Extraordinary (19 page)

“All right,” said Phoebe. She knew the painted bunting wasn't going to help. But still she would go.

She watched Benjamin get on his bike, wave at her, and then she listened to the sound of his pedaling until he turned the corner.

Eventually, Phoebe walked home and saw that the lights in the living room had gone out. Her parents and Mallory must have gone upstairs to bed. She forced herself to go back in. She climbed the stairs and steeled herself to peek inside the half-open door of her bedroom.

Mallory was in the second twin bed in Phoebe's room. She was lying on her side curled up and facing the wall, with the covers pulled up around her. She had left the small nightstand light on for Phoebe, and it was clear from her rigid posture that she was wide awake.

Waiting? Was that why Mallory hadn't taken the guest room?

Phoebe turned away and crossed the hall to the bathroom. She had been in there for ten minutes and was brushing her teeth when she heard a knock. “It's just me,” said Catherine. “May I come in?” Without waiting for an answer, she did. She came right up behind Phoebe at the sink and met her gaze in the mirror.

Phoebe continued brushing her teeth.

“Mallory didn't finish telling her story,” Catherine said after a minute. “She said she was tired, but I think it was because of you. She wanted you to hear the story.”

Phoebe indicated that she couldn't talk because of the toothbrush.

Her mother sighed. “Phoebe? There's something very wrong between you and Mallory. Right?”

There was no possibility of lying, not with Catherine looking directly into her eyes. Phoebe nodded reluctantly, but with the movement, relief unexpectedly began to course through her. Even if she could share just this one part of the tangled web she was in—

Catherine said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Phoebe's mouth was still full of toothpaste. Carefully, she spit and began to clean up. Yes, she did. She wanted to talk. Desperately. But—

“No,” Phoebe said. “It's just one of those things. I wish you could help, but Mallory and I will have to figure it out by ourselves. Or not.”

Catherine put one hand to her temples and rubbed them. “You're sure? I could even talk to Mallory for you, if that would help. If you would tell me what needs saying?”

“Thanks, Mom. But I have to handle it myself.” Phoebe felt as if her brain were entirely disengaged from that confident, sure voice coming from her throat. “I can't act like a baby with Mommy taking care of everything. And yes, I know I did act that way tonight, and I'm sorry. All the more reason for me to change, right?”

A moment of silence. “I don't know,” said Catherine. “That's the kind of thing that sounds good, to take care of it yourself. But you have to be wary of making rules like that. Sometimes you need other people. You shouldn't scorn their help.” Her eyes were sharp on Phoebe's face. “The thing is, too many girls lose good friends at your age.” Another pause, and then, as if casually: “Often, it's about a boy.”

Phoebe winced. But she said nothing.

Catherine sighed. She reached to hug Phoebe, and Phoebe was relieved to find that to this, at least, she could respond honestly. She hugged back, tight. She clung for another second even after her mother loosened her grip.

“Good night,” said Phoebe. “Sleep well.” She watched her mother leave the bathroom.

Once her mother left, she understood that really she had done the right thing. It was better that she hadn't said anything. There would have been no way to explain without telling too much, far too much, and maybe even sounding insane.

Also, she was drooping with weariness. She switched off the bathroom light and made her way to her own bed, across the room from Mallory, who now did seem—thankfully—to have fallen asleep. Her breath was even, like a metronome.

A minute later, Phoebe too had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

“But Ryland, you won.”

“Temporarily, yes. But now the girl has yet another friend for support. And she nearly talked to her mother about what she was experiencing. And then there is her father. There are too many people from whom she could potentially draw resolve, and since I can no longer rely upon my sister—in short, my queen, desperate measures are now necessary.”

“It seems your sister was right when she said this girl was not quite what we were looking for.”

“None of the Rothschild girls have been, my queen, these last two hundred years and more. Time runs short.”

“I know.”

“I will
make
this girl fit our needs. I can do it if she will cling to me alone. She must have no one else to turn to.”

