Unthinkable (18 page)

_{Late that afternoon,}
Lucy, Zach, Soledad, Leo, and
Miranda returned, talking about moving into the apartment. Or rather, everyone but Miranda was talking. Miranda sat down on the edge of a chair and held her elbows.
Her gaze flicked from face to face, but Fenella felt sure she
was the one Miranda was watching most.

She tried to ignore her, tried to listen to the others, tried
to act as if all she was thinking about was the new apartment, and, perhaps, her past with Padraig.

She felt choked by the new information about the entwined curses. It was all Fenella could do to get out words
of one syllable. She stole surreptitious glances at Lucy. She
wondered how long it would take Padraig to break her.
Perhaps not long at all. Lucy had spent her life surrounded
by love; all her strength was rooted in that. Even the queen

had said so. If she was torn from her family—if all she
had left was Fenella, Fenella who would have personally
betrayed her—what would happen?

It would be like Bronagh, all over again.
Dawn was suddenly at Lucy’s knee, asking for attention.
Fenella jerked her gaze away, to her lap, so she would not
have to see the child. She must not fail. That was all there
was to it. Whatever it took, she must not fail.
She forced herself to focus on the conversation.
“I think we could manage there,” Leo said. “It’ll be
crowded but fine. The rent is within the range the insurance
company will reimburse. It’s near the bus.”
The apartment was in a wooden three-story house located
down the street from the veterinary clinic where Walker
worked. There were three bedrooms, one bath, a big kitchen,
and a living room. There was parking for Leo’s van. Cats
were allowed. Dogs were not, but Sarah had confirmed that
she would indeed take Pierre.
“That seems hard,” Fenella managed to say. She needed to
participate. She needed to appear engaged and caring. She
needed her family’s trust. She needed it so that she could
betray them, and so save them.
Thank God she would die when she was done.
“A place for Ryland, but none for Pierre,” she nattered on
madly, forcing herself to look directly at Lucy.
Lucy turned her face away to bounce Dawn in her arms.
“It’s only temporary,” Leo said. “Just for a few months
while we figure things out with the insurance company.
Eventually we’ll find a house of our own again, with more
space and a yard for Pierre.”
“But Pierre is old.” Having started, Fenella simply could
not stop. “What if the new house doesn’t happen for a
while? How will that feel? Will everybody be okay without
him? Lucy? Will you? Could Pierre at least visit?” She knew
why she wanted the dog near.
“Shut up, Fenella,” said Miranda. “Don’t bother Lucy.
Don’t bother anybody. You’re not helping. You never help.
You make things worse.”
There was silence.
“I’m fine,” said Lucy brightly. “Miranda, don’t worry.
Fenella, it’s nice of you to ask.”
Soledad added, “One good thing: The downstairs neighbor won’t complain if there’s noise, like Dawn shrieking.
Walker even said he’d be willing to share the Internet bill.”
“Walker lives downstairs?” Fenella said.
Lucy slanted the quickest of under-the-lashes looks at
Fenella. Her smile peeped out, small but definite. “Didn’t
you realize?”
“No.” But a second later, Fenella remembered; Walker
had told her this himself. How could she have forgotten?
On the other hand, it was no wonder she had forgotten.
Despair rocked her again. How could she complete her
tasks with Walker there?
And what if Ryland was correct and she could not satisfy the second task with the dog? What if she had to do . . .
something else?
So far, she had not even looked at Zach. She still didn’t
want to look at him, but she forced herself to do it. He stood
behind Lucy with his phone out. He was scanning its surface with a thumb. He wore jeans that fit his hips and legs
tightly, and a T-shirt that was loose, hanging from broad
shoulders. His hair fell into his face. Feeling Fenella’s gaze,
he looked up, shaking his hair back. He smiled briefly, compassionately, before returning attention to his phone.
Fenella looked down for Ryland. For once the cat was not
underfoot, or indeed, anywhere visible. She reached out,
hand shaking, for the cup of tea that Soledad had given her
earlier. But then she was afraid that she would spill it, so she
retracted her hand.
“We could move in quickly,” said Soledad. “Maybe this
weekend. It’s not like we have much stuff.”
“We’d have to get some things,” said Zach. “Furniture. A
computer.”
“I’m making a list.” Lucy affectionately butted her foster
mother’s shoulder with her head. “I put yarn on it, Mom.”
“Check online, on Freecycle,” Leo directed. “Look for
anything and everything we need. It’s amazing what people
give away. I got a French horn last year.”
“Which you don’t know how to play,” said Soledad.
“I was learning.” A shade passed over Leo’s face.
Fenella sat like a lump, hands clenched in her lap. The
French horn too was gone.
“I’ll send my list to everybody.” Lucy pulled out her
phone and worked it with one hand while balancing Dawn
on her lap.
Zach said, “They have piles of clothing set aside here for
a church sale that they said we could look at. Tonight after
work? Anybody?”
“I can’t,” Leo said apologetically. “The next few days I
have gigs booked solid. Soledad is working too.”
“I can help you, Zach.” Fenella’s mouth had opened of its
own accord, and the words popped out. They were too loud.
“Good,” said Zach, simply, easily. “It’s a date.”
A date, Fenella thought. A date, a date, a date. Even
though her hands were still shaking, she managed to grab
the cup of tea and bring it to her lips.
The tea was cold. She drank it all down anyway.
Miranda stood up. “Fenella? Why don’t you and I walk
over to Moody Street to the thrift shop? See what we can
find on Lucy’s list.” Miranda’s voice was high and thin.
Fenella leaped to her feet so quickly, she almost overset
her empty teacup. “All right.”
“Can you look for kitchen stuff?” asked Lucy. “Dishes,
