The Night Strangers - Chris Bohjalian [139]
“And you know what a synapse is, Rosemary?”
“No, not really. All I know is that it has something to do with the way the nerves communicate and the brain sends messages to the body.”
“And her brain has … a problem?”
“It’s not a problem. It’s just how she is.”
“You likened it to when a computer freezes. I’d say that constitutes a problem.”
“She hasn’t had one in a really long time.”
“Interesting.”
Hallie looked up at Anise, annoyed that this was how the woman was going to respond. Hallie knew there was nothing to be done and that eventually Garnet would come out of it. She knew that her sister wouldn’t stop breathing and her heart wouldn’t stop beating. But whether it would be ten minutes or an hour until she was back was always a mystery, and so she hoped her dad would return any second now from the hardware store. Meanwhile, the idea that this grown-up who’d never before seen one of her sister’s seizures wasn’t fretting—not insisting that they call 9-1-1 or leave right away for the hospital—was disappointing. No, it was more than that: It was irritating. Weren’t these plant ladies supposed to care about her and her sister? Weren’t they supposed to be freakishly motherly and doting?
“She’s going to be fine, you know,” she said to Anise, unable to mask the disgust in her voice.
“This happens with some frequency?” Anise asked.
“I told you: No. This is only the third time it’s happened here in New Hampshire.”
“Three times in two months?”
“They’re usually not that common.”
“And she takes … pills?” the woman asked, the word pills spoken as if it were an obscenity.
“Yes. But they’re not perfect.”
“Pills never are.”
Her mother had made a joke a week earlier about how some of the women here were not especially enamored of modern medicine, and now Hallie understood what she’d meant a little better. “There’s nothing we should do but stay with her,” she said after a moment.
“You mean watch her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make sure she doesn’t wander off.”
“Does she do that when she has one of these seizures?”
“She never has. But the doctors say she could. Like a sleepwalker.”
Finally Anise squatted beside the two girls. “Rosemary?” she said, questioning Hallie though she was staring straight at Garnet’s slack face.
“Yes?”
“Do you have any problem like this?”
“No.”
“You’re fine?”
“Uh-huh. And Garnet is, too. She—”
The woman put her finger to Hallie’s lips. “Cali when you’re with us. Remember? Her name is Cali.”
“And Cali is, too,” she went on. “She just has this … this thing.”
“But you don’t have it.”
“No.”
“Well, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For telling me. Someone had to. We had to know. And now we do.” Then she stood up and started to unpack the cartons of seedlings as if absolutely nothing was wrong in the world. “You always want your ingredients to be flawless,” she added, apropos of nothing, as Hallie sat alone on the ground with her sister.
Chapter Seventeen
You sit on the couch in the den with Emily beside you and feel her entwining her fingers in yours. Emily has asked the girls to run along to their rooms upstairs to play or do homework, but you would not be surprised if they are sitting on the stairs right now and trying to listen. If you were ten years old and a pair of state troopers had appeared yet again at your house, you would want to know why.
At first you had presumed this was about Sawyer Dunmore’s bones and the crypt in the basement you opened. Then you thought it might have something to do with the recent death of Hewitt Dunmore in St. Johnsbury. You were completely mistaken in both cases, and the reality of why they are here this evening—interrupting you and Emily as you prepared dinner—has left you a little shaken and stunned.
“I understand you only knew Dr. Richmond professionally and hadn’t even been one of his patients all that long,” the older of the pair is saying, his