Unthinkable (6 page)

_{Leo was late}
getting home for dinner. This wouldn’t have
mattered if, upon coming in, he had remembered that
Pierre was an outside dog now. But he didn’t, and he let the
dog in with him.

An instant later Pierre and Ryland were locked in combat, a rolling, screaming mass of legs and heads and fur.
Fenella stood frozen. The last she’d known, Ryland had been
under the table, listening to the conversation while lying on
top of her feet.

Lucy yelled Pierre’s name. Soledad snatched the crawling
child up off the floor. Zach and Lucy and Leo threw themselves into the fray, and then so did Fenella.

Then a strange, deep, male voice broke into the mayhem.
“Pierre,” the voice said sternly. “Down.”
The dog lifted his head. In that second, Fenella was able

to snatch Ryland away. He came into her arms like a fury,
nails raking deeply across her skin.

Lucy and Zach pulled Pierre into the corner of the kitchen
by his collar. Leo threw himself down across the dog’s belly.
“Walker,” Lucy said, panting, to the stranger, who was
standing behind Fenella. “Talk about being the right person
at the right time.”
“Nah, you were handling it,” said the stranger called
Walker, in a humorous, unrushed voice. There was something about that voice. It seemed to draw a lingering, easy
line down along the bare skin above Fenella’s spine. She
suddenly wanted to see what the speaker looked like.
No. She did not. She bent over the trembling cat.
The dog was still growling, low in the throat. “Let’s get
Pierre out of here, Leo,” said Zach. They dragged Pierre out
of the room. The dog kept his single eye fixed on the cat the
whole time.
The newcomer was close to Fenella now. He said, “Your
arms are scratched and bleeding.”
As large warm hands fastened on top of Fenella’s, Ryland
went limp, a bundle of fur and bones. The hands gently,
competently, lifted Ryland away. The cat did not struggle.
The kitchen went quiet. Fenella looked around, but not at
the stranger called Walker.
Soledad stood with Dawn in her arms, looking as if she
might laugh hysterically. The child’s gaze was on the cat.
She leaned forward yearningly, her face alight. She babbled
something.
“It’s a kitty, Dawn,” said Lucy. “Nice kitty.” She reached
for and took the child from Soledad.
Soledad said to Lucy, “Don’t you laugh. If you start, I’ll
go off.”
“Nice kitty.” Lucy’s shoulders were suddenly shaking.
“Stop it, Lucy.”
Then the two of them were, inexplicably, roaring with
laughter. Soledad wiped her eyes. “Walker? Would you like
a square of lasagna?”
“I would, but first I’d like someplace safe to put this cat,”
said Walker.
“I’ll get the cat carrier,” said Fenella, and escaped from
the kitchen. A minute later, she was back with the carrier.
She held its gate open while the stranger bundled Ryland
inside.
She still had not seen his face. All she had had was a
quick impression of height and strong arms. Fenella’s heart
beat faster with what was surely anxiety about the cat.
“Now,” said Walker. “Those scratched arms of yours. Can
I see?”
Oh, no, wailed the cat. Tell him he imagined it.
Fenella tilted her chin and forced herself, finally, to look
at the stranger. She looked slowly and thoroughly.
Walker was indeed tall. He wore pants that had been
hacked short to reveal bare, knobby knees and long shanks.
He’d paired the pants with a grubby shirt and its shoulders
were slightly tight—or maybe it was that his shoulders were
themselves a fraction too wide. Above the shoulders, he
had a sturdy neck and dark brown hair the exact shade of a
dead oak leaf that clings stubbornly to its branch. The hair
needed cutting.
Walker’s face was deep brown too. It featured a wide
mouth and a misshapen nose that had plainly been broken
some time ago. You wanted to smile at the nose, except that
you forgot to do that once you looked into Walker’s eyes.
They were beautiful eyes; brown with amber lights, darklashed, crinkled at the corners.
Silently, Fenella held out her smooth, unmarked arms.
Walker’s gaze moved from Fenella’s arms, to her face, and
then back down again.
“I guess I was seeing things. You’re not hurt.” His fingers
brushed along the soft inside of her forearm, as if seeking
tactile proof.
Fenella’s pulse jumped in her wrists and at the base of her
throat.
He smiled into her face. “I’m Walker Dobrez.”
Fenella knew what to say. Fenella, she thought. My name
is Fenella Scarborough. She moved her lips to say the words,
to introduce herself as anybody would.
Nothing came out of her mouth.
Then Soledad was there beside her. “Walker, I forgot you
were coming over. How lucky.”
“Glad to help,” said Walker. “But you didn’t actually need
me. You guys were coping.”
“Opinions differ,” said Soledad dryly. “Fenella, Walker is
our vet.”
“Vet in training,” said Walker. “Not as good as a licensed
vet, but a whole lot cheaper. I’ll work for food, actually.
When Soledad cooks.”
“A vet is a doctor for animals,” Lucy said.
Fenella was grateful for Lucy’s translation. Then she realized that Walker might find it odd that she had needed it.
Her mind was spinning. Again.
