Impossible (14 page)

CHAPTER 33

Lucy tore her startled gaze away from Zach. She had heard what she had just heard. She had seen in his eyes and his face what she had just seen. But she would figure it out later; she would take it in later; she would somehow later find a way to let him down gently, because she did love him too. She did. Just not in that way. She had never thought of him in that way.

Had she?

But now Leo was talking. Thank God. She could look at Leo as he let Pierre out. She could focus on what Leo was saying as he returned to the kitchen table and sat down again across from her. Maybe it would help her forget her sudden awareness of how close Zach was sitting, his thigh barely an inch away from hers on the kitchen bench, his arm, muscled from the summer's physical labor, tense on the table near hers. That arm made her remember what Zach looked like without his shirt. Maybe Leo could distract her, not only from that, but from the knowledge that Zach was breathing fast, hard … and sitting right next to her. Close. So close.

How could Leo and Soledad not notice? How could anyone be in this room and not feel Zach's intensity channeling through him like water pounding through a dam?

But they were looking at Lucy. And now Zach was leaning forward—she didn't have to see it to know it; she felt it. It was so strange. It was as if she suddenly had a kind of Zach-radar; she was aware of everything he did. He was angling slightly away from her. She could tell he was trying his best, like her, to refocus on Leo.

"I see several prongs of attack for us," Leo was saying, "and most of them involve research we have to do. The first is the most basic and obvious. Genealogical. I want to research Lucy's family line. Let's see if we can find birth records for Miranda, and for Miranda's mother and grandmother—as far back as we can. Maybe even as far as Fenella—let's call her Fenella Scarborough. Though I doubt we'll get anywhere near her; I don't think the records will go back more than a few generations. And let's also look for medical records. If we can find out that, say, Miranda was born when her mother was thirty-two, well, that changes things. If we can simply disprove what Miranda says …"

"Then the whole issue just goes away?" Zach asked. "We can dismiss Miranda's diary as pure lunacy?" His voice sounded a little hoarse, Lucy thought, but basically normal. Leo didn't seem to notice anything different about it.

"Maybe not completely dismiss it," Leo said. "But reevaluate. Be less anxious." He turned to Lucy. "How would it make you feel, Lucy, if we were to find historical proof that—well, that—"

"That I don't actually come from a long line of teenage madwomen?" It was interesting. Lucy was hyperaware of Zach, but she could set it aside, into its own place, hold the awareness in parallel and still function well. More than well. In fact, she almost felt an extra pulse of power, as if Zach's declaration was making her stronger.

"Yes," said Leo. "Would that be reassuring information?"

Lucy thought about it. "Yes. I don't think I'd feel completely reassured, but it would make a difference." She paused. "Wow. Even thinking about that … can we really find out those things? Trace my family that way?"

"Maybe," Leo said. "I don't know a lot about it, and I'm guessing that it'll be tricky. But there are people who specialize in tracing genealogy."

"And then there's the medical records search," Soledad said. "I'll have resources through the hospital to make that easier."

Leo was nodding. "Yes, I thought you'd volunteer for that part."

"I'd like to at least start the genealogical stuff," Zach said. "I'm good online, and if I don't get somewhere fast, I'll find us someone who can."

Leo nodded. "Excellent. All right. So, that's phase one and two: genealogical and medical. My third thought—which also involves research—is about the ballad itself. In fact, I already started this research myself, this afternoon."

"When you went out?" asked Soledad.

"Yes. We need to find out all we can about 'The Elfin Knight,' or 'Scarborough Fair.' We know it has several different names, according to Francis Child, and that there are several different versions beneath each of the different names. And the versions are all associated with multiple origins and ancestries that can possibly be traced. Or possibly not."

"Sounds similar to genealogical research," said Zach. And then—Lucy couldn't believe it—Zach simply reached over and took her hand in his. Right in front of Soledad and Leo.

He held her hand lightly, as if it were nothing. He did not even look at her. His voice stayed even as his palm came against hers and his fingers interlaced with her fingers. As his inner forearm aligned its bare length right along hers.

All light. Easy. On the surface, a gesture of simple support.

