dark, loamy soil into the wheelbarrow. “Soil amendment,” she explained. Not to me. To the girls. “I’d ask you to spread it, O, but you’re getting a manicure instead.”
Obedience said, “I could do it tomorrow, if you like.”
Iris huffed a little and said, “We’ll see. Come down in the morning and have a cup of tea with me, if you like. Find something more sensible to wear, though. You won’t be much use dressed like that.”
Obedience said, “I don’t have anything more sensible. Not work clothes. I could get some, but it’s Daisy’s money, and …”
Iris said, “Reckon I’ll have to loan you a pair of overalls, then, because you can’t dig in those trousers.”
I said to nobody in particular, “I’ve spent twelve years not telling anybody about my background. It’s a little disconcerting to finally do it and discover that nobody cares.”
“Why should they?” Iris asked. “More likely to care about what they see in front of their noses. Though there’s enough who can’t see even that far.”
Obedience said, “We were talking about names. Iris changed her name, too, because she used to be a man. I didn’t know that was possible, but I guess it is. Her name was Isaac. She says it’s easier if you use the same starting letter, because you’re used to it, and your name doesn’t sound so odd. I was thinking, though, that you didn’t do it. Why didn’t you choose something that started with a C? Her name was Chastity,” she told Iris. Who snorted. Predictably.
“Because I hated it,” I said. “It’s a horrible name.”
Iris said, “Got to agree with you there, though ‘Obedience’ could be worse.” She considered a minute, then said, “Nah. Both awful. ‘Fruitful,’ too.”
I was dying to ask how she’d met Gray, and how she’d come to live here, and—oh, any number of other questions one had, all of which were probably inappropriate. Which may have had me thinking about how difficult it was for somebody to ask me questions, and how, if I wanted somebody—anybody—to understand, I was going to have to tell them before they asked. I was going to have to share.
I hated sharing. You ended up crying, and I hated crying even more than sharing.
I said, “Come on, you two, and get a shower. We have that appointment. Nice to meet you, Iris.”
She snorted.
Gray
I got home at six-thirty, the light getting mellower, the shadows getting longer, and the car was gone. And when I went over to the yurt and knocked, nobody answered.
They were off doing something or other, that was all. Even though it was well past dinnertime at Mount Zion, which had seemed to be an important fact to those girls.
I checked Daisy’s phone one more time, but she still hadn’t texted. I’d swapped phones with her last night, which meant she’d recognize the number. So why?
The house was empty as well, of course. I flipped lights on, rattled some kibble into the dish for Xena, and checked the fridge. Also empty. Or not empty, but empty of things I didn’t have to cook for myself.
In other words, exactly like my normal life, except that now, I had a dog.
When I heard an engine, I tensed. Then I recognized the growl of the Mustang, and I relaxed. I also went out onto the porch. Just checking.
They came up the track together. Obedience was talking, waving her hand, and I could see the color of her nail varnish even from here. Red.
Daisy saw me and came up the steps to the house fast, with her sisters behind her. She said, “Hi,” and laughed, then shoved her hair back over her shoulder and said, “Did you eat? I have food for you at the yurt, but I woke up late and completely forgot, sorry. Can I get it for you now?”
I was so relieved to see her. I was so angry to see her. I was so confused. I said, “You should’ve texted. I worried.”
Now, she looked confused. “What?”
“I texted you to say when I’d be back. Thought you might be concerned, being alone out here, and want to know. I didn’t get a text back, and then I came home and you weren’t here, and I was afraid something had happened to you.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well … here we are. I’m, uh …” She looked away for a second, then back, and said, “Uh … I’m … I want to say that you’re acting possessive and that’s not all right, but you’re not,