Unthinkable (5 page)

“Like Rip Van Winkle,” said Leo, Lucy’s foster father.
“Only you didn’t get older.”
Fenella didn’t know who Rip Van Winkle was. She smiled
tentatively anyway. She took a seat at their kitchen table,
well away from where the child sat in her high chair. She
did not look at the child, or at the child’s dimpled hands, or
at the child’s softly curling dark hair, or at the child’s gently
rounded arms, or at the tiny bubble of clear spit at the corner of the child’s pink lips. She closed her ears to the happy
babbling that came from the child’s mouth.
The kitchen was full of unfamiliar things and she was
able to pay attention to them. One was a fascinating box
that heated food. The box whined and gave out a demanding beep as it finished.
Lucy’s foster mother, Soledad, put something called tea
in a mug and placed it before Fenella. Her husband, Leo,
gave Fenella a bowl of strawberries and blueberries.
The berries looked delicious, but Fenella couldn’t control a
shocked face after she bit into one. Leo said, “Are those strawberries terrible? Yeah, look at that. Completely white inside.
What else can I get you? Toast? We have granola somewhere.”
Fenella didn’t know what granola was. She managed
another smile as she shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
The liquid in her mug was hot, which Fenella appreciated. Under Soledad’s supervision, Fenella put in five lumps
of sugar. “It helps with shock,” the woman said, putting several lumps in her own.
Under cover of drinking the tea, Fenella stole another
glance at Lucy’s daughter. The child was much occupied
with catching little circular food items with a fingertip and
putting them in her mouth. She raised her head to peer
shyly over at Fenella. Fenella looked away then, quickly.
Not quickly enough. Lucy’s husband, Zach, asked,
“Fenella, would you like to hold Dawn after she finishes her
Cheerios? If she’s in the mood to be held, that is. These days,
she’s into everything.”
Fenella shook her head. She muttered a question about
Dawn’s age, even though she already knew. Eighteen
months, nearly nineteen. She lowered her gaze to her mug
and sipped frantically at the liquid in it.
Others kept talking. Was Fenella tired, scared, or confused? She should not worry, they said. They were her
family, they said. They would take care of her, they said.
Oh, and her cat too.
“Thank you,” she managed.
The talk around her began to seem like a roar of unindividuated sound.
She got their names sorted out, though. Soledad and Leo
Markowitz were the married couple who had raised Lucy
as their own. The dog, Pierre, wore an eye patch, and had a
black, curly coat that was growing back from a short summer cut. Of course there was Lucy herself and her young
husband, Zach Greenfield.
The child was called Dawn. She had been named to celebrate a new day.
Soledad Markowitz was saying something about arrangements; that there was a second bed in Miranda’s
room. Belatedly, Fenella was appalled; how could she have
forgotten about Miranda, even for a short time?
“Where is Miranda?”
“She’s on a meditation retreat. It’s a kind of vacation. We
don’t have a lot of quiet here for her.”
Fenella nodded uncertainly. She remembered that Lucy had
said she was worried about Miranda. “What is a vacation?”
“A break from routine,” Lucy said. “You go away from
home, for pleasure, or to have time to rest or think. Miranda
will be back tomorrow. We could call her to tell her you’re
here, but they don’t allow communication except for emergencies. Mom? Is this an emergency?”
“No. It’s a lovely surprise.”
Soledad was a tall, splendidly curvy woman in her late
forties. She had a short cloud of black hair with gray beginning to lace through it. Her brown face was marked with
laugh lines. She reached out and patted Fenella’s hand.
Fenella looked at the hand patting hers. It was square and
strongly shaped, though feminine. What is safety, she wondered. Was it a mother holding you, in hands like these?
Uncontrollably, she looked across the kitchen to where
Lucy had taken up the child in her arms. She was rubbing
her cheek gently on the child’s head, and at the same time,
was saying something to Zach. The child was peeping right
at Fenella, her hazel eyes wide and mischievous—
Fenella snatched her hand away from Soledad. She leaped
