Impossible (13 page)

CHAPTER 30

Soledad read Miranda's diary, along with the letter and torn-out pages, after Leo. She let her husband go first because she was afraid. She had never before been afraid to learn something. "Information is our friend," she had often declared. "When you have knowledge, your choices will be better."

Before Lucy and Zach came to her and Leo to hand the diary and the supplementary pages over—before she saw the anxiety in their eyes—Soledad had been eager to read it. Though she would never have stooped to pushing Lucy in any way, she had wanted the diary ever since she learned it existed. She had yearned for it, as if reading it would give her Miranda back.

She'd been having a vivid, repetitive dream about Miranda and the diary. In every one of the dreams, Miranda was with Soledad in the family room, on the sofa. They sat facing each other while Miranda read aloud to Soledad from the diary, occasionally looking up to explain things. The Miranda of the dream was the Miranda of today, not of yesterday; she looked thin and tired, and her face and hands bore clear marks of her hardscrabble life. But she was fully returned to herself; her manner bespoke maturity and wisdom and even laughter. And, in the dream, Miranda was back to stay. She had a life to build, and was eager to do it. She was a member of their family. It was a dream from which Soledad awoke filled with joy.

But, one time, the dream had transformed into a kind of nightmare. Miranda's mouth as she read aloud had gotten larger and larger, the words coming from it taking on a physical form as a vicious wind that whipped through the room. The wind grabbed the Markowitzes' belongings one by one and smashed them to the floor. Then, as the wind twisted itself into a tornado, the dream-Miranda leaped to her feet and howled—not in rage, but in anguish.

Soledad thought of the dream as her husband held out the diary, and the set of torn-out pages, to her. She did not reach immediately to take them. She examined Leo instead and saw how the lines across his forehead and alongside his mouth were deep and grooved.

"Family meeting," Leo said. "As soon as you've finished reading this."

He was still holding out the diary. Finally Soledad took it, even though she had an impulse to hurl it as far away from her as she could.

"I have an errand to run," Leo said. "Back in an hour." He started to turn away. But then he paused, and looked over his shoulder at her. Their eyes met, and Soledad realized her husband had been crying.

He saw that she knew. He came back and took her gently in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, and she understood something else too. It was that, before this moment, she had not ever really known fear. She had only thought she had.

Soledad didn't remember having moved her arms, but they were around him. And his were now tight around her.

"Sit down now, sweetheart, and start reading," he said. It was an order, but she did't mind.

"Yes. I will," she said. "And you drive safely." It too was an order.

"Yes," said Leo.

It was another few seconds before they let go of each other.

Soledad sat down to read. She did it steadily, taking in information, trying not to react but only to absorb, kept calm sometimes only by the knowledge that Lucy was safe upstairs. After an hour and three-quarters, she set down the diary on the coffee table. She leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes as a memory, which had been nearly forgotten since the day it happened, caught her in the throat.

Miranda, heavily pregnant, sitting right on this sofa, watching Soledad knit. Asking question after question.

And Soledad replying.

Yes, some clothing can be made without seams. Absolutely. This sweater I'm knitting right now, for example. You just have to work the pattern in the round on circular needles. Like Icelandic sweaters. Oh, and mittens are usually worked in the round too.

Right, you do have to use needles.

Any way to make something without needles? Oh, yes. You can weave a fabric; you don't have to knit it. Cottons, silks, linens—those are examples of woven fabrics. They're made on looms.

Oh, I see what you're asking. Yes, the fabric itself can be made without needles, but then, if you want to make clothing with it, like a shirt, you have to cut out the pieces from the fabric and you sew them together. With your needle, of course. Actually, with your sewing machine. Yes, that has a needle. I can show you on mine.

Well, let me think. Seamless garments. Isn't a sari just a length of fabric that's draped around a woman? So that's one example. Or hey, togas! Or a poncho. You just cut a hole in the fabric and stick your head through.

A shirt? Oh, no. For a shirt, there would have to be seams.

I didn't know you had any interest in knitting, Miranda. I can easily teach you to do it. Or to sew, if you want. We can make some things for the baby. You might really enjoy it. I do. I love it. Doing something with your hands—it's so soothing. It feels so—Miranda? Miranda, what's wrong? Oh, honey. Here you're encouraging me to blab on and on about my own interests while you're feeling so awful…

CHAPTER 31

The family meeting began with a great deal of silence and many sidelong, nervous glances. Most of these were directed at Lucy.

