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nearly nineteen. She lowered her gaze to her mug
and sipped frantically at the liquid in it.
Others kept talking. Was Fenella tired, scared, or confused? She should not worry, they said. They were her
family, they said. They would take care of her, they said.
Oh, and her cat too.
“Thank you,” she managed.
The talk around her began to seem like a roar of unindividuated sound.
She got their names sorted out, though. Soledad and Leo
Markowitz were the married couple who had raised Lucy
as their own. The dog, Pierre, wore an eye patch, and had a
black, curly coat that was growing back from a short summer cut. Of course there was Lucy herself and her young
husband, Zach Greenfield.
The child was called Dawn. She had been named to celebrate a new day.
Soledad Markowitz was saying something about arrangements; that there was a second bed in Miranda’s
room. Belatedly, Fenella was appalled; how could she have
forgotten about Miranda, even for a short time?
“Where is Miranda?”
“She’s on a meditation retreat. It’s a kind of vacation. We
don’t have a lot of quiet here for her.”
Fenella nodded uncertainly. She remembered that Lucy had
said she was worried about Miranda. “What is a vacation?”
“A break from routine,” Lucy said. “You go away from
home, for pleasure, or to have time to rest or think. Miranda
will be back tomorrow. We could call her to tell her you’re
here, but they don’t allow communication except for emergencies. Mom? Is this an emergency?”
“No. It’s a lovely surprise.”
Soledad was a tall, splendidly curvy woman in her late
forties. She had a short cloud of black hair with gray beginning to lace through it. Her brown face was marked with
laugh lines. She reached out and patted Fenella’s hand.
Fenella looked at the hand patting hers. It was square and
strongly shaped, though feminine. What is safety, she wondered. Was it a mother holding you, in hands like these?
Uncontrollably, she looked across the kitchen to where
Lucy had taken up the child in her arms. She was rubbing
her cheek gently on the child’s head, and at the same time,
was saying something to Zach. The child was peeping right
at Fenella, her hazel eyes wide and mischievous—
Fenella snatched her hand away from Soledad. She leaped
to her feet. “Please,” she said frantically. “Can I bring my cat
in from the porch?”
There was silence in the kitchen, but only for a moment.
“Sure,” said Leo Markowitz easily. “No problem. It’s good
that Lucy was careful, but Pierre has met cats before. He
likes cats better than nasty, eye-scratching thorn bushes.
Right, Pierre?” Pierre raised his head briefly from where he
was lying on the floor outside the kitchen. Then he lowered
it back down onto his paws.
“Good old boy,” said Leo. “It’ll be fine.”
It was not fine, though.
Pierre growled and then barked as the cat carrier came
in. He would not stop. He would not be soothed. In his
turn, Ryland stood up in the carrier, hair on end, eyes
manic, keening inside Fenella’s head in a language she did
not know.
In a quick discussion that Fenella could barely follow,
the family decided what to do. The cat would be placed in
the bedroom that Fenella would share with Miranda. “Just
until we figure out how to get them acquainted,” Zach said
over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs with the cat
carrier.
Fenella went after him. “Could I stay in the bedroom
with the cat for a while? I could nap. I know it’s only morning, but I would like to rest.” She felt as if she might collapse.
“Of course,” said Zach.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” said Lucy, beside
Fenella.
Zach murmured quick agreement.
A few more negotiations were necessary: a small room
used for personal bodily matters was pointed out; a box
of dirt was put together for the cat; Lucy pressed clothing
called pajamas upon Fenella. But finally the bedroom door
closed and Fenella was alone with Ryland.
She