Lucy's whole body went rigid with shock. Or—or something.

She could pull away. She could squeeze Zach's hand gently and then pull away. He'd understand what she was doing, what she meant, if she did that.

But no. She couldn't pull away. It would be rude. It would be, it would be, well, why should she? This was fine. Fine. Zach was her friend. They could hold hands. It felt, it felt—

Nice.

It felt—oh. There was his pulse. Zach's pulse. His wrist was right against hers. She could
feel
it.

And his hand was saying it again. His palm was saying it, the skin of his forearm was saying it, and his pulse was saying it. Again and again and again. That thing he had said before. And now, now, she couldn't think so well …

And Leo was still talking.

Focus.
This was important. This was vital to her!

"Yes, exactly," Leo said. "Luckily, I'm qualified to follow up on the folklore."

"I'll want to look at that ballad closely too," Soledad said. "I want to read the different versions, and all the commentary. We all should. We need to understand this forward and backward. We need to take that ballad apart like we're studying the Bible. We need to know everything about it. And I also meant what I said earlier, about trying to make the shirt."

Leo nodded. "That'll be attack prong number four. We'll assume there's a curse, and we'll do what the ballad tells us to try to break it. It'll be like figuring out a puzzle."

"All right," Soledad said. "You're the general." Lucy watched while her parents looked at each other. She sneaked a look—just for an instant—at Zach.

He was looking at her too.

For just a second she simply could not breathe. She had to look away. She'd have pulled her hand away too, if she could have. She sent the instruction to it: Brain to hand, pull away!

But her hand did not obey. Instead, it sort of moved, a little bit, back and forth, against Zach's …

"So what's next?" Soledad was asking.

"I'll go through all the ballad versions and look for any that seem curse-like," Leo said. "I know there are others. And I'll research the origins and possible meanings of the curse version and any related curse stories."

Lucy had regained control of her mind, although not her hand. This was her life, after all, and she needed to pay attention. Her hand could do what it pleased, meanwhile. Her arm too. That was fine. Fine. She said to Leo, "I had those thoughts too, when I first read what Miranda wrote. You'll see if anybody knows Miranda's version of the ballad, or one like it?"

"Yes, exactly. And I'll speak with professional folklorists too."

They sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments. Then Zach said, "So, is that our whole plan? Genealogical research, medical research, folklore research, and then looking at the ballad and trying to actually break the curse, assuming there is one?"

"We should also try to find Miranda," Leo said. "Maybe hire a private detective. It could be that if we asked her direct questions about this, maybe even showed her what she wrote, she'd be able to answer or somehow give us information."

Soledad nodded.

More silence. Lucy watched Soledad look at Leo, and Leo look at Soledad.

"There's one more thing," said Soledad. "And it has to be said." She drew a deep breath. "You're only at fourteen weeks, Lucy. It's actually not too late to get an abortion."

Inside her, Lucy's mind—body—soul—screamed.
My daughter.
It was not a rational reaction. It had nothing to do with the rational. It did have something to do with the letter from Miranda she'd just read.
I like you already
, Miranda had written.

Lucy kept holding Zach's hand. She felt him holding hers. Their pulses were beating together now.

"No," she said.

She was prepared for a battle, but it didn't happen.

Soledad reached across the table and took Lucy's other hand, "I had to say that. You understand."

"Yes," said Lucy. "I understand. I even think it makes sense. But I can't."

There was a pause.

"All right, then." Soledad was choking on her words, but not actually crying. "I wish you would. I have to say that. I so wish you would. But all right. We'll fight this out the other way. All the way."

"Thank you," Lucy said. "Thank you, Mom." She looked at Leo and said it directly to him too. "Thank you, Dad." And then she turned to Zach.

"Thank you."

And she felt Zach's hand tighten on hers.

CHAPTER 34

As the next days passed, Zach was aware that their roles had reversed. Now it was Lucy avoiding him. At least, she'd been avoiding him as much as you
could
avoid someone who lived in your house, used the same bathroom, and sat next to you at dinner. They saw each other all the time. It was just that, somehow, he was never alone with her.