Lucy was filled with a strange calm, but everybody else (except Pierre) was off-kilter. When Pierre nudged his empty dog dish toward Leo, Leo kicked it back into its spot using uncharacteristic force. Soledad had a hand in her hair and was twisting and pulling. And, just before the meeting, Zach had shaved, but handled the razor so badly that he nicked himself three times.

One by one, Lucy met their eyes as she walked into the kitchen. She had changed into a cropped tank top and Bermuda shorts, but had had to leave the top button of the shorts undone because they no longer quite fit. Lucy knew that nobody could miss that she was pregnant and flaunting it, which she had never done before. She saw Soledad glance at her clothes—at that open top button. But she didn't say anything, so Lucy didn't have to explain why she had dressed this way. It was somehow all about the words that were pulsing within her. They were the same words, she now understood, that had pulsed in her mother eighteen years ago.

My daughter. My daughter. My daughter.

Leo had efficiently scrambled eggs with tomatoes and chives. But Lucy was the only one to lift a fork. She ate every bite of her eggs along with half of Zach's. She drank her skim milk and ate tomato slices. Zach and Leo and Soledad watched.

When Lucy finished eating, she looked up. "My daughter needs to be fed," she said quietly, "whether I'm in the mood or not. You know, it's so strange. I know we have a lot to talk about, and I appreciate Dad calling this meeting. But in a way, there's nothing to talk about. I'm having a daughter, and that's sort of that."

Daughter.
Lucy flushed, just a little, as she said it aloud for the first time. As she heard the sureness in her voice. She knew they knew she didn't know the baby's sex for sure. She knew they knew that her saying this meant that she had decided to believe Miranda, to some extent at least.

It was quiet enough to hear Pierre breathing under the kitchen table, where he had lain down with his front paws possessively positioned on Lucy's feet. In that silence, Soledad took her own plate of eggs and leaned down to slip it under the table for Pierre.

Leo said carefully, "Lucy, are you saying you believe Miranda's story? Do you believe you're having a girl because of that daughter-after-daughter-after-daughter thing she wrote?"

Lucy noticed that Zach, who was sitting next to her, had shifted so that he could see her expression clearly.

She leaned her chin on her hand. "Well, I now believe I'm having a girl. I can't explain how I know it, but I do. And somehow it came to me while I was reading what Miranda wrote about being pregnant with me. Where she wrote
my daughter
. As I read that, suddenly I knew too. I'm going to have a little girl." She shrugged. "Look. I'm not saying I couldn't be wrong. But it feels like I'm right. It's a girl."

Across the table, Soledad drew in her breath sharply.

The furrow on Leo's brow deepened. "A little girl would be wonderful, of course. If that's the case. But what I was really getting at by my question is whether you think … that is, if you're at all thinking that, well. Well—that is—"

Zach cut in. "Luce, do you believe there's some curse on you? Do you think you're cursed to have a daughter at eighteen, and then go nuts, like Miranda? And like, apparently, your grandmother Deirdre?"

Silence.

"Yes or no," Zach said.

Lucy looked right back at Zach. "You already know I think it's totally not rational."

"Forget rational. Give me your gut reaction. Yes or no?"

"Yes," said Lucy instantly, reflexively, loudly.

Even Pierre was quiet now.

"That just popped out," Lucy added slowly. "That yes." She said it again, deliberately, slowly, as if tasting the word. "Yes." This time, the conviction with which she said the word was even clearer.

Then Lucy laughed. She had not meant to, but the laugh came out. "All right. That's that. I'm doomed. And pretty soon, you'll probably start saying I was crazy all along. Just take care of my daughter too, will you? But lock her up once she's seventeen. Please." She paused, appalled. "Oh my God. I can't believe I just said that."

More silence.

"All right," Zach said. "Soledad? What about you? Do you believe this? Yes or no."

"No!" Soledad's voice trembled and then grew shrill. "It can't be! But—but—but I think it doesn't matter what
I
think, or what anyone else thinks, except Lucy. It's all a mental thing, a psychological thing. Whether or not there is a curse, what we have to do is, we have to
break
the curse." For some reason, she spoke directly to Zach. "For Lucy's sake, because Lucy believes, even though she doesn't want to. So—so, we
will
break the curse."

