Unthinkable (10 page)

“Is it okay
that I just showed up?” Walker held a dog
leash in one hand, but there was no dog on it. He was bigger
than Fenella remembered. He wore jeans and a dark green
T-shirt with long sleeves pushed up to reveal strong brown
forearms. His long hair was gathered back neatly into a
horse’s tail.

“Hello.” Fenella felt her cheeks burn. How much had he
heard?
Walker’s gaze was intent on Fenella, and curious too,
and also  .  .  . well. He had that look in his eyes, the one
that said he found Fenella attractive. Then the look disappeared, and Fenella was conscious that she hadn’t paid
much attention when she got dressed this morning. She
had pulled on a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and a tight,

faded, rose-colored T-shirt that she had received from
Lucy. The T-shirt said, Don’t let the pigeon drive the bus,
advice that Fenella felt was sound. The modern clothing
was soft and she liked how it felt on her body. She was
even beginning to understand the appeal of pants for girls.
But she probably did not look pretty. She curled her bare
toes self-consciously on the floor. She also realized that she
had not put on her new female harness. She had been told
that women should not be seen in public without one on
beneath their clothes. A bra, it was called, and it was considered both modest and practical to wear one.
Why did this family run the kind of house where people
felt free to wander in without knocking? It was not right!
Walker made no mention of the conversation he had
probably heard Fenella having with the cat, and he ignored
Fenella’s scowl too. “I brought Pierre home. He’s in the
backyard.”
Ryland jumped down from the chair arm and stood next
to Fenella, his tail low, his fur on end. No!
Fenella sighed. Ryland was right; the dog absolutely couldn’t
return. “Nobody told me Pierre was coming back today.”
Walker looked at Ryland and then back at Fenella. “I was
thinking we could try Pierre with your cat again. They’ll have
to get along eventually, right? I talked to Soledad this morning and she thought it was a good idea. To try it, that is.”
Fenella crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Soledad
didn’t check with me.”
“Well, see, I called her at work only half an hour ago.”
Walker cleared his throat. “My boss gave me a few hours off,
and she said you were here, so I thought I’d come on over.
Uh. But I see this is too much of a surprise. Still, the thing
is, Pierre’s fenced in the backyard feeling glad to be at home,
and your cat is safely in the house.” He glanced again at Ryland, who was still visibly bristling. “Could I take you to
lunch? There’s a place on Moody Street that has sandwiches
and ice cream.” He met Fenella’s gaze.
That look, that unmistakable look, was back on his face.
Perhaps there was nothing wrong with how she was dressed
after all.
But Ryland’s voice was caustic in Fenella’s head. We do
not have time for this lovesick dog in man form. Still less
do we have time for the actual dog. Fenella, look this idiot
straight in the eye. Say no. Then tell him to take the dog
away.
Fenella’s gaze fastened itself on the square of bare skin
at the base of Walker’s throat, which was located above the
round collar of his shirt. She watched the smooth way his
Adam’s apple moved up and down.
Say it, Fenella. Turn him down. The quick cut is the best,
and most merciful too.
Fenella looked into Walker’s eyes. “My cat’s still settling
in.”
“Yes, but we could try it.”
“I don’t want to take the risk.”
Good! Now, dismiss him. Say, “Go away and take the dog
with you.” Then turn your back and walk upstairs. He won’t
follow.
Fenella knew Ryland was right. She said to Walker, “I
don’t want lunch. What I want is to learn to drive your
truck.”
She didn’t know which noise came next: Ryland’s infuriated snort, or Walker’s laugh.
When Walker laughed, his skin crinkled up around his
brown eyes. “Okay. Put on some shoes and we’ll go. Listen, a small truck like mine isn’t much different from a car.
It’s not like a big rig. You’ll be able to drive it easily. Wait.
You’ve driven a manual transmission before? Or have you
only driven an automatic?”
Fenella gave a noncommittal smile. She had read about
manual and automatic transmissions in the book about how
things worked. Of course, she had never driven a car, period,
but that only meant she didn’t have any bad habits to unlearn. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
She ran upstairs, Ryland beside her, his paws thudding softly
on the stairs, his voice yelling in her head. Once they were
safely in her bedroom, she whirled on him and whispered, “I
know what I’m doing.”
No, you don’t. What’s going on? How can you drive that
truck?
“I just want to. I’m sure I can do it. I read the book. I
watch when others drive.” Fenella fished her bra out of the
bureau and yanked it into place. “It doesn’t look difficult.”
It’s complicated. Even I only know how to drive an automatic.