He hadn't confronted her about it, though, or tried to make her talk to him. Lucy's avoidance didn't feel hostile, just … careful. That was okay with Zach, for now. He knew he'd surprised her with his declaration at the family meeting. Fair enough. He'd surprised himself.

Also, although she was avoiding him, he didn't feel hopeless. Not at all. Lucy never met his eyes for more than a microsecond, but he could feel that she was still somehow watching. That was all right, he thought. Let her watch. Let her think.

Let her remember what it had felt like, the night of the family meeting, when they sat side by side at the kitchen table and held hands. Because he could swear that, at that moment, she hadn't been indifferent.

Zach wasn't really sure what to do next anyway, now that he'd declared himself—especially during the daylight hours when it was easy to believe that The Other Weird Stuff was purely imaginary—he thought that simply giving Lucy some space and time wasn't a bad idea. Lucy had a baby's birth to prepare for and many serious decisions to make, since the plan was for her to keep the baby, finish high school, and enroll in college with no more than a year's delay.

Plus, she'd been raped. It scared Zach even to consider what that might mean. Thinking way, way ahead—but he couldn't help it—if he ever got a chance with her, would he be able to handle whatever fears she might have about men, about sex? It wasn't as if he would have much of an idea what he was doing. Would they need, like, a battalion of therapists to work things out? The thought was so very not-sexy that Zach decided to shelve it, even theoretically, until at least Lucy had figured out how to be alone in the same room with him again.

And all this was before he even began thinking about the complications introduced by The Other Weird Stuff.

For a week or so after the family meeting, Zach had begun again to wonder if The Other Weird Stuff was some group hallucination or madness of Miranda's that he and Leo and Soledad and Lucy had all gotten sucked into. He'd be at the pizza place getting a slice for lunch, and the sheer insanity of it all would sweep over him. And then he'd come home and see the little experiments with felt and wool that Soledad was conducting in her attempt to work out exactly how a shirt could be constructed without needle or seam. Or he'd go down to the basement and find Leo strumming and singing various versions of "The Elfin Knight" on his guitar, and then writing down questions to ask other folklorists. Or he'd walk past Lucy's room and see her lying on her bed, Pierre blissful beside her, as she read Miranda's diary for the umpteenth time. And he'd think: We formed the Fellowship of the Ring when we should've all just gone on medication.

But then, with the help of the research librarian in charge of genealogy at the Waltham Public Library, Zach found Lucy's grandmother. And great-grandmother. And great-great-grandmother.

Miranda's mother, Deirdre Scarborough, born in Lowell, Massachusetts.

Deirdre's mother, Joanne Scarborough, born in Peterborough, New Hampshire.

Joanne's mother, Ruth Scarborough, also born in Peterborough, New Hampshire.

The birth certificates showed that each mother had her daughter when she was eighteen years old, and unmarried. He was unable to go further, but five generations (when you included Miranda and Lucy) … well. That was pretty substantial evidence.

Zach took the information to Soledad. And two days later, they knew that for both Deirdre Scarborough and Joanne Scarborough, there was also a record of sporadic hospitalization for mental problems, first occurring shortly after the births.

"Five women in a row," Zach said, at another family meeting. "Maybe I can find more. The librarian thinks if we keep going, we might be able to locate Ruth's mother. We've been lucky with the short generations, because the further back you go, the harder it gets. But the deal with Ruth's mother is that there's nothing on her in New Hampshire or Massachusetts, so we'd have to look in other states. And if that fails, we'd try other countries. Ireland, to start." He glanced at Lucy, who was curled up in a corner of the sofa. He couldn't read her expression.

"Scotland is also a possibility," said Leo. "Then the rest of Britain. Those are the most likely origins of the ballad." He paused. "I wish we could go all the way back and find some trace of Fenella Scarborough, but I don't see how."

Soledad shrugged. She had said earlier that five generations was quite enough for her. She wanted to forget genealogy now, and concentrate instead on solving the puzzle from the ballad. Given that her doubts about the curse came and went, at least the puzzle was something to focus on.