to her feet. “Please,” she said frantically. “Can I bring my cat
in from the porch?”
There was silence in the kitchen, but only for a moment.
“Sure,” said Leo Markowitz easily. “No problem. It’s good
that Lucy was careful, but Pierre has met cats before. He
likes cats better than nasty, eye-scratching thorn bushes.
Right, Pierre?” Pierre raised his head briefly from where he
was lying on the floor outside the kitchen. Then he lowered
it back down onto his paws.
“Good old boy,” said Leo. “It’ll be fine.”
It was not fine, though.
Pierre growled and then barked as the cat carrier came
in. He would not stop. He would not be soothed. In his
turn, Ryland stood up in the carrier, hair on end, eyes
manic, keening inside Fenella’s head in a language she did
not know.
In a quick discussion that Fenella could barely follow,
the family decided what to do. The cat would be placed in
the bedroom that Fenella would share with Miranda. “Just
until we figure out how to get them acquainted,” Zach said
over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs with the cat
carrier.
Fenella went after him. “Could I stay in the bedroom
with the cat for a while? I could nap. I know it’s only morning, but I would like to rest.” She felt as if she might collapse.
“Of course,” said Zach.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” said Lucy, beside
Fenella.
Zach murmured quick agreement.
A few more negotiations were necessary: a small room
used for personal bodily matters was pointed out; a box
of dirt was put together for the cat; Lucy pressed clothing
called pajamas upon Fenella. But finally the bedroom door
closed and Fenella was alone with Ryland.
She stood still, listening to the footsteps of the family as
they retreated back downstairs. Ignoring the pajamas, she
sank down onto the bed that had been allocated to her.
She breathed.
The cat’s voice in Fenella’s head was not entirely calm, but at
least he was speaking English again. That dog can’t get in here?
Fenella found the strength to whisper wearily, “The door
is closed.”
Maybe there’s a lock?
Fenella dragged herself up. Following the cat’s instructions, she found a metal button on the doorknob. When
she pressed it, something in the door snicked audibly into
place.
Even in her exhausted state, Fenella was vaguely intrigued by this lock, which was nothing like the sort of lock
she knew. She snapped it open and closed it again. Peering, she could see that part of the lock had slipped into the
containing wall. Later on, she thought, she might figure out
exactly how it worked. She had understood completely how
the watermill worked; this interested her in the same way.
Only not now.
Back to the bed.
Aren’t you going to let me out of this cage?
With one hand, Fenella reached out from her prone position. Ryland stepped out of the carrier one cautious paw at
a time. Fenella closed her eyes as he began sniffing suspiciously at the floor.
That dog’s been in here.
“He’s not here now.” Fenella kept her voice low.
We have to get rid of him. I won’t be able to help you if he’s
around.
She didn’t move. “Can’t you make him love you? By being
ever so sweet?”
No! A frantic note returned to the cat’s voice. He smells
Faerie on me. I’m not safe with him around.
“I don’t care.”
Fenella! You need my help!
Why wouldn’t he let her sleep? “Couldn’t you enchant
him, so he thinks he’s friends with you?”
These are not the old days. I can’t just wave my paw. Anyway, my abilities are limited here. My sister told you. All I
can do is give you good advice, and get us back and forth into
Faerie. And, he added bitterly, obey you.
The cat leaped. He landed next to her on the bed with a
thump. Fenella could feel his stare. She opened one eye and
found he was nose to nose with her.
You’re really going to nap?
“Apparently not,” she snapped.
Good, he said tensely. Because we need to get started. First,
you get rid of the dog. Once he’s out of the way and I have free
rein over the house, I can observe everyone here. I’ll figure
out what makes each of them feel safe. Then we can discuss
destroying that safety—
“Stop,” said Fenella.
The cat’s eyes narrowed.
“Listen to me,” said Fenella softly. “You’re not in charge
here. I am. I’ll decide what we’re doing and when. Now, let
me nap. That’s a direct order.”

