Unthinkable (8 page)

From the house tour, Fenella knew where each one of
them lay in sleep.
At the farthest end of the upstairs hall, in the largest room,
in a bigger bed than Fenella had ever imagined might exist,
were Soledad and Leo. Soledad had been apologetic about
the room when she showed it to Fenella during the house
tour. “The chaos of twenty-five years.” She’d gestured at a chair
heaped with rumpled clothing, at a cabinet on top of which
dozens of family photographs seemed to fight each other
for space, and at the bed whose homey, faded coverings had
plainly seen better days. “I keep thinking I’m going to sort it all
out. Maybe we’ll paint the walls a more restful color.”
“Dark purple?” Lucy was leaning against the doorframe.
“Eggplant?”
“Cream,” said Soledad.
“Boring!”
“Yes, exactly.”
Fenella had dumped the cat on the floor, barely hearing
the muffled thump he made when he landed on his feet. She
felt Lucy’s eyes follow her as she picked up a photograph.
It showed Lucy tumbled carelessly on Zach’s lap with the
baby—tiny, bald, and wrapped in pink—cuddled up on her
shoulder. Zach grinned happily. The little family was crowded
into a big soft chair that Fenella recognized from downstairs.
Sitting awkwardly on the arm of the chair was a middle-aged
woman with long tangled hair as dark as Lucy’s. The woman’s
knees were so knobby that you could see their outlines protruding beneath the thin fabric of her skirt. She held a tall,
fragile glass of orange liquid aloft in one hand.
The other hand clutched Lucy’s arm as if she could not
bear to let go.
“Miranda,” Fenella said aloud, softly.
“That picture was taken the day Miranda came back to
us.” Lucy moved to Fenella’s side. “The doorbell rang, and
there was Miranda, on the front porch.” Lucy paused. “Not
too different from you this morning, Fenella.”
“You don’t call her Mother.” Fenella kept looking at the
photograph. Zach’s arms were confident and possessive
around Lucy and his attention was wholly on her and the
baby, while Lucy watched her mother with soft eyes. For
her part, Miranda looked straight out of the picture as if she
could see Fenella looking in at her, sometime in the future.
“No, I don’t,” Lucy said. “Soledad is my mom. Miranda
doesn’t mind. She picked Soledad and Leo for me.”
Soledad said, “We’re both of us your mothers.” She added
to Fenella, “There’s no such thing as too many mothers, especially when there’s a baby to take care of.”
Lucy laughed. “There’s no such thing as too many grandmothers, either. Dawn has four! Miranda and Soledad, and
then Zach’s mom—she lives in Arizona. And there’s Dawn’s
biological grandmother too. Her name is Brenda Spencer.
She takes care of Dawn at least two days a week.”
“Dawn has five grandmothers, with Fenella here.”
Fenella stiffened.
Soledad was shaking her head in bemusement. “Not that
anybody would ever believe it, to look at Fenella.”
“It makes me feel like Dawn is really safe,” said Lucy.
“So many people to take care of her and love her.”
The word safe had had the impact of a rock pitched at the
side of Fenella’s head. She felt the cat insinuate himself, rubbing against her ankles.
She put the photograph down and picked up a small one of
Zach and Lucy standing in the living room, facing each other,
holding hands. They were wearing formal clothes—Lucy in
white—and they looked both terrified and transcendent. The
dog Pierre stood beside them, with a ribbon around his neck.
He was snarling toward someone. That person was not in the
picture, but Fenella knew it must be Padraig.
She put the photograph back down. “Your wedding took
place here in this house?”
“Yes.” A smile curved Lucy’s mouth. “We crammed in
more people than I could ever have imagined. I thought
Mom and Dad had lost it.” She pointed at a different photo.
“Here I am with my friend Sarah. She was my maid of
honor. In the background, you can see how crowded it was.”
Fenella looked carefully at the crowd, but Padraig wasn’t
in this photograph either. She wondered whether Lucy fully
appreciated what a narrow escape she had had, or if the
safety and ordinariness of her current life had blotted away
the reality of the past.
“We can show you the complete set of wedding pictures,
if you want,” Soledad offered. “There’s video too.”
Fenella reached for more photos and listened as they
were explained. A solemn young Soledad and Leo standing on the front porch of the house, after they had bought
it. A three-year-old Lucy in a high chair with applesauce
smeared all over her mouth, looking startlingly like her
daughter. Leo with Lucy, aged six, mounted on his shoulders. Soledad crushing a teenaged Lucy in her arms. A
twelve-year-old Zach spraying the ten-year-old Lucy with
water from a garden hose. A close-up of Leo playing guitar
and singing, on Lucy’s wedding day. Dawn and Miranda on
the floor of the living room, building a decidedly unstable
structure out of wooden blocks.
The cat had butted his head insistently against her ankles.
Pick me up. She’d stooped for him, and he had craned his
neck and looked at the pictures too.
What did it mean to destroy safety? How should Fenella
know? She had not felt safe in four hundred years.
The night ticked inexorably away. Fenella watched the cat
sleep.
She was still thinking about safety as the gray light of
early morning filtered into the room and, softly, the door
opened. She looked up.
It was Miranda, standing in the doorway holding a
suitcase.