“What is your plan?”

“I will take her mother from her, which will also effectively remove her father. With your permission, my queen. My queen? What is it? Please, take my arm.”

“I shall be better soon. It is only—sometimes I wonder how it is that I have wandered so far down this road, and taken our people to such a desperate place, and you and your sister to such evil doings.”

“Not evil, my queen. Necessary. My queen? May I do what must be done?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“It will require even more energy.”

“I know. Ryland?”

“Yes?”

“Be as merciful as you can.”

“No. To leave the girl with any hope is dangerous.”

“Indeed. You are right. What a terrible tangle. I sicken myself, Ryland. But we have no choice.”

“No. None.”

The early light filtered into Phoebe's bedroom and she awoke feeling hopeful. She slipped from bed, dressed hurriedly, and was out of the room within minutes, relieved that Mallory had not stirred, but also feeling a little more generous toward her.

Phoebe had to acknowledge that she had probably overreacted to Mallory's story last night. She had been too sensitive. Possibly, she thought, she'd been jealous of how effortlessly Mallory's storytelling had enchanted Catherine and Drew and Benjamin. Well, she would let it go now, and when she got back after birding, she'd apologize to everyone.

She grabbed some bananas from the kitchen, located her binoculars, and was ready with her bike when Benjamin arrived. Half a minute and they were on their way.

There was something miraculous about Nantucket on a beautiful morning. It promised to be a perfect island spring day, with the sun climbing up in a blue sky and the air just the right temperature for a light jacket. They had a mild wind at their backs as they pedaled east toward 'Sconset. Benjamin had bungee-corded his telescope and its tripod on the back of his bike and hung his binoculars around his neck so he could get to them fast, but Phoebe put her own binoculars in her front bike basket with the bananas and her other things. She found them too heavy to wear for long.

After about a mile of riding side by side, Phoebe asked Benjamin, “The bird's been hanging out by the pond, did you say? Or is he right in Hoicks Hollow?”

“By the pond. At least, I hope he's still there.”

“How far is it again?”

“About nine miles. We can rest partway if you need to.”

“No. I'd hate to miss him because of a rest.”

“We won't miss him. Hey, you have your inhaler and stuff, right?”

“Yes. But I feel fine. I won't need a rest.”

And she didn't. When they got to Sesachacha Pond, they left the bikes at a small parking lot and Phoebe let Benjamin go ahead as they tramped around the edge of the pond. Benjamin had his binoculars raised to scan the nearby grasses and trees. Ten minutes later, without needing to look at Phoebe, simply knowing exactly where she was, Benjamin spoke, using the soft voice he always used in the field.

“I've got him. Not too far from where he was yesterday. Polite of him, huh?”

Phoebe spoke just as quietly as she raised her binoculars. “Where?”

“See that tall marsh grass over to the left? The large tree branch just above? Follow it out to the fork. He's about an inch above the fork, just sitting on a branch, waiting to be admired.”

“I'm not seeing—oh, yes! Wow. Wow!”

The male painted bunting was just gorgeous. He cocked his little blue head, fluffed out his green wings, and displayed his red breast.

“He's posing for us,” she said to Benjamin.

“Full breeding plumage. He's looking to impress a female. Too bad.”

“Yeah. Poor thing.”

Involuntarily, Phoebe sighed. The bunting had wandered far from home and there was little likelihood of a mate for him here. He'd have to find his way back south, to his breeding grounds. Birds and their migrations were so mysterious, so miraculous, but sometimes it just didn't work out. A bad wind, the wrong direction—there were always birds that lost their way completely and never found home and the mate they sought. Still, Phoebe thought, it was clearly simpler for birds than it was for humans.

For close to three incredible minutes, the bunting preened and posed, and Phoebe and Benjamin watched. Then the bird flew into the marsh grass and disappeared from view.

“That was amazing,” Phoebe said. “Thanks, Benjamin.”