“You can drive?” Fenella stopped what she was doing for
a moment to stare. “How did that happen?”
The cat scowled. When I was on my mission last year. I
was in human form. It was when my sister was messing up.
Don’t ask.
Fenella shrugged. She finished dressing and then tied
sneakers on her feet. Before leaving, she engaged in one last
staring contest with the cat.
Fine. Go. The cat’s eyes narrowed.
“I am.” She hurtled down the stairs. She was going to
drive the truck!
“Have you driven a manual before?” Walker asked her
again.
“No, but I understand the principle involved.” Fenella
walked confidently to the driver’s side of the truck.
Since that first day with Walker, Fenella had ridden in
other vehicles. Most of the family shared a car, and Leo had
a big van that was often filled up with instruments. She liked
the feeling of movement in both the car and the van, but
neither had induced in her the joy and exhilaration that she
had felt while sitting next to Walker in his truck, or the deep
interest she had felt looking under the hood of the family
car and identifying the parts of the engine.
Nonetheless, when they went out in the family vehicles,
she often asked to sit in front. She watched closely to learn
how the vehicles were controlled. And of course, The Way
Things Work had an excellent section on automobiles.
She knew she could drive. She knew it.
But Walker shook his head. “If you’re used to an automatic, it’ll take a while to get the hang of things with a manual.
Like, several lessons. Which is fine.” He looked quite cheerful. “Tell you what. I’ll drive us somewhere out of the way
where you can practice without any other cars around.”
Fenella bit her lip, disappointed not to take the wheel
immediately. “Okay.”
“There’s this place about forty minutes up Route 2. It’s
not, like, a Sunday morning when I can find an empty parking lot here in the city.”
“I s ee.”
“I’ll call Soledad and tell her where we are, in case she
worries.”
“Good idea.” Fenella got into the truck on the passenger
side, buckled herself in professionally, and watched Walker
drive. He used his right hand to execute the manual shifting
of gears that the book had described. This shifting was not
necessary with an automatic transmission, the book said,
but some drivers preferred manual shifting because it gave
you more control over your vehicle.
More control. More power. Fenella liked that. Her hands
and feet itched to take over.
They were on a highway now and going fast. It was still a
populated area, but trees grew thickly on both sides of the
road, so that it felt almost as if the highway was cut through
a forest. Fenella smiled, thinking of her friends the tree fey.
“I was born to drive,” she said impulsively.
Walker laughed. Such a warm sound, Fenella thought.
Warm and lovely.
He said, “How long have you had your license? Two years?
Massachusetts lets you get it at sixteen, isn’t that right?”
“I don’t really know,” Fenella said vaguely. “I’m from Eng land.”
“You don’t have a British accent.”
“I guess I don’t.”
“Are you used to driving on the other side of the road?
Or did you never drive in England, only here in the U.S.?”
“Oh,” said Fenella. “I can drive here.”
Walker said, “Me, I’ve been driving a long time. I drove
farm equipment before I got my legal license. My family has
a farm. Also, it’s less complex to drive where there isn’t much
traffic, where I’m from. Plus, Boston drivers are crazy. At
home, everybody follows the rules. Here, you never know.”
Fenella was feeling relaxed; she’d gotten through his
question about a driver’s license without an outright lie.
She watched the thick green trees along the highway. “I
like the trees here,” she said. “I like that there are so many
of them.”
“Eastern hardwood forest,” said Walker, nodding. “Beautiful. The land here was cleared a couple hundred years ago
for crop farming, but the trees are coming back strong. It’s
a relief to see how the land can restore itself, isn’t it? Also,
these are terrific trees. Out west, where I’m from, we don’t
have this diversity. We have a lot of conifers, not so much
hardwood.”
“Where are you from?” Fenella asked.
“Southeastern Washington state, near the Idaho and
Oregon borders.”
“That’s far.” Fenella often consulted an atlas that the
family kept, marveling at the largeness and variety of the human world. “Your family has a farm, you said?”
“Yeah, a tree farm. Christmas trees are a big crop for us.”
Fenella straightened in her seat. “A tree farm.”
“Right. Most people don’t think of trees needing to be
farmed, but my family’s been taking care of trees for generations. Trees are in our blood, my dad says.” He laughed.
“You know, I was originally going to go to forestry school,
like my sisters did. I have two older sisters. I’m still not
sure how I ended up choosing vet school instead. Or how I
ended up on the East Coast.” He stole a look at her. “It just
seemed right.”

