friend she’d held onto the longest. Sophie, not too tall, but with pretty, dark, reddish brown hair and big brown eyes, came to her bat mitzvah. She visited her on the weekends that Miranda was in town for almost two years. Miranda introduced her to Richard and Jessie. Sophie liked them both, but particularly approved of Richard. He seemed to feel the same way.
"So you don’t have a crush on Richard?" Sophie had asked one day, sprawled out on Miranda’s bed while they ate chocolate chip cookies.
The Family You Choose Page 3