Unthinkable (19 page)

What a great chance, Fenella. Zach and Lucy coming with
you to the car show! Brush up against Zach casually while
you walk. Bend over in front of him where he can’t help seeing
down your shirt. Do you need help to make perfume?

Fenella had promptly changed into a high-necked shirt.
She had certainly not concocted the perfume. It was an
earthy scent that involved a particular type of lichen. She
would go to the auto show smelling of soap. And also
slightly of motor oil, because she had not liked how the car
engine idled yesterday and had adjusted its timing belt this
morning.

It had relieved Fenella when Miranda decided not to
come.
Fenella longed to tell Miranda that she wasn’t crazy. That
Padraig was indeed lurking; that Lucy and Dawn were indeed at risk.
That it was all Fenella’s fault.
For hours last night she had lain in bed, still as death,
thinking about how Lucy had solved the original tasks.
Lucy had talked to her family. She had involved them, and
they had worked out solutions together. Could Fenella do
that? It had not been forbidden; if Ryland could advise her,
why couldn’t someone else too? Miranda would not even
be surprised. But when Fenella imagined telling them, she
quailed.
Not yet, she thought. Not unless she knew she couldn’t
figure it out herself. Maybe there would still be a way to
maneuver cleverly, painlessly. She reminded herself of how
easily she might have solved the first task, had she but recognized Miranda’s fear in time.
Fenella was beginning to despair about her dog plan. It
would seem odd for Fenella to visit Pierre at Sarah’s. What
would she do then anyway? Poison him? What if, at the last
moment, she looked into Pierre’s single distrustful eye and
couldn’t hurt him? Or, worse, suppose Ryland was correct
and Pierre’s death didn’t solve the task?
She was afraid that she couldn’t risk it.
She leaned closer to the car window, so that her forehead
rested against its coolness. Outside, the wind whipped dead
brown leaves along ruthlessly. A few drops of rain spattered
against the car window as black clouds moved in overheard.
She reached into her pocket and fingered her oak leaf,
which she had quietly reclaimed from Miranda’s pocket.
She needed it herself. A third of Fenella’s time was gone, her
family was beginning to figure things out even if they didn’t
realize they were, and the stakes were higher than ever.
What if Fenella—oh, God. What if she were to kill Miranda? Miranda, who defined maternal love.
No mother in all the history of the Scarborough girls had
worked harder to protect her daughter than Miranda. Would
this be better—more merciful—than seducing Zach? More
practical than killing Pierre? It was even possible Miranda
herself would agree, if Fenella could tell her what was going on. Miranda was so unhappy. But then again, Miranda,
unlike Fenella, had never declared that she wanted death.
Her thoughts caused bile to press up against the back of
Fenella’s throat. A vision of Robert’s crumpled body came
to her, and she slumped in her seat. She could not kill Miranda, or anyone.
Except maybe the dog, because she had to do something.
And she seemed not to be able to think of an idea that was—
what was the queen’s word?—metaphysical.
Fenella pulled her hand away from her leaf. She didn’t
deserve its comfort. She thought of the demand she had
thrown so impetuously at Ryland, for creative destruction.
Her lower lip curled. She was the worst kind of arrogant,
selfish, stupid fool.
Music poured from Lucy’s cell phone. “Yes!” Lucy said as
she read a text message. “Jim Pearce can help with the move
tomorrow. He’ll do that furniture pickup in Acton.”
Zach asked, “What’s in Acton?”
“A queen mattress and headboard. It was from a Freecycle ad. I hope they’ll be okay.”
“They’ll be fine. They’re free. Walker, are you coming tomorrow too?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Walker. “I’m bringing my truck.”
He turned to glance toward the backseat. Fenella couldn’t