pots and pans, silverware. I put it all on the list.”
“Yes,” said Fenella, when Miranda didn’t answer. She was
breathing easier, now that she knew she was leaving the
apartment for a while.
Nothing was definite, she told herself. She had some
time. She would think. She would think and think.
Love. How could she destroy love?
Leo pulled cash from his wallet. Miranda took it silently.
“Call if you need anything,” Leo said, and Fenella felt
that this was directed toward her, and was about Miranda.
She met Leo’s kind eyes and managed to nod. The least she
could do was take care of Miranda.
As they walked to town, Miranda didn’t speak, and so
neither did Fenella. She watched Miranda, who stayed half
a step ahead. Twice she jerked her whole body to the left,
to keep well away from men who passed near. When they
arrived at the door of the thrift shop and Miranda reached
to open it, Fenella impulsively slipped her oak leaf into the
back pocket of Miranda’s jeans.
Having done this, though, she felt remorse and uncertainty. Without her leaf, the weight of the second task
seemed to descend even more heavily on her shoulders.
What was she going to do, and how was she going to do it?
She stepped closer to Miranda, hoping the leaf could
somehow help them both at once.
The thrift store was a large open space filled with mismatched tables, bookcases, and clothing racks. The various
departments were marked by handmade cardboard signs.
Children’s Clothing. Men’s. Furniture. Books. Fenella put a
gentle hand on Miranda’s arm and pointed to a sign toward
the back that said Kitchen.
They spent some minutes silently sorting through piles.
Eventually Miranda held up a plate. It was white with a tiny
border of green leaves and belonged to a large matched
set. “Service for twelve, twenty bucks. They’re microwave
safe.”
Fenella nodded, even though some of the plates were
scratched, and two of the bowls were missing. She liked the
leaf pattern. She also liked the color in Miranda’s cheeks,
and the fact that she spoke without a tremble in her voice.
“Let’s get it,” she said. “But what do you think of these little
spoons? Aren’t they lovely?”
“They’re demitasse spoons,” said Miranda dismissively.
“Too small to be useful. We’ll need some child-sized spoons,
but those won’t do.”
“Oh.” Fenella put the little spoons down. She slanted a
glance at Miranda, who had begun to pick out forks randomly from a large bin crammed full of silverware. Ten
pieces for $1, said the sign.
“Let’s at least try to match them,” Fenella said. She winced
at the false cheeriness in her voice.
Miranda shrugged.
Working side by side, they put together seven matching
forks, eight matching spoons, and three matching knives
before Fenella realized that Miranda was crying, tears dribbling silently down her face.
She put down the spoons she held and slipped an arm
around Miranda’s waist. “Miranda,” she whispered. “What
is it?”
Miranda ducked her head down. “I’m afraid,” she said,
simply, quietly. “I’ve tried to be happy that you’re here. But
I’m not. I’m afraid.”
The choking feeling returned to Fenella’s throat. She
managed to say, “The fire . . . ?”
“That didn’t help. But—oh, I know it’s me. I’m not well,
emotionally. I understand that. But at the same time, I still
feel what I feel. Every day you’re here, it gets worse.”
Fenella could say nothing.
“Last night, when you started talking about Padraig? I
tried to listen. But every time you said his name, I could feel
him. Like he’s still out there, waiting. Like you’ve brought
him back.”
Miranda swiveled. Her gaze was level and her voice calm,
even as she gripped Fenella’s wrists. “Padraig’s not dead. I
can still feel him out there. I know he wants Lucy and Dawn.
I know it.”
Abruptly, she turned away, dropping Fenella’s wrists.
“But nobody will believe me. Not even you. I mean, look at
you. Holding hands with Walker, learning how to fix cars,
talking out your memories. Meanwhile, look at me. Crazy
Miranda. Always, crazy Miranda.”
Fenella could barely breathe.
“Let’s not discuss it anymore,” said Miranda evenly. “It’s
not worth words. It’s just the way it is.”
“But you can’t live in terror.” Fenella forced the words
out; she hardly even knew what she was saying.
“Of course I can,” said Miranda. “And I will too, until I’m
dead. Or until everything I fear happens again.” She wiped
her face matter-of-factly with the back of her hand. “But I’d
appreciate one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t talk about Padraig in front of me anymore. Don’t
tell your story. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t.”
“All right,” said Fenella uncertainly.
“Thank you,” said Miranda. “I mean that.” She turned
back to the task of matching forks.
Fenella looked down at her own pile of silverware.
So—Miranda knew.
Miranda knew, even if she didn’t yet understand that
she knew. Traumatized or not, at some point she would
speak, and the others, already suspicious of Fenella,
would listen.
Which meant Fenella had to act quickly. She would not
have the rest of the three months.

Zach looked up from fastening Dawn into her car seat.
“Whereas Lucy likes to get places late. Just saying.” He
laughed.

“Five minutes late,” Lucy protested. “Five minutes late is
always perfect!” She turned to Fenella. “I’ll squeeze into the
middle next to Dawn, so you get the window, okay?”

The day was not shaping up into the desperately needed
one-day vacation with Walker Dobrez that Fenella had
hoped for. She pasted on a smile, relieved that at least she
would not have to sit next to Dawn in the car.

It was Saturday morning, and they were all going to the
auto show. From the backseat of the Markowitz family car,
Fenella could see the rubber band that clumped Walker’s

thick brown ponytail together. If she glanced to the left,
she’d have a view of Zach’s profile as he drove. Zach looked
ready to enjoy a break from all the recent worries too. But
seeing him only evoked Ryland’s most recent advice.