Extraordinary (8 page)

“Oh,” said Phoebe. She wasn't sure what her true nature was, to be honest, but she liked that he had praised her. In fact, she was blushing again; she could feel it. “Mallory looks out for me too.”

Ryland's eyes were the color of dark seaweed. “You think so?”

“Yes. I tell Mallory everything,” said Phoebe. “Sometimes I think she knows me better than
I
know me. That's what it means to be best friends.” She paused, and then added, awkwardly, honestly, “And I don't have a sister. So Mallory—well, she's like the sister I would have chosen if I could.”

“I see,” said Ryland. He smiled a slow smile as Jay-Jay came in with the vegetable curry and a spinach salad. “But I assume you're not also looking for a brother. Brothers are trouble. Right, Mallory?”

Mallory laughed, which helped Phoebe not to have to reply. Which was good, because any reply she might have made had frozen in her throat.

No. She definitely did not want Ryland as her brother.

By then, the whole table was occupied with the new food. Also, Catherine had taken control of Mrs. Tolliver and firmly begun a conversation that involved everybody, about the Passover seder she planned this year, to which all the Tollivers would be invited. It turned out that Ryland had never been to a seder before.

So the moment passed without Phoebe having to answer. But she had a feeling that Ryland hadn't needed to hear her say anything aloud anyway. That he'd read her answer on her face and tucked it away in his pocket.

“An interesting report. Your perception of the Rothschild girl differs from what your sister has said.”

“Naturally, my queen. The girl will be quite easy to seduce and guide. I will be kind and say that my sister was perhaps blinded by spending so much time in the human world. However, she is yet of use to me.”

“You are pleased then with your sister's cooperation?”

“So far, she has done everything I asked in introducing me to the girl and her parents, and in explaining the habits of humans to me. She has also obeyed my instructions for her future behavior toward the girl. There is subtle groundwork to be laid for me, and my sister shall do it.”

“Yet you are frowning. Something displeases you.”

“A small matter. My sister coddles the Tolliver woman. She suggested that I go with her to the woman's doctor. She said the doctor was dismissive of her, as a teenage girl, and might listen to me. She even presented me with a list of questions she wished me to ask this doctor.”

“Did you do this?”

“Of course not. Waste precious time on the Tolliver woman? She is fed and housed in comfort and needs no more. There were even strangers coming and going to attend to her, which my sister had never mentioned to us. That is over now. I have dismissed the strangers and helped my sister remember that the woman is not really her mother and that we can give her no particular special care. We have a larger mission.”

“Remind her also that the woman gains greatly in that she is allowed to live her fantasy of having family.”

“True, my queen. And now I have tired you.”

“Yes, but it was necessary. I shall rest soon.”

“I shall work as rapidly as possible, my queen. This I promise you. Soon I will have the Rothschild girl secure.”

“I know. We depend on you now.”

A week passed. Phoebe didn't know whether to be glad or sorry that she didn't see Ryland and that life returned to its usual pattern. The only difference was that Mallory now talked about Ryland often, reporting his activities and talking about his character and past.

Phoebe couldn't hear enough about Ryland. But she tried to exercise self-discipline. Once, she even changed the subject when she thought they had talked about him too long. She was determined that Mallory never know how interested Phoebe was in Ryland. She would just be a good friend, she told herself, and let Mallory talk about him as much as she liked. Which, luckily, Mallory seemed to want to do.

The more she heard, the more Phoebe understood that her initial reaction of astonishment and anger at how Ryland had been away for the past four years had been misplaced. She hadn't understood. Ryland's father was not Mallory's father, for one thing, and there was apparently some divided loyalty on Ryland's part about that. “Long stupid story,” Mallory said. And then Mrs. Tolliver at a different stage of instability had told Ryland she never wanted to see him again and he wasn't welcome in her house. Also, Mallory had been too proud to ask Ryland for help with their mother, which, Mallory said, was entirely her own fault. The bottom line was that Ryland was not to blame for having been absent.