resist meeting his gaze. He smiled. She knew he was imagining the two of them together in his truck tomorrow,
working the move as a team. Maybe it would be so.
But if it was, Fenella would be doing the wrong thing.
Leading Walker on. Another destructive act. If only she
could get credit for it. Her lips moved in a mirthless smile.
They pulled into a parking garage with walls that were
high and thick and gray and hard. They piled out of the car.
Lucy unfolded the stroller and set Dawn into it. She pushed
the stroller as they walked in a group to a large building by
the ocean. An enormous banner hung above the entrance:
New England Auto Show. The banner shuddered in the wind
above throngs of people.
Fenella felt Walker’s warm, broad hand on the small of
her back. With his other hand, he offered a piece of paper.
“Floor map. What are you interested in? Trucks, right? Anything else?”
Fenella shrugged.
Just ahead, Zach handed over their tickets, and they
passed through a set of doors and into the main display
space.
Fenella blinked. It was a room so wide and tall and long
that it was impossible to see the walls or ceiling. It was filled
with vehicles, arranged attractively as far as the eye could
see, and beyond.
Right in front of them was a sleek red two-seater convertible on a platform. Both of its doors were open, revealing a white leather interior. A smiling woman dressed in
silver gave Dawn a balloon with Aston Martin printed on
it. Dawn pulled the balloon’s ribbon to make it bob. She
chortled.
Lucy smiled at the woman but barely glanced at the little
red car. “I’m interested in the electric vehicles. And maybe
the concept cars.”
But Zach was not listening. “Bond,” Zach said. “James
Bond.” He moved dreamily toward the red convertible.
“Should we split up?” Walker said. “Fenella and I can go
see the trucks. We’ll meet you guys maybe later?”
Lucy flicked a quick glance at Fenella, hesitating, and
Fenella understood that Lucy had thought the auto show
would be a friendly, casual, non-confrontational place in
which to ask the long-overdue questions about the fire. But
in the next second—how transparent people were sometimes—Fenella saw Lucy decide that it could wait.
She knew then. Lucy didn’t want to ask; Lucy was afraid
to ask. She would force herself, and soon, because she was
the kind of person who did what she had to do. But it would
not be today.
“Sure.” Lucy looked at Zach, who was talking animatedly
to two other guys about the car. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay.” Walker smiled at Fenella. “We’re on our own.”
Fenella smiled back. She couldn’t help it; his face was so
open, so warm. She watched Lucy maneuver Dawn’s stroller
away and all at once began to feel better. Perhaps the day
could be a vacation after all.
She had a day with Walker. With Walker and with cars.
Cars and trucks. Inanimate objects that did what they were
designed to do. That did not trick you or betray you or hurt
you. She would enjoy it. Couldn’t she do that? Couldn’t she
have this one day?
She would.
The feeling of relief made her almost giddy. She revolved
slowly in a circle, gripping her map. Where to start?
Over there, a clutch of shiny cars were lined up from
smallest to largest, their hoods invitingly open; their engines
gleamingly clean. An ordinary-looking van was parked in
the opposite direction. It was not unlike the one Leo used,
but inside its sliding side door, Fenella glimpsed the most
preposterous thing: a kitchen, complete with a stove and
refrigerator and table for two. She took a step toward it and
realized that there was a small sofa in there too. It was a tiny
house! A van-house! Well, why not?
There, over to the right in the distance, there were giant
tires, higher than her head, holding up—
It penetrated that Walker was saying something about
trucks, and pointing beyond the cars with the open hoods.
Words burst from Fenella. “Yes! I want to see the trucks.
But let’s go look in those engines over there first. And
then . . .”