deeply at Walker’s neck. Trees were in his blood? Even
though he was human? She inhaled cautiously instead, trying to discern that subtle greenish scent she knew so well.

But Walker smelled of nothing but soap, and dog hair,
and himself; the personal, chemical mixture of salt and
sweat on his skin. He had been speaking metaphorically,
not literally.

She said, almost accusingly, “You decided to take care of
animals, not trees.”
“Well, I like animals a lot.” Walker spoke thoughtfully.
“I miss living in the forest, and nearer to wilder places. But
I also like it out here. It’s complicated, I guess. I made the

choice I needed to make for myself, when I left home for
college. But I’m only twenty-three. I think life ought to take
twists and turns, don’t you? And you ought to try different
things. And be open to, you know, whatever happens.”
Fenella watched his profile and heard the confidence in
his voice. So human, she thought wistfully. Thinking that
any day, life would grab you and catch you up into an exhilarating dance.
But the truth was that, while you might get grabbed and
caught, it wouldn’t be a good thing. You wouldn’t know
what had trapped you, or how, until it was too late and your
pathetic life was no longer your own. Until all you wanted
was for it to be over.
Twenty-three, he said he was. He might as well be an infant, with his hopes and dreams, and what he thought was
a complicated life story. Complicated! If ever she told him
her story, which of course she never would, then he would
understand the meaning of complicated.
Walker squinted at a road sign. “This exit, I think.” He
steered the truck off the highway. “Yeah, this is it.” Soon they
were traveling at a more moderate speed down a narrow
road, with the trees crowded even more thickly alongside.
Fenella put down the truck’s window. Oak, birch, aspen,
maple, pine. Ordinary trees only, not fey, but she was still
glad to see them. This wasn’t unbroken forest, of course;
there were mailboxes along the road, and houses that she
could glimpse through the screen of trees. Still, it was a
pleasant, peaceful road, quite different from the crowded,
thickly populated street on which her family lived. The
dwellings here were huge, she noted.
“Who lives here?”
“Rich people. The kind that have horses. I’ve been doing
some training in equine medicine. I helped at a birth last
week. It was really, really cool.”
He kept on talking as they turned onto a narrower road,
still paved. Another little distance, and another turn, and
then a sign loomed before them.
Rutherford Office Park. Pre-construction Prices
Available.
They were on a vast paved space that had been cut cruelly
out of the trees. A few large, boxlike, unfinished buildings
dominated two sides of the clearing, with a scattering of
cars and trucks parked close to them. The large central portion of the pavement was empty, however, save for a painted
white grid of lines that divided it into parking spaces.
“We can drive round and round here,” Walker said with
satisfaction. He stopped the truck right in the center and
parked it. “Ready to take the wheel, Fenella-who-was-bornto-drive?”
Fenella unbuckled her seat belt, opened the passenger
door, and was on the ground in an instant. Thirty more
seconds and she was behind the wheel on the driver’s side,
with Walker in her old place as passenger. She hardly listened as he said things about how driving a manual differed
from an automatic, and described the various engine
noises she was to listen to for clues as to when to shift
gears. The truck’s engine thrummed to life, and she felt
the vibrations within her body. Her feet placed themselves
on the gas pedal and the clutch, and her hand positioned
itself on the gearshift.
“Transition from neutral to first as you give it gas. All
right, good. Up to second as you pick up speed, you never
stay long in first, excellent, you’re doing great. That noise