But on the other hand, it wasn't like Mallory praised her brother all the time, either. Ryland was a complex individual, not some idealized figure of a perfect older brother.

“I'm so angry at him,” Mallory said one evening. She had come home with Phoebe after school to study and stay over for the night, and they settled down in the library at the big worktable there, with their laptops. “Wednesday night, he just never came home.”

“Oh,” said Phoebe neutrally. Did Ryland have a girlfriend? So fast? Or maybe he had just hooked up with someone? He was so attractive—

She looked down at her laptop. “Do you know where he was?”

“No idea,” Mallory said.

“Did you ask him?”

“Do you think I should?”

“I don't know,” said Phoebe. “I guess not. I—did you call him? Or text?”

“Yes, I did, but that's no good. He likes to turn his phone off. And then he forgets to turn it back on. For hours. I mean, is that responsible? Shouldn't you at least check messages every so often? Or maybe he is checking, and he's just ignoring me. Either way, I don't like it.”

“Yes,” said Phoebe. “You're right. What if there were an emergency and you couldn't reach him?”

“I know.” Mallory, who was enviably good at multitasking, squinted at her laptop for a minute, and then sighed deeply. “But he won't listen to me. In his mind, I'm still twelve. Sometimes I feel like I need someone to be a go-between. Someone who will explain to him that I'm a grown-up now.”

Phoebe's stomach fluttered. “Do you want
me
to do that?”

Mallory was gratifyingly open to the idea. “Do you think you could, Phoebe? You wouldn't feel funny doing it?”

“Maybe a little. But I could try. I'm willing.”

“Well, it's up to you. I'll send you his phone number.” Mallory lapsed into silence and focused again on her laptop.

Phoebe chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had permission from Mallory to call Ryland! But did she dare? She didn't know. Maybe. After all, she had practically promised Mallory she would. She wouldn't want to let Mallory down.

Phoebe forced herself to work on her essay for English for a while. Eventually, though, she sighed and said, “Five whole pages on
The Great Gatsby
. I don't know if I can do it.”

Mallory didn't answer for a minute, and Phoebe had to repeat herself.

“Of course you can,” Mallory said. “You're great at that stuff. What's your topic?”

“I don't have one yet. Got any ideas?”

Mallory frowned. Then, slowly, she nodded. “
The Great Gatsby.
Actually, I do. Write about the significance of Daisy Fay's name.”

“What is the significance of her name?”

“You tell me.”

“Daisy. That's a flower. She's little and pretty and—oh, only blooms in the summer. Maybe that means she requires wealth and privilege to exist. No wait, a daisy is actually pretty tough, almost a weed, which is even more interesting. You know, you're right, Mallory. There's something there. I don't know if I can spin it out for five pages, though.”

“What about her last name?”

“Fay. Oh! You're brilliant, and I'm a complete idiot. Fay spelled with an A, which is a homonym for fey spelled with an
E
, which is another word for fairy.”

“The author meant that Daisy Fay is literally a fairy?”

“Don't make fun of me. It's metaphorical. Daisy is ethereal and unreachable. Gatsby will never ever have Daisy the way he wants. She will never love him. And also, probably, F Scott Fitzgerald means the name to indicate that Gatsby doesn't really know her at all. She's rich, so that's the same as if she were a different species from him. Again, metaphorically.”

“You're all set,” said Mallory. “Five pages is nothing. Throw in a little Shakespeare quote at the beginning. What's in a name, and voila.” Mallory smiled. “Fay, Fay, Fay,” she said.

A thought struck Phoebe. “Hey, Mallory? Ryland's name is Fayne, which is close to Fay. Is your brother unreachable and ethereal? Or a fairy, or—” She stopped talking and then, she couldn't help herself, she looked at Mallory and blushed. Was Mallory trying to hint to her that—

“I know just what you're thinking,” said Mallory. “No, my brother isn't gay.”