"Good work," Leo said to Zach.

Zach shrugged. He couldn't feel good about what he'd found. If only it had turned out that, say, Miranda had been Deirdre's third child with her grocer husband, and they'd had to put Miranda in foster care because of some family emergency, and then Joanne had had Deirdre at forty-two, because of—because of—oh, whatever.

"Apparently," Zach said, "we got lucky with the name Scarborough, that it wasn't Jones or Miller or something. Also, the librarian was wondering why nobody adopted any of the baby girls and changed their names. She thought that was amazing. She said it would have been much harder, and maybe impossible, to track them down if that had been the case."

"Maybe nobody wanted a little girl whose mother was crazy." Lucy's face was impassive, and her voice calm, but she had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa, and her arms tightly folded over her stomach, so that she occupied an amazingly small amount of space. "So, how did they grow up? Orphanages? Foster homes, like Miranda?"

"I don't know," Zach had to admit. "I wasn't looking for those kinds of records. I could ask the librarian. Maybe the state archives would have something, if state departments like social welfare, or whatever, were involved."

Lucy said, "Maybe I don't want to know."

They were silent a moment.

Soledad said finally, "I was thinking that Joanne—Lucy's great-grandmother—would be only seventy-two, if she were still alive."

"And Ruth would be ninety," said Leo. "It's theoretically possible that they're both alive."

"Living on the street or in an institution doesn't lend itself to longevity." Lucy's voice was soft. And still calm. She got up from the sofa. "I guess I'll go on back upstairs."

"Wait," said Zach. "There's one more thing."

She didn't look at him, of course. But she settled herself back onto the sofa. It was then that Zach had told them what else he'd been researching.

"I realized the other day that I can't just go back to Williams like everything is normal. I want to stay here this fall. I can help out."

"That's good of you, Zach," Soledad began. "But college—"

"Is not urgent," Zach said. "I've already checked with my parents. They want me to take some courses at U-Mass and transfer the credits later. I can do that. And I found out today that I can also keep my job and get all the hours I want this fall. All this is fine with Williams too. Lots of people take a break for a semester or two. There's no reason for me not to stay right here."

He spoke directly to Leo and Soledad now. "I was thinking that I'd start paying you some rent. I know you guys said no to that when I came originally, but it feels important to me to contribute." He glanced at Lucy for a bare instant. She was watching her hands. "Of course, if you guys tell me to leave, I will. But I want to stay."

Halfway through this speech, Soledad grabbed a tissue. She blew her nose and then gave Zach one of the biggest, wettest smiles he'd ever seen.

Leo looked at Zach for a long steady minute. "I'm in favor of you staying, Zach. Except for the rent part. We don't need that. Soledad?"

Soledad hiccupped and nodded. "Right. Oh, Zach."

Leo turned to Lucy. "It's up to you, Lucy. What do you think?"

Zach had to strain to hear Lucy's voice. "Well … when you asked your parents if you could stay on here, what did you tell them?"

I told them I was crazy in love with you and that I had to hang around because you needed me to fight some old Elfin Knight curse.

"They know you're pregnant, of course. I just said you and Soledad and Leo needed your friends now. That you treated me like family and I wanted to act like family. That it's what a friend would do." He willed her to look at him directly. "Is it all right, Lucy? Can I stay?"

"Yes," Lucy said. "Stay." Her eyelashes flickered then—she almost looked at him—and she murmured something under her breath.

Zach leaned in. "Excuse me? Could you say that again?"

Lucy was grinning. "Stay. Good dog!"

Leo and Soledad laughed, and if it was forced, it nonetheless felt good to hear.

Zach walked three steps over to where Lucy sat on the sofa. He squatted directly in front of her. "If I'm a dog," he said, "I'm not a good, obedient one. More like a pit bull."

Startled, Lucy looked straight at him. He looked straight back at her.

And Zach saw then what lay beneath Lucy's calm and determination and humor, all of which she had pulled around her like a cloak. It was a sea of aloneness and bewilderment and terror that promised to smash and drown anyone else who came near.

But he wouldn't let his gaze fall away from hers.