Miranda looked every one of her thirty-eight years and
then some. Like her daughter, she’d cut off her previously
long brown hair, but in contrast to Lucy’s glossy cap, Miranda’s hair was so short that it clung tightly to her head
and was decidedly more gray than brown. The gray was
in keeping with her face. Miranda had been exposed to all
weathers during the years she’d done her best to watch over
Lucy and the Markowitzes from afar, and her skin had suffered from it, with lines permanently engraved around her
eyes and mouth. She was as bony and skinny as ever too. In
fact, Miranda looked older than her curvy friend Soledad,
who was actually the elder by more than ten years.

Unconsciously, Fenella’s hand went to her own smooth
cheek. She was the one who ought to be a bent-over crone.

She wished she were. Better to have your experience written plainly on your face and body, so there would be no
mistakes. So that certain unexpected temptations—such as
appreciation of Walker Dobrez, the apprentice animal doctor—would not happen.

Ryland opened his eyes.
She’s home early.
He jumped lightly down to the floor and vaulted onto
Fenella’s bed instead of Miranda’s. The gesture of courtesy
surprised Fenella; then she remembered Ryland’s intention
of being adored by everyone. But Miranda did not appear
to have noticed the cat. She was still frozen in the doorway
in complete shock.
Fenella got up, the too-long legs of the borrowed pajama
pants falling in folds over her feet. She took an uncertain
step. “Hello, Miranda. It’s really me.”
A knot of disappointment was fast forming in Fenella’s
throat. Was Miranda not happy to see her? They had been
friends and allies and family, in Faerie. It had not been the
close friendship Fenella had with Minnie, because Miranda
had left to watch her daughter from afar whenever she was
permitted—and that was often, for Padraig had not found
Miranda much to his taste. But still, the friendship between
Miranda and Fenella had been real and true. When Miranda was freed, Fenella had kissed her brow.
“I will be so peaceful in death,” Fenella had told her.
“I will always remember and love you,” Miranda had said.
“Live your life,” Fenella had responded. “Go to Lucy. Be
happy, Miranda.”
They had cried together, for joy, before parting for what
they believed to be forever.
Miranda said, “You’re not dead?”
“No. It’s something to do with the initial spell Ryland
cast. I’m free,” she lied. “I get to go on with my life, like you.”
When Miranda said nothing, and her face stayed stiff,
Fenella made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry to intrude on
your life here. I suppose you don’t want a reminder of the
past.”
Don’t apologize, said the cat tartly. You have every right
to be here.
I do not, thought Fenella.
Miranda dropped her heavy suitcase and wrapped her
bony arms around herself. “What aren’t you telling me,
Fenella? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I was released from Faerie. I got here yesterday. Where else would I go?” She heard the defensiveness
in her own voice. “They—your Lucy, and everybody—have
been so kind to me.”
Fenella waited tensely as Miranda moved to the second
bed and eased herself down to sit on the edge. She looked as
if, with a moment’s warning, she might run.
“Fenella?” Miranda said at last. “I can smell Faerie on
you, and it—it makes me feel queasy.”
Fenella was shocked. “You can?”
“Yes.”
“I—I don’t know what to say. I bathed with hot water last
evening in that shower thing. There was lavender soap.”
“It’s not a bad smell,” Miranda said uncertainly. “It’s
woody, like trees. Maybe like willow, and something else.
It’s not unpleasant. It’s just there. I could never mistake it for
anything else.” Miranda inhaled again, more fully. Her gaze
swiveled to the white cat, lounging on the bed opposite. She
stared at him incredulously. “You brought a cat?”
Fenella waited in dread for Miranda to say she could
smell enchantment on the cat too.
Ryland stood. He stretched. He stared limpidly into
Miranda’s eyes and waved his beautiful tail. Then he
nimbly leaped across the gap between the beds to land
beside Miranda. He butted his head against her arm,
glanced up coquettishly, and then settled himself boldly
right on her lap.
Mouth curving with surprising sweetness, Miranda petted Ryland, at first cautiously, and then, as he responded,
more fully. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” she said. “Do
you want your belly rubbed? Do you?”
Shamelessly, Ryland rolled over and presented his belly,
and when Miranda rubbed it, he purred like the engine of
Walker’s truck.
All of her nerves were in an uproar, but now that she’s
touched me, she’s calmed down. He sounded grumpy. I have
some ordinary cat magic. Maybe it will help. But remind me:
How did I get into this again?
Fenella couldn’t reply, of course. She watched Miranda
with the cat, and the cat with Miranda. Sitting down again
on her own bed, she drew her legs under herself. She remembered Lucy saying that she worried about Miranda.
She realized: Miranda already doesn’t feel safe, even surrounded by people who love her.