Now she looked at Leo. "We'll just do it. We're her parents. We can figure out how she can do those three tasks. Actually, I've been thinking and I've already got an idea about that seamless shirt. No needlework. You know something? Miranda tried to ask for my help with the seamless shirt. I understand now, but I didn't then. If only she had asked me in a way I could understand, then maybe, eighteen years ago, I could have—but anyway, now …"

Leo took Soledad's hand. She leaned sideways and put her cheek against his shoulder. Her voice grew slower, and thoughtful. "There are genetic predispositions in family lines, medical weaknesses. In olden times, people might have thought of them as curses, but we know now that it's all about genes. We always thought that childbirth and all the stress of her life, all the fear about it, pushed Miranda over the edge. But maybe there's a weakness for schizophrenia in Lucy's family line. You could call it a curse. But really, it's scientifically understandable.

"So, I also think we have to do those three tasks. That is, have Lucy do them. We can figure something out, I'm sure. But I'm also thinking medication. Miranda has always refused, but Lucy wouldn't. Would you, sweetheart? We can just be ready. It's amazing what advances have been made in the treatment of mental illness."

Lucy felt her heart rate speed up. Medication? Schizophrenia?

"Later," Leo said to Soledad gently. "You make some good points. But it's too much right now."

Soledad sighed and nodded.

"I'll count Soledad as a yes," said Zach. "Leo? Yes or no?"

Lucy elbowed Zach hard. "Wait. This isn't a democracy, buddy. I'm the one who's pregnant. Who put you in charge?"

Zach ignored her. "Leo? Yes or no?"

"Yes," said Leo. "And actually, I don't mean psychological or genetic stuff, like Soledad. I just mean yes. I believe in this curse. My gut is screaming at me about it. I don't like that I'm feeling this way, but I am. Maybe it's because of the song. If you read the history of that song, well." He shrugged. "There was always an interpretation that had to do with a malicious elf lord who wanted a human girl, a human girl who said no. Maybe it was this Fenella." He spread his hands. "I'm willing to believe it. No. Actually, I can be stronger than that. I do believe it."

Soledad's head whipped to the side so she could stare. She wasn't the only one. A long moment passed in which Leo looked from Zach to Lucy to Soledad.

"Let's finish the vote," Leo said. A glance at Lucy. "Even though it's not a democracy. Zach? We count you as family. Yes or no?"

"Yes," said Zach simply.

He felt Lucy looking at him. He looked back. Their eyes held for a second. Zach wondered for a moment whether he'd have had this same reaction to Miranda's story if Lucy had not lectured him—could it have been only a few hours ago?—about being her friend. He didn't know. Possibly he would have tried to hold out for disbelief.

But he hoped not.

He added, "If Lucy says yes, then I say yes."

"Four yeses, then," said Leo. "We agree. We don't ignore this; we take it as a serious threat to Lucy."

Beneath the table, Pierre barked. The bark was short, sharp, and somehow impatient. He stuck his head out, emerged, and stalked across the kitchen to the back door He stood there, waiting to be let out.

"Four yeses, one no," Lucy remarked.

Leo and Soledad simultaneously gave out a sort of half laugh, half snort. It was loud, and it was relieved, and it broke the tension and caused Pierre to bark again, indignantly.

All of which meant that neither of them heard it when Zach turned to Lucy in that same second and whispered:

"There's something else you need to know. I'm not just your friend. I am completely in love with you."

CHAPTER 32

Zach saw by the flare of Lucy's eyes that she had heard. Heard and understood. And he saw also that she was surprised, and taken aback, and shocked.

Zach was shocked himself. He had known—and yet he had not. He had certainly not planned to say what he had just said. If he had planned it, he would not have done it here and now. You didn't have to be an experienced lover to know that you don't make your declaration for the first time at the kitchen table in front of the girl's parents and her dog. Let alone in the middle of a crisis for that girl; a crisis so weird and strange that there was almost no way even to understand it, let alone help.

And he didn't care. Exhilaration filled him. He had said it, and it was true, and he knew it was true, that in fact he had never said a truer thing in all his life. He had said it, and he wasn't going to take it back or deny it. It was out there now. Lucy knew. Lucy knew, and he was glad.

Other truths filled him, like clear water filling a glass. He barely managed to keep from saying them all aloud.

I just realized this, just today, just when you told me off. I loved you for that. I can't even tell you how much. I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd be happy forever if you'd only smile at me—although, come to think of it, I wish you'd kiss me. I want to hold you; I want you to hold me. You are so gorgeous I can hardly believe it. You make me laugh; you make me cry. Nothing matters but you. Nothing matters but you. Nothing matters but you.

Nothing matters but you.

There is nothing in this world that I want or need, but you.

You. Lucinda Scarborough. You.

I love you.