“I'm just glad he stayed. Do you want to hang out here a while and see what else shows up? And the bunting might come back out too.”

“Sure. I was counting on it.”

Benjamin lifted an eyebrow. “You don't need to get back?”

“Not in a real big rush to do that,” said Phoebe honestly. As if to make her point, she settled herself down onto a rock.

“Yeah.” Benjamin sat as well.

Phoebe took a deep breath. “Though—I should tell you—I'll apologize to everybody when I do get back. And if you want to come over tonight for supper, I'm also planning to ask Mallory to tell the rest of her story. I'll just suffer through it and behave myself. So, if you want to hear the end, you're welcome to come.”

“I guess I do,” said Benjamin. “It was pretty interesting. And she'd just gotten to the good part.”

Phoebe felt his gaze on the side of her face. She turned to look directly at him, and then she smiled ruefully, because he looked so uncomfortable, but also determined, and she knew that look of his. She nibbled lightly on the inside of her cheek and then said, “Okay, go ahead. Give it to me straight. You know you want to.”

Occasionally, in the course of their friendship, Benjamin had asked Phoebe a question or made a comment, and what he said had jogged Phoebe into an important new place in her mind. A place of truth.
You let her boss you around
, he had said once, about Colette Williams-White. He'd barely been eleven when he said it. A couple years later, he had said:
Your father doesn't care what anybody thinks of him. In a way, he's much more confident than your mother. It makes me wonder what she'd be like without him.

It wasn't always easy to cope with these zingers; in fact, it usually took a while before Phoebe was glad of having heard one. Anxious now, she steeled herself.

Benjamin was looking at his feet. “Last night, you said I was staring at Mallory and—and everything.”

Phoebe felt her stomach tighten. “Yes.”

“I guess I was. Staring at her.”

Phoebe's stomach clenched again. “Mallory's beautiful,” she said evenly.

“Yeah, but.” Benjamin sighed. “Yeah, but—Phoebe, I look at a lot of girls. I like to look, okay? It's, uh, it's what guys do. We look at girls. We think about them. We wonder. I do that with nearly every girl I see nowadays. Not just Mallory. It's just that maybe you haven't seen me doing it before now.”

Benjamin looked even more awkward than before, but he continued determinedly. “Probably until I die, I'll be looking at girls. I really like looking. That's my point. I enjoy looking. So I look.”

“I'm getting that.” The knot in Phoebe's stomach was dissolving. This was interesting, but it wasn't one of Benjamin's worldview-shaking comments. “I think you've made your point three times. Or five. I lost count.”

Benjamin actually laughed, a single snort. “Yeah, okay, but I'm still not done.”

“All right. Sorry for interrupting. Go on.” Phoebe rearranged her legs under her.

“Thank you very much. What I'm trying to say is it's like a fantasy. A girl I meet in person, like Mallory, is more real than some girl I'd see on, uh, on the Internet, but it's still just me looking and wondering, and, uh, fantasizing a little, which is just something I do, sort of on autopilot. I'm not saying it doesn't matter to me, because, uh, it does—”

“Because you enjoy looking.”

“I'm talking here, remember? What I'm saying is that it's all in my head, which is where it belongs and where I like it, mostly. So when I was looking at your friend Mallory—your ex-friend Mallory, whatever—it wasn't because I fell in love with her at first sight or whatever it was you were thinking. I know she's your friend—
was
your friend—and that makes her more interesting to me than some random girl. But still. So you, uh, don't need to be jealous. I like looking at you more. Which is, in fact, my point.”

And then Benjamin sat there, his eyes calm behind his glasses, and his big ears sticking out, and his knobby knees poking sharply through the fabric of his jeans, and his feet looking oddly large in his dirty sneakers, and his face ever so slightly red.

Everything is fine and normal, Phoebe thought in shock. Everything is fine and normal, and then Benjamin goes and says the thing that changes everything. Just like he always has. He's always the same. How could I forget?