The Night Strangers - Chris Bohjalian [109]
“Next we need to prepare the rose hips,” Anise said, gazing out the kitchen window. “I think Sage thought that might be a nice task for you, Cali.”
“My name is Garnet.” It was an impulse; correcting Anise had been as instinctive just now as batting a mosquito. Still, she regretted the short sentence the moment the words had escaped her lips. Her sister poked her surreptitiously in the side.
“It is,” Anise agreed, turning off the water and using a dish towel with a rooster on it to dry the inside of the pestle, and for a second Garnet thought she might have worried for naught. But then Anise leaned over her, her face only inches away—Garnet could inhale the mint on the woman’s breath—and said, “But not when you’re with me.”
“Why?” Again, it was a reflex, and Hallie turned to her and silently mouthed her regular name, drawing out each of the syllables: Gar-net. Garnet didn’t usually like confrontations, but she didn’t understand the desire these women had to change her and Hallie’s names. She simply didn’t get it.
“I’ve told you, it’s a term of endearment. A term of inclusion. Of solidarity. Do you know what those words mean, Cali?”
She couldn’t have defined them in a spelling test, but she understood more or less what Anise was saying. She nodded. She wished she were back in her bedroom in West Chester that moment. She saw in her mind the windows there and her bed with the blue and gold comforter that matched the wallpaper: planets and stars and a cow jumping over the moon. She wondered where Mom had stored that comforter these days. The attic? A guest bedroom closet?
“You are now a part of my world, Cali,” Anise continued, emphasizing her new name, an undercurrent to her voice that was vaguely menacing. “You are a part of Sage’s world and Clary’s world and the world of some striking people who can make a difference for good or ill in all that you know. You are not a part of your precious Pennsylvania. You’re in New Hampshire. In Bethel. So don’t cross me. Not this afternoon. Not ever.” She brought her fingers to Garnet’s cheeks and gently grazed the skin there with her nails; when she did, the silver bangles on her wrist jingled like chimes. “Think of that skull you found in your basement. The bones you touched with those little fingers of yours. The next time you are pondering whether you like your name or whether you should follow one of my instructions, I urge you to recall that skull. Recall the eye sockets. Recall the jaw. Recall the very idea that someone was buried in your new house and how scared you were when you found the remains. You, too, Rosemary. Now, do you have any other questions?”
Garnet thought she was going to cry, and so she bit her tongue and breathed in deeply through her nose. Then she glanced at Hallie, who was staring down at her feet. Her sister was wearing blue jeans and what she called her cinnamon toast socks: They were brown with yellow spots.
“Good. And if it makes you more comfortable with your new names, rest assured that your mother is taking one, too. And she rather likes hers.” Abruptly Anise stood up to her full height. Garnet noticed that Clary and Sage were now standing beside Anise, the three of them looking like severe and demanding teachers, their eyes ominous and their arms folded across their chests.
“So, Cali,” Anise said finally, her voice once more sounding calm and caring and kind. “We have the rose hips to prepare. I believe Sage will show you how.”
When Emily walked into John’s office, he was pressing his phone against his ear with his shoulder, finishing a conversation with a client. He was rubbing a cream onto his hands. He smiled at her, motioned for her to sit, and said good-bye to whomever he was speaking with.
“Want