“I didn't say—and it would be fine—”

“You were wondering.” Mallory went on rather intensely, “So, since he's not gay, with a name like Fayne, that must mean he's literally fey. Unlike Daisy Fay, who is only fey metaphorically.”

Phoebe laughed. “I'm definitely writing this up,” she said. “But without the part about your brother.”

Mallory lapsed again into silence. Phoebe typed hard on her essay, the words coming to her easily now that she had the full spine of her argument. She even took some delight in saying in her concluding paragraph that she, personally, thought that F. Scott Fitzgerald was hitting the reader over the head with the name “Fay.” A better writer would have been more subtle. She shared this excellent tidbit with Mallory.

But Mallory said, “I bet he didn't want to be subtle. He wanted the reader to know and used the name as a deliberate clue. And by the way, a few minutes ago you hadn't thought of it. So it wasn't all that obvious after all, was it? I had to tell you to think about the name Fay.”

“But now I think it's too crude,” said Phoebe. “From a literary point of view.”

She finished her essay. When she looked up, satisfied, she saw that Mallory was again staring into space.

“Mallory? Are you okay?” Phoebe drew in a little breath and then dared say, “You're thinking about your brother again, aren't you? Worrying?”

“You think so?” snapped Mallory. Then she sighed. “Sorry. I'm actually thinking about my mother.” She began talking rapidly. “Mother's been so obsessed with her gardening magazines. She's got a whole pile of pictures of herbs and flowers. And Ryland is into planting, why couldn't he help her plan a garden? It wouldn't take him long, and it would make her so happy.”

“What does Ryland say?” Phoebe asked.

“He says she wants to dream. She doesn't want reality.” She hesitated. “Phoebe? Don't take this the wrong way, but Ryland has dismissed the home health agency. He says that now he's home, he and I can take care of Mother together.”

“What?!” Phoebe sat up straight. “Mallory! He can't possibly understand. He hasn't been here long enough.”

“Well, the thing is, our family has leaned on yours enough. Too much. It's not right, Ryland says.”

“No, Mallory! Listen, I'll talk to your brother. I'll make him see that it's no burden on us—it's just money, you know—and your mother's health is at stake here, after all. And yours, in a way. If he doesn't believe it from me, then my mother will talk to him.”

“Phoebe! Please don't involve Catherine. She's done enough.”

“But I can talk to your brother about this?”

“Yes. Yes, that would be okay.”

“Then I will.” Phoebe felt filled with righteousness. “I'll call him tonight.”

Mallory bit her lip. “Phoebe, not tonight. He's got something going on tonight. I'll tell you when it's a good time to call. Just wait for me to tell you, okay?”

“I can just text him and ask when's a good time to talk.”

“No, no, he never responds to text messages. He hates them.”

“Really? That's weird.”

“He hates the phone too. He only uses it because he has to. I'll let you know when to call.”

“Well, okay, but it should be soon, right? For your mother's sake? The home health care people have to be called and everything.”

“Yes, but—but I don't want my brother angry at me because I went to you about this.”

“You're worried,” said Phoebe compassionately. “Please don't worry. I know I can make him understand.” She felt her heart rate speed up. She could. She knew she could.

“I won't worry.” Mallory leaned over her computer again. “I just—you know what? I've changed my mind. Please don't call him. I'll handle it. I'm sorry I brought it up.”

Phoebe was silent.

“Please,” Mallory said urgently. “Promise me you won't tell him I told you about this. Promise you won't call him after all.”

“But Mallory—first you wanted me to talk to him about you being a grown-up, and then about this, and now you say—”

“Promise me! This conversation never happened. Promise me! Don't call him!”

“All right,” Phoebe said finally, reluctantly. But she knew she was lying. She would talk to Ryland. It would be for Mallory's own good, and Mrs. Tolliver's too. And she'd apologize to Mallory later. This was yet another situation in which she knew better than Mallory what should be done, just as she had known four years ago.