My divorce was now final and I needed to find a new home for me and my six-year-old son, Dash. I gripped the steering wheel and squinted out the windshield, trying to read the house numbers on the narrow street. Why am I even going to look at this apartment? I wondered. I already know it’s not right for us.
A few days earlier I’d seen the ad. I was willing to try anything, so I contacted the owner, a woman named Camille. When she e-mailed me back I discovered she wasn’t renting a house at all. She was renting the attic apartment. I left her a message cancelling our meeting. “Dash and I need a house,” I said.
I thought that would be the end of it. Instead Camille called me back and insisted I come over. “I like the sound of your voice,” she said. I liked the sound of hers too. Maybe it was her French accent, but she completely charmed me. “Why don’t you just come by?”
“An attic apartment is really not what I had in mind,” I said. But Camille wouldn’t take no for an answer. So here I was, rounding the curve on her street.
There it is. I pulled the car to a stop and looked up at the tiny cottage. Definitely not for me, I thought. The house was small as it was. I couldn’t imagine Dash and I living in only part of it.
The attic window looked too tiny to let much light in. We couldn’t live in a dark, depressing place. Especially now. I had to do better, for my son’s sake.
When I started looking for a house I thought about all the things I needed. Then I related my list to God in a prayer each night.
Looking up at the tiny house, I said my prayer again: “Dear God, I need a house, not an apartment. A perfect room for my little boy. A nice yard. Kids his age close by. In a good school district. Space for me—a place to work. Clean and peaceful. With nice trees.”
I pushed open the car door and got out. I had to tell Camille it was a mistake for me to come. No sense wasting her time or mine. I knocked.
The woman who opened the door was small and bright-eyed. She was much older than I’d guessed from listening to her on the phone, but I could see she had the energy of someone half her age.
Might as well get this over with. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t need to see the apartment.”
Camille smiled.
“It’s not right for us.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You mentioned your concerns for your little boy.”
Her French accent was even more charming in person. She looked so friendly and sympathetic I found myself wanting to keep talking to her. “We have to leave our home,” I explained. “My marriage ended. I only have a few days to find something else, but I want it to be right.”
My eyes filled with tears. Before I could stop myself, I was crying outright. What must this woman think of me?
I covered my face with my hands and felt myself drawn into a loving hug. “You need to sit down, dear,” said Camille. “You need a cup of tea.”
She led me into a room filled with collectibles. Angel figurines lined the shelves and the mantel. The scent of cinnamon filled the air. The living room didn’t feel small. It felt cozy.
Camille served tea from a lovely tea set. I held the dainty china cup in my hands and let the warmth seep through my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been invited into someone’s house for tea. I sipped from my cup. Delicious.
“Looking for a house is hard,” Camille said. “Especially when you have a little one to consider. Have faith. You’ll find the perfect home.”
“It seems impossible,” I admitted. Maybe I was asking God for too much. I explained to Camille that I was in graduate school. That was the reason I’d come to Pittsburgh. I was working hard on my dissertation, and spending every free moment with my son.
I hadn’t had time to make many friends. My family was on the West Coast, far away. I felt so alone. “It’s not me that really matters,” I said. “I could make do with almost anything. But Dash needs a good home, a place he really feels safe.”
Camille nodded. “You’re a good mother. You never know the miracles that await around the corner.”
Somehow when Camille said it I had no trouble believing that a miracle did await. My worries seemed to float away like the steam from her teapot. “Thank you,” I said. “This talk has done me wonders.”
Camille walked me to the door and wished me well. I got back in the car feeling rejuvenated. I drove off slowly, hoping to make the feeling last. The verse about entertaining angels unawares crossed my mind. Perhaps, instead, I’d just been entertained by one!
I turned down a side street I didn’t recognize. It was sunny and peaceful, with trees lining the sidewalk. This would be a nice place to live, I thought. I glanced out the side window. Just up ahead was a cottage with a sign out in front: for rent.
I pulled over. It’s probably out of my price range. But I got out to check just in case. What was it Camille had said? You never know what miracles await around the corner?
I found the owners inside putting in new floor tile. They’d just bought the house themselves and restored it, fitting it with brand-new appliances and fresh paint, hoping to find the perfect renters.
They took me on a tour that was like a recitation of my prayer list: big bedroom for Dash, backyard with trees, a deck. A great school was so close Dash could easily walk there with a boy his age who lived two doors down.
The rent was lower than I would have imagined— but by that time I had stopped questioning my miracles. The house was meant for us. And I never would have found it if I hadn’t gone to see Camille first.
Dash and I rented the house for two years. I couldn’t imagine us living anyplace more perfect. But today we live in a new house, one with room for my new husband and Dash’s little brother, Phineas. Camille was right. Miracles await us, just around the corner.
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