again—hear it?—tells you the engine’s uncomfortable at this
speed and so it’s time to shift up to third. Good. Practice
going in circles, staying in the lower gears and transitioning down to a stop when I tell you. Okay, try the brake,
control the car, good, and now shift up again. Listen to the
engine—Fenella!”
The gears screamed. The truck rocked to an abrupt,
nasty halt as the engine stalled.
“S or r y.”
“Yeah, no problem. Everybody does something like that
when they’re learning. Usually several times at least. I’m
actually impressed. But Fenella? This is a parking lot, not
a highway. You’re overconfident with the gas. Don’t go fast
here. Move in a circle, and practice stopping and starting.
That’s all. Nice and smooth. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You’re doing good. Start the engine again.”
She did. She listened to Walker’s voice as he guided her,
until she began to anticipate what he was going to say. She
went around the parking lot in the sedate circle that Walker
had asked for, starting and stopping neatly one time per
revolution, shifting up and down, and down and up, and
keeping the speed reasonable as he had said she should. The
engine began to purr for her, more warmly than Ryland
ever did. Spontaneously, Fenella took the truck in a figure
eight. Walker chuckled.
Then everything clicked together as she had known it
would. Fenella could hear and feel what the engine needed
her to do, so that it could cooperate with her wishes. They
were akin, she and the truck; they were one.
It was amazing!
She did another figure eight, and then, neatly, parked the
car and turned off the engine. She turned to face Walker.
Her cheeks were flushed.
“Wow, you were right. You are a natural.” Walker hesitated and then grinned. “You know what? Let’s leave this
parking lot. You drive us home. You can do it.”
Fenella smiled demurely.
Afterward she hugged to herself the memory of how
it had felt to drive the truck down Route 2. The whistle
of the mild October wind through the open windows.
The smile curving on her mouth, and the shouted roar of
Walker’s approval. The truck’s instantaneous responses
to the command of her foot on the accelerator, her hand
on the gearshift, and her other hand on the wheel. For a
precious length of time, Fenella felt as if she might take
wing.
This was a detour on her journey to death; only a small
detour. What was the word again? A vacation. But still, it
had happened.
In front of the house, she turned off the truck and jumped
lightly down. She was at the passenger door before Walker
had done more than swing his legs out. A big grin split his
face. She went up close to him as he hit the ground. She
touched his cheek gently with one hand. Then—to her own
surprise—she reached farther up, to the back of his head.
She said, “Thank you, Walker Dobrez. Thank you for letting me drive.” The next second, she pulled his head down
and kissed him softly, her closed lips gentle on his surprised
ones.
The moment she realized what she was doing, she jumped
back, her face flaming.
Walker’s face was alive with wonder. His hand touched
her cheek, a mirror to the way she had just touched his.
“No,” she said hurriedly. She caught his hand and gently
pushed it away. “I wanted to kiss you, I guess, but it can only
happen once. You’re not for me. I’m not for you.”
Walker’s expression froze. With the truck immediately
behind him, he couldn’t move away from her. But it felt as
if he had.
Fenella backed farther off. “I—I’m sorry, I have another
favor to ask. Could you take the dog away? Please? It’s
only—it’s not the right time for him to come home.”
After a second, stiffly, Walker nodded.
“Thank you,” Fenella muttered. She turned away from
Walker. She raced into the house, her mind a churning mess
of confusion and dismay and her body still filled with an irrepressible, irrational happiness.