_{In the late afternoon,}
the crowds inside the convention center thinned. Lucy and Zach left to take Dawn home,
with Zach promising to come back to pick up Fenella and
Walker when called. Happy to be even more alone with
Walker, Fenella took her pen and crossed out the part of
her map that said Jeep. She said to Walker, “Toyota next? It
says here that they have hybrids.”

“Sure.” Walker pushed one hand through his loose hair.
When he had gone with Fenella to look underneath the
electric Mitsubishi MiEV, he had somehow lost the rubber
band for his ponytail. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to see
the hybrids before.”

“I needed to focus on gas and electric engines separately,
first.”
Fenella had spent a delightful day crawling under cars

and poking inside engines. She had read data on emissions,
and discussed fuel economy, deep-sea drilling, and longrange oil pipelines with anybody who came near and
showed an interest.
She had also had many questions for the car manufacturers’ representatives. At a certain point, however, they
all became annoyed. She was told, in these exact words:
“You don’t understand the laws of physics, young lady.” She
stopped asking after that.
It was maddening. As if she needed to be told that she
didn’t understand physics. Of course she didn’t. Nobody
did! You didn’t have to spend four hundred years in Faerie
to realize that the so-called physical laws were not really
laws at all. Human scientists understood this, no problem.
One of them, Albert Einstein, who was so acclaimed that
he’d come up several times even in Fenella’s limited reading, had said it plainly. Yet these car salespeople talked as
if there were rigid and incontrovertible rules.
As she studied engines and how they burned fuel,
Fenella couldn’t help wondering how much further she
might push human knowledge, herself, if she had the
opportunity to try. There were baseline presumptions in
other people’s minds involving physical reality that she
simply didn’t share. If she were to go to school and study;
if she were able to talk and learn and experiment with
people who thought about these things—knowing what
she already knew, having experienced what she had already
experienced . . . what might happen?
Walker said, “Can we grab something to eat? It’s after five
o’clock. You only had that pretzel at lunch.”
“It was delicious.” Fenella consulted her map again. “The
food court is in the opposite direction. We only have today.
I don’t want to miss anything.”
“We’ll be quick. I’ll be happy with a hot dog. I can cram it
into my mouth in three bites.”
“But—”
“Two bites.”
“But what if there are long lines, like at lunch?”
“Hey, look, I promise we won’t leave this convention center until you’ve seen everything you want. Even if we have
to hide out here after they close.” Walker was grinning.
Fenella smiled too. “In that case, we can sit down to eat.”
“My digestion thanks you.”
“I don’t want you to starve.”
“How thoughtful.” Walker motioned. “This way.”
If only Walker hadn’t been joking, Fenella thought. If
only they really could spend the night here at the auto show.
They could stay in the van-house; she had discovered that
the van’s sofa folded out into a bed . . .
She quickly steered her mind somewhere safer.
Soon they were settled on one side of a large round table,
with hot dogs and drinks and a large pretzel for Fenella,
and with their legs aligned side by side beneath the table,
not quite touching but not quite apart either. A noisy family
group occupied the rest of the table, but it was easy to forget
they were there.
Absently, Fenella put her hand on her pocket where her
leaf thrummed gently. It was happy, Fenella thought, because she was happy.
She looked frankly at Walker over her pretzel and discovered he was looking back. For no reason, she blushed.
“A penny,” he said.
“What?”
“For your thoughts.”
It took a second for Fenella to figure out what he was asking. For once, she could answer with the truth. “I’m happy,”
she said simply.
“Me too.” Walker’s voice was soft. Fenella leaned closer
on the excuse of needing to hear better. Then her face was
only inches from his. It seemed natural—inevitable—that
he cupped her face between his hands. He kissed the tip of
her nose and then withdrew an inch, smiling. She smiled
back, and waited for a real kiss, on the lips. But he moved
back.
She understood. He thought they had all the time in the
world. So she didn’t move in on him, because it was also
sweet—well, bittersweet—to be for today what he thought
she was.
She offered him half of her pretzel.
“Have you always been interested in engines?” Walker
asked.
“Just lately.” Fenella hesitated. “I’m sort of fixated on
them. You might have noticed. I’ve been dragging you all
over the place today, haven’t I? Demanding we see this and
t hat.”
“I enjoy it. I invited you here, remember?”
“Yes.” It came to Fenella that maybe Walker hadn’t actually planned on spending the whole entire day at the auto
show, from opening to closing. A few hours had obviously
been more than enough for Lucy and Zach. “If you don’t
want to go look at the Toyota hybrids, we could go do something else,” she offered.
Walker had been drinking, and at this, the liquid went
down the wrong pipe. Fenella pounded him helpfully on
the back. “You can’t mean that,” he said when he had
recovered.
“I do.”
“L iar.”
“Well, you’ve indulged me all day long. We should do
what you want to do next. That would be fine with me too.
It will still have been the best day that I ever—” Something
caught in her throat. “I mean, it’s been a really wonderful
day. For which I have to, you know.” Why was she whispering? “Thank you,” Fenella finished, in a raw little rush.
There was a pause.
Now their legs were touching beneath the table, from
thigh to knee to calf to ankle to foot.
“Let me clarify,” Walker said at last. “I don’t particularly
care about seeing the hybrids. But I want you to see them.
And I want to watch you see them.”
Walker looked straight into Fenella’s eyes. Fenella looked
back. He’s going to kiss me, Fenella thought. But he didn’t.
“I like watching you enjoy yourself.” Walker’s voice
dropped to a near whisper. “I have the feeling that you . . .
How to put this? That you haven’t enjoyed yourself all that
much in your life.” He stopped before adding, deliberately,
“For a long time.”
His eyes were as brown as the mulch of leaves on the
ground in the wetness of early spring.
“And—I hope this doesn’t offend you, but I have to tell
you: I wonder. Why did you leave your past behind and
come live with relatives you’d never met? What was your
life before? What happened to you? Why did Miranda say
you needed time?”
Walker’s voice got, if possible, even lower. “What are you
running from? Who are you? There’s only one thing I’m
sure of, and it’s that you have a story. A story and a past.”
There was no accusation in Walker’s words, and also no
demand for an answer. But she had to give him something.
She had to. She put her hand on her leaf for courage.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I do.”
“You’ll tell me someday,” Walker said, with certainty.
Fenella shook her head helplessly.
“No pressure. No worries. There’s as much time as you
need.”
They had until ten o’clock, when the auto show would
close. That was all, because tomorrow was moving day.
Also, she had decided.
Tomorrow was the second task. And so, there would be
no someday for she knew what she was going to do.
She said, “No worries.”
“Good.” Walker got up. “Want to go look at Toyota hybrids?”
“Yes,” said Fenella. “I really do.”