Safety.
But she couldn’t undermine Miranda more. Could she?
After a while, Miranda smiled apologetically across at
Fenella. “I’m sorry. It was scary there, for a minute, seeing
you. I got cold shakes. I think I had a flashback. I hope you
know, Fenella, I’m glad to see you. I’m glad you’re okay.
You’re not dead! You’re free, like me? Tell me everything.”
Fenella opened her mouth, but Miranda’s attention had
already splintered back to Ryland. “Where did you get this
little fellow?” She listened while Fenella told her the false
story about being given him on the street, and then she
nodded. “No wonder you couldn’t resist him. So soft. So
friendly.” Miranda slipped her fingers deep into his fur.
“Look at that adorable heart on his chest. You said his name
was Ryland? It suits him.”
She went on talking about the cat, seemingly unable to
stop long enough to let Fenella answer the questions she’d
been asked. Fenella was relieved; she didn’t want to answer.
But at the first opportunity, Fenella said, “What about you,
Miranda? How has it been for you in your new life?”
Miranda lowered her face. She stroked the cat some
more. “Such a mix,” she said at last. “It’s a dream come true
in so many ways. My dear friends, Soledad and Leo. My
daughter and granddaughter and son-in-law. This home to
live in. I used to dream about this house, back in Faerie.
Well, you know. I lived here before, when I was pregnant
with Lucy. It’s always been my ideal of home.”
“I know.”
“I see my Lucy every day. He’s good to her, that boy she
married. And she’s good to him. They have a hard road in
some ways, being so young with a child to care for, and
needing to figure out how to earn money and be adults in
the world. But they have so much help. They’re doing well.
I’m proud of them. Do you have a comb for this cat?”
Fenella fetched a comb, which had been provided by
Walker. She reseated herself and watched as Miranda pulled
the comb through the cat’s thick fur. The cat lay supine on
her lap, his eyes slit with voluptuous pleasure.
She digs in just enough. Ahhhhh.
Miranda kept her face averted from Fenella. “I adore
Dawn. Sometimes when I’m taking care of her, though, I
pretend she’s Lucy and I’m eighteen again.”
Fenella winced.
“Is that horrible? I pretend that none of it ever happened.
Soledad says it’s normal to have those thoughts, and maybe
it is. But I don’t know if it’s good. I hate it when I come out
of the dream. I wish I could appreciate the present. But I’m
always on alert. I always expect something terrible to happen.” Miranda paused. “I guess that’s why I’m—I mean, why
I was—so scared to see you again, Fenella. I’m sorry.” She
inhaled. “I don’t smell anything now. I must have imagined
it. I do that sometimes.”
Guilt stabbed at Fenella. But she had choices and she
wouldn’t hurt Miranda. She would be careful, and thoughtful, about what she chose to do. She would be.
Nobody would be hurt unnecessarily. She swore it.
“I understand,” she said.
“Thanks.” Miranda pulled a vast quantity of cat hair out
of the comb and formed it into a ball that she set aside. The
cat rolled over obligingly, and she started combing him on
the other side.
“Then there’s the whole enormous business of making a
new life. I want to contribute, and not live off others. But
I’m not doing so well with that. Some days, I don’t even
want to leave this house. Soledad says it’s early yet. I know
I’m useful at home, helping with Dawn.”
“Are you . . .” Fenella paused delicately as an unexpected
question arose in her mind. “In this new life, is there a human lover for you, perhaps? Or do you think there might
be, someday?”
Don’t ask her hurtful questions! Ryland’s anger came at
Fenella like a blast. I’ve only just got her calmed down!
Fenella blinked, surprised.
But Miranda answered, simply and immediately, as if
she had dealt with this question before and it contained
no pain.
“Oh, Fenella. No. I can’t imagine that. It would be enough
for me to manage a job of some kind.” She tilted her head at
Fenella. “Let me ask you the same thing. Would you want a
real lover?”
“I had a real lover once,” Fenella said sharply. “Robert.”
“I mean now. Can you imagine being with someone new,
someone that you choose freely?”
Walker Dobrez’s shy sideways glance drifted into Fenella’s memory. She spoke quickly. “No. Never. That part of me
is dead.”
Miranda nodded. “Exactly. Dead.”
“Yes,” said Fenella.
“It’s too bad, though, don’t you think? Lucy says it’s like
Padraig keeps on winning.”
“What?” said Fenella. “No, he doesn’t. Why would she
think our not falling in love again means that?”
“People always think their own way is the right way,” said
Miranda. “And that’s what Lucy did. She says it’s the way to
go on with your own life. Loving.”
“It’s not the only way.”
“I agree. Especially as I don’t think it’s possible for me.
What’s your way going to be, then, Fenella? Now that you’re
here? What will you do with your life?”
I’m going to die, Fenella thought. She said, “I don’t know.”
Miranda nodded. “Me neither.” She bent to comb the cat
some more.