When she awoke, the shadows of afternoon had moved
across the carpet on the bedroom floor. She could smell
something cooking downstairs, and she could feel the cat
stretched out alongside her legs. He had one silky paw extended across her ankles. She pulled her feet away.

She rose and stretched. The cat opened his eyes. Before
he could say a word, she grabbed him and stuffed him into
the carrier. “For your own protection,” she told him.

I hate that dog.
He wrapped his tail around himself.
“I know.”
She put the carrier on a high dresser. Then, with a deep

breath for courage, she unlocked and opened the door.
She tilted her chin. She went down the stairs and into the
kitchen.

“Hello.” The word seemed to stick in her throat.
“Hello,” said Soledad.
“Hello,” said Lucy.
They were the only ones there. The direction of Soledad’s

gaze made Fenella raise a hand to her hair self-consciously.
It had not occurred to her to groom. But both Soledad and
Lucy were smiling.

“Yes.” Fenella looked around cautiously. “Where’s the
dog?”
“Outside,” said Soledad. “Pierre can live between the backyard and the basement, so your cat can be here in the house.”
“That’s very kind.” Fenella thought of what Ryland had
said about wanting to observe everyone. It would do no
harm to let the cat do that. “Can I go get him, then?”
Lucy looked startled. “Sure. All right. Of course you don’t
want him cooped up.”
When Fenella returned to the kitchen, Ryland in her
arms, it was clear that the two women had been talking
in low voices, and equally clear that they had been talking about Fenella. It was only natural, Fenella knew. It felt
odd anyway. She couldn’t help wondering what they truly
thought of her having shown up like this. It could not possibly be convenient. Were they really entirely unsuspicious?
It seemed so.
Soledad said, “Dinner won’t be ready for an hour yet,
and the guys won’t be back until then anyway. Can we give
you a tour of the house? We’ll have to be quiet—Dawn is
sleeping.”
“I’d like a tour,” said Fenella. She was relieved to learn the
child was out of the way.
Soledad smiled once more. So did Lucy.
This felt so awkward.
Their first stop was a half-bathroom located off the
kitchen. Fenella had been shown the upstairs bath earlier,
but now that she was not so tired, she found she had questions. It was good to have something impersonal to talk
about.
“What happens to the waste water from the toilet?”
“Underground pipes collect everything from our house
and the other houses into sewers under the streets,” Lucy
said.
“Then what happens to it?”
Lucy looked at Soledad. Soledad looked at Lucy. Soledad
said, “It flows to a treatment plant.”
“What’s a treatment plant?”
“A place that cleans dirty water.”
“Really? That’s possible?” Fenella was intrigued.
“Uh. I believe so.”
“How?”
“Well. I’m not certain. I’ll look it up online.”
“Online?”
Soledad looked at Lucy. Lucy looked at Soledad. Lucy
said, “It’s a way to find out information. I’ll explain it to you
later. Watch.” She demonstrated the cold and hot water taps.
“This water too goes down the drain and into those sewers?” Fenella said.
“Yes. It’s called a plumbing system.” Lucy had Fenella put
the cat down and practice mixing the water to a good temperature. “The shower works the same way. You’ll want to
test the water temperature before you get under the spray
to wash.”
“It’s so interesting,” said Fenella thoughtfully. “You know,
in Faerie, you don’t need to worry about personal grooming, or cleaning, or really, anything to do with taking care
of your body.”
“No toilets, even?” said Lucy incredulously.
Fenella shook her head. “Not needed.”
“Miranda told me that too,” Soledad said. “But I can’t
wrap my mind around how it would work. Your digestive
system doesn’t process what you eat? What about other
organs? Does your heart still pump blood?”
“Oh, yes. Everything works the same, physically. It just
doesn’t have the same consequences.” Fenella paused. “I
never questioned how it worked before. But now I’d really
like to think about it.”
“There must be some scientific principle that explains it,”
Soledad said. “Even if it’s a principle we haven’t discovered
yet. That would make sense.”
“Not everything makes sense, Mom,” said Lucy.
“I don’t accept that. I will only accept that I don’t understand how it makes sense.”
“Oh, Mom.”
Fenella picked up Ryland again. They moved into a large
room beyond the kitchen that was called the family room.
This was furnished with many large chairs, one of which
was called a sofa and was wide enough to seat three or four
people. On the floor was a worn carpet with faded blue and
pink roses on a yellow background. There was a large knitting basket next to a rocking chair. A half-finished child’s
pink garment lay partway inside the basket, on needles,
amid balls of yarn.
Lucy gestured toward a few rectangular objects. One
was called a television. Another was a computer. Lucy explained and briefly demonstrated these devices. Fenella
felt a slight impulse to open up the boxes and see what
was inside, but the boxes were not quite as interesting to
her as plumbing. Or even the lock on her bedroom door.
The cat struggled in her arms. Absently, she released him
to the floor. She turned to Soledad and said impulsively,
“I’m remembering that Minnie had the same questions as
you, about how the body worked in Faerie. It drove her
crazy that it was just magic. She wanted reasons and logic.
She was a nurse.” Fenella pronounced the word proudly.
“Why, so am I,” said Soledad. “I work mostly with pregnant women.”
Fenella regarded her with interest. “Miranda told me that
about you, but I forgot.”
Lucy seated herself on the arm of the sofa. “Which one
was Minnie?”
“Minnie Scarborough was your—” Fenella paused to