Walker hadn’t even seemed to hear Lucy, though. He’d
squatted down beside the cat carrier and was looking at
Ryland. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully.
The cat hissed again. Fenella! An animal doctor? I am not
an animal. I am fey. Don’t forget it.
Fenella tried to think of how she could answer Ryland in
front of people. No ideas came to her.
“I only have a few more courses,” Walker said to Fenella.
“And tests and things. But I’m going to make it. I’m nearly
sure. So, this is your cat?”
He was evidently the kind of person who liked to chat,
and who would tell you more than you had asked for or
wanted to hear. At least he had ended on a question that was
relevant. It could also be answered in a single word.
Fenella opened her mouth. “My name is Fenella Scarborough.” Which had been the right thing to say. A minute ago.
A hot flush crept up her cheeks.
Walker said, “Nice to meet you, Fenella.”
Lucy stepped in. “Fenella’s a relative of mine. She’s staying with us for a while.” Dawn was squirming, uttering
frustrated little noises, trying to get closer to the cat. Lucy
hitched the child up in her arms.
Soledad added, “I guess we’ll figure out how to deal with
the animals, and get them to be friends. Somehow.”
“Usually a cat and dog can learn to tolerate each other.”
Walker paused, opened his mouth again as if he was going
to add something, but then closed it. A furrow worked its
way across his forehead as he stared into the carrier at Ryland. Ryland, sitting, stared back. “Male cat, right?”
He was talking to Fenella, who was now able to answer.
“Yes.”
“Age ? ”
“I don’t know.”
“Shots?”
Fenella sent Lucy a quick, frantic look of appeal.
Lucy shrugged. “We have no idea.”
Walker nodded. “Tell you what, I’ll take the cat with me
tonight and give him a checkup at the clinic.”
Inside Fenella’s head, Ryland’s protest was instantaneous
and shrill. Fenella! Do not let this man take possession of me!
“No,” Fenella said reluctantly. “The cat has to stay with me.”
“But it’s important—” said Soledad.
At the same moment Lucy said, “Fenella, I should have
thought of this before, we can’t take any chances with Dawn—”
Walker spoke over them both. “You come too, Fenella.
You can keep me company, and you’ll also help keep your
cat calm.” His entire face was made mysteriously radiant by
a smile.
He was young, Fenella realized. This Walker Dobrez was
not many years older than Zach and Lucy. She had been
deceived by the way he conducted himself before—by his
authority, and perhaps also by his size. But now she saw that
the owner of this smiling face had experienced little of the
world. Certainly little of the darkness in it.
He was so—so sunny.
“Fenella can’t go with you, Walker.” Soledad gave Fenella
a motherly, reassuring nod. “She’s had a long day. But you
can take the cat.”
“Fenella doesn’t want me to take the cat without her.”
Then he added, directly to Fenella, “Does the cat have a
name?”
“Ryland,” said Fenella. “What will you do to him?”
“Just a wellness exam. It won’t take long. It won’t hurt
him. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll check out Pierre’s
scratched eye.” Walker paused before finishing tactfully, “If
it turns out that you folks need the cat to stay with me overnight, that’s fine too.”
No! said Ryland. Fenella!
“No,” said Fenella.
“Probably not,” said Lucy. To her daughter, who was squirming again, and babbling something in a demanding tone,
she added, “Dawn, you can see the kitty later. I promise.”
Soledad said, “Should we consider declawing the cat?”
No! cried Ryland.
“No,” said Fenella cautiously.
“We can trim his nails,” Walker said. “Come on, Fenella.
The sooner, the better. Soledad, could you possibly save me
that piece of lasagna? And, um, could it be big?”
“Sure, but—”
“Unless Fenella would prefer to stay here and rest—”
Lucy and Soledad were practically in unison, but both stuttered to a stop mid-sentence, unable in front of Walker to
make a logical objection. They looked at Fenella helplessly.
No vet! snarled Ryland again. I don’t want to be examined.
Plus, we need to stay here. We have work to do. Remember?
Work to do. Oh, yes. Fenella remembered, all right.
“Are you afraid of being examined, kitty?” she asked,
choosing her words carefully and using a light tone, the
kind that the family used when talking to the child. “Do
you think there might be something wrong with you?”
No, of course not. I’m fine. We just don’t need to do it.
Walker said, “Fenella? I’ve got my truck outside. We can
zip there and back.”
Fenella looked at him. Then she looked at Soledad and
Lucy. Finally, she looked at the child in Lucy’s arms. The
bright-eyed little girl who was attending to everything as if
she understood.
All at once she wanted only one thing: to get away from
this house and the family inside it. To get away from that
child.
To get away from how, this whole time in their company,
while they were being so kind to her, she was thinking,
compulsively, horribly, of what she must do to them. Destroy their safety . . .
“Yes, let’s go,” she said to Walker.

