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.
72
Chapter 8
Ho�ding the cat carrier, Fenella followed Walker outside. The sun had begun to sink toward the western horizon, but there was still plenty of light.
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
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.
72
Chapter 8
Ho�ding the cat carrier, Fenella followed Walker outside. The sun had begun to sink toward the western horizon, but there was still plenty of light.
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
Similar Books