count. “Minnie, then Jennie, then Mary, then Ruth, then
Joanne, then Deirdre your grandmother, and then Miranda
your mother.”
“My great-great-great-great-great-grandmother,” Lucy
counted on her fingers. “Seven generations ago. Wow. She
was a nurse?”
“Yes. She took her training at the New England Hospital for Women and Children, in Boston.” Fenella had long
since memorized the name. “She told me all about it.”
“How amazing,” Soledad said. “What year was that?”
Fenella knew this too. “She entered the program in 1879.
She was seventeen, so she only had a single year before,
well, you know. That was one of the things she resented
most about the curse, that she didn’t get to finish her training. That was Minnie. She loved learning. She had wanted
to become a doctor.”
Lucy looked surprised. “Could women do that then?”
“Yes, and a determined few did,” said Soledad. “It was a
breakthrough time for women in medicine.”
“It was so frustrating for Minnie in Faerie,” Fenella said.
“I couldn’t understand her at first, but she said it was like
being intellectually starved. She even asked Padraig for
books. She couldn’t help herself.”
“I’m sure he didn’t get her any books,” said Lucy tightly.
“But he did,” said Fenella. “Everything from poetry to
scientific treatises to philosophy and literature. Something
new every single week, for eighteen years.”
“Really? I’m surprised he—”
“Just for the pleasure of keeping them where Minnie
could see them. Where she could read their titles, but nothing more. Often, he would read a page or two aloud to her.
He always knew what she’d find particularly involving or
fascinating or moving. Then he’d stop at the best part, rip
out that page, and burn it.”
Lucy and Soledad stared at Fenella in horror.
“Oh, Minnie got revenge,” Fenella said. “She taught me
to read. She scratched letters in the dirt with a stick, and
I learned. She insisted, and I wanted to do something that
would give her happiness. It was all I could do. Then, after
Minnie was dead, Padraig threw out the books. He didn’t
have any idea they mattered to me. I hid them. They were
like—like a gift from Minnie. They kept her with me every
day.”
She had read the books aloud, one by one, finger tracing the words, while she sat in the bough of one of the oldest and wisest tree fey. The tree fey had helped her keep
the books hidden, and she had shared her gift with them.
She and the tree fey had learned about the human world
through books, together.
“Minnie sounds like an amazing person,” said Lucy, after
a long silence.
“Yes,” said Fenella simply. “Minnie was the most alive
person I’ve ever met. Even after Padraig got hold of her.
Most girls of eighteen—and I’ve met my share, you have to
admit—they tend to be passive. But even though she was so
young, Minnie always had plans, even in Faerie, even when
there was no apparent purpose in planning. That was who
she was. She planned for me to have those books when she
was gone. She gave me the education she wanted for herself,
as best she could.”
Lucy and Soledad were watching her with soft eyes.
“She was the first daughter I really loved,” said Fenella.
“Since, well. Since . . .” She shrugged. Bronagh, she thought.
She was abruptly aware that, from the floor, Ryland was
staring at her too.
Nobody said anything.
Fenella wanted to stop talking, and she knew she should,
but her mouth kept moving. “Forgive me for going on and
on. I’ve never talked about Minnie to anyone.”
“Not even to Minnie’s daughter?” Lucy’s voice was high
and thin. “What was Minnie’s daughter’s name again?”
“Jennie,” said Fenella.
“You didn’t talk to Jennie about her mother? Didn’t tell
her how amazing she was?”
“No. Not really.”
There was silence.
“There was no point,” Fenella said in a rush. “It’s hard
to explain, but Jennie didn’t know her mother. She was too
worried about her own daughter to think of her. That was
the way it usually was, for all of us. Surviving Padraig, and
trying to help your own daughter. Hope was always centered on the future. But Minnie was different. She had room
for other things too. For other people. She had room for—
for me. I don’t know why, but she did.”
Soledad reached out and put her arm around Lucy’s
waist. Lucy leaned into her mother.
Lucy said passionately, “I wish I had known Minnie too.
I wish she were here. I wish she had the second chance you
have. And Jennie, and—and all of them. We’d make room
for all of them here, if we could.”
Soledad gave a choked laugh. “Think of all the air mattresses we’d need. I think we could manage, though.”
“We would manage.”
Fenella said harshly, “There’s no need for fantasy. Minnie’s dead. Bronagh’s dead. Everyone is dead.”
“Not me,” said Lucy quietly. “Not Miranda. Not Dawn.
Not you.” She paused. “Who’s Bronagh?”
“Just another one,” said Fenella. “It doesn’t matter.”
Soledad said, “What matters is that you’re alive. And as
soon as Zach and Leo get back, we’ll have dinner and—”
Her face changed. “Bad cat! Get away from there!”
Ryland was inside the knitting basket, clutching a ball of
pink yarn. In four steps, Fenella crossed the room. “Let go,
Ryland!”
It’s soft! said the cat insanely. It rolls! It unwinds!
“You’re a guest in this house!”
She had to wrestle him for the ball of yarn. Fenella put
the yarn back into the basket and picked up the cat. What
was wrong with him? He needed to act like an ordinary cat,
not a bizarre one.
Pretty, pretty yarn, Ryland said longingly.
Fenella looked across the room at Lucy and Soledad.
Their faces told her that they were still moved by what she
had said about Minnie. But she knew it had been a mistake.
She mustn’t get too close to them. There was no point.
Also, they were wrong. She was not alive.
“Is there a cover for your knitting basket?” she asked
Soledad.