Ryland was yowling in protest, both inside Fenella’s head
and audibly.
“I’ll stow Ryland in the back of my truck,” Walker said as
he waved an arm at a vehicle that stood in the street before
the house. “Unless you want the carrier on the floor of the
cab with you? It’d be a tight squeeze, but we could do it. We
could also take him out and put him on your lap.”
“The cat can go in the back.” Fenella glanced sidelong at
Walker. She was only guessing what he meant by words like
truck and cab. She would say as little as possible. Luckily, he
was the kind of person who gestured while he talked.
He talked a lot. And he talked fast.

Fenella!
was the desperate shrill cry from Ryland. Keep
me with you up front. You need too many things explained.
It was true. But it wasn’t as if Ryland had been much
help so far. She was pretty sure he had started the fight
with the dog, for example. Pierre certainly had not gone
under the table looking for Ryland. Also, she didn’t want
to listen to his complaints.
“Sorry, kitty,” Fenella said. She felt inexplicably cheerful.
“You’re going in the back.”
Walker strapped the carrier into place on what he called
the flat bed. The cab was the word for the enclosed portion
at the front of the truck, which contained two wide, comfortable chairs. Walker helped Fenella climb up and sit on
one of the chairs. She smoothed her skirt around her legs. It
was interesting, sitting high up like this. There was a different view of the world.
Should she be nervous? She had heard about vehicles
from the more recent Scarborough girls, but had never seen
one before today. Vehicles traveled fast, she knew, faster
than horses. Yet she did not feel even slightly anxious.
Walker sat at the controls on the other side of the cab. He
pulled a wide strap down around himself. Fenella found a
similar strap beside her own chair and pulled it into place
with some fumbling. It was easy to guess that it was meant
to function for safety.
Once you were strapped in, Fenella discovered, you felt
ready. Ready to travel.
Walker did something and the truck seemed to come
alive. It vibrated in place.
Fenella sat bolt upright.
Walker moved his hands and feet on the controls, and
the truck responded. It moved! They moved! She moved!
Inside the truck, safe within its shell, she was moving.
Moving with such speed.
Fenella caught her breath. Now she understood the
smooth hard surface over the earth. It was to make travel
easier. How clever was that? Of course, of course! You could
not go at high speeds if you were forever encountering rocks
and depressions and other irregularities in the ground!
And there was more! If you were a passenger, you could
look around as you traveled, and, because you were going
so fast, the things you saw and the things you thought kept
changing. What was that gorgeous color in the little boy’s shirt,
over there? It was not found in nature! Why did the people put
the buildings so close to each other? Why were the trees so few
and so small? Now they were on a bridge, going over a river,
and there were ducks! Oh, and look! There was a girl in control
of that other vehicle over there. It was a small red vehicle, and
the girl looked careless, confident, at the wheel.
Now that Fenella was looking for it, there were women in
control of vehicles everywhere. The educated, independent
Minnie Scarborough would have loved seeing that. If she
were here, Minnie would have been driving a vehicle of her
own; Fenella knew it.
Also, there were so many vehicles, small and large. You’d
think they would all crash into each other, but it was as if
they were dancing together to the music that came from the
vehicles themselves. It was not a perfect dance, nor even a
pretty one, and the music of the vehicles was odd and discordant. But it was compelling, urgent, fascinating.
It was lovely!
Fenella clutched the seat on either side of her legs and
leaned forward. She twisted around and looked again at the
things they had passed. All she wanted was to keep moving
and looking, moving and looking.
Walker had to say her name twice before she heard him.
“Fenella? Hey, listen, you’re making me seriously nervous. I
can almost promise we won’t have an accident.”
“Accident?” Fenella craned her neck. “Where? Everything seems all right to me.”
“No, no. I meant—could you please relax, Fenella? I’m a
good driver. Well, pretty good.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m only—I’m looking around.”
“Oh. Okay. Fine. Sorry.”
“I like traveling in this truck,” Fenella said. Some of her
excitement ebbed as she realized she was surely behaving
strangely. She forced herself to lean back. She looked at
Walker and discovered that, at the same moment, he had
glanced at her.
“Your cheeks are all pink.” He smiled—a quick shy
flash—before returning to managing the truck.
Fenella blinked, caught by surprise. Oh.
Oh!
Even in this new world—a world that had fast, glorious
traveling trucks in it, a world where women drove vehicles—
boys still gave girls glances. Quick glances. Quick, wondering glances.
Like that.
She was glad that she had allowed Ryland to be tucked
away in back where he could not see that little glance she
had just received.
Or the one she gave back.
Far too soon, Walker slowed the truck to a stop beside
a small white building. The building bore a large placard
that Fenella read silently to herself: Veterinary Hospital. All
Animals Welcome. The word hospital—the mere reading of
it—reminded her again of Minnie.
Minnie, who had fought Padraig every minute from her
capture to her death. Fought stealthily, cleverly, idiosyncratically.
Fenella curled her hands into fists. The one she would
destroy was Padraig. If she had had this truck in Faerie, she
would have run Padraig down with it. She’d have had Minnie beside her, yelling encouragement. Smash him!
“Fenella?”
Walker was outside the truck. He had opened her door
and had his hand out to help her. “You seemed sort of far
away?”
She didn’t answer. She released her strap with little difficulty and jumped lightly down, avoiding Walker’s offered
hand. She looked away from him, but could still feel his
interest, centered on her. She took in a deep breath. Padraig
had looked at her like that too, at the start of it all, and she
had hated it. Hated it! But this didn’t feel like that. This felt
like—like Robert.
The thought hit her with a shock. It had been so many
years since she had thought of Robert. Robert, her lover;
Robert, Bronagh’s father.
No. She would not think of Robert. He was no longer
important. The past was not important. Also, this Walker
was not important. Boys liking girls, and girls liking boys,
just because of what they looked like, or felt like as you
walked beside them, or—she inhaled—because of what
they smelled like, that was not important.
Another moment and Walker had given her back the cat
carrier. Again Fenella was careful not to touch his hand.
Inside the carrier, Ryland was looking tense. She listened
to him as she followed Walker into the building. Let’s get out
of here quickly. We need to focus on the first task.
Fenella said, “Now, Ryland. Be a good, obedient kitty for
Walker and do what he says.”
Walker laughed. “Hey, I don’t know if he’ll listen. I’m
thinking your Ryland might be trouble. No offense.”
“Oh, he’ll be good,” said Fenella. “Gentle as a lamb. And
obedient. Right, kitty? That’s an order.”
Walker held open the animal hospital’s front door for
Fenella. “Fenella? You probably want him neutered, if he’s
not already. Right? I can’t do it, I’m not qualified for that yet,
but I could schedule it for you.”
Ryland issued a screech so loud and so ugly that three
people in the veterinary hospital’s waiting area startled.
Fenella hesitated. Neutered? Could that possibly mean
what she thought it meant?
Don’t do it!
Fenella said to Walker, “Tell me what that would involve.”