Page 17 of They Say a Girl Died Here

“It’s a date.”

A date.

Anna was still in the kitchen, trying to control emotions she couldn’t quantify, fight or flight, fear, rage, memories out of reach, when the front door clicked shut and Mom came back in. She leaned on the doorframe, as Anna in turn rested against the sink.

She said nothing, letting Mom fill the quiet. “I know what happened to you was awful. I do know that. And I wish I could go back and change it for you. But I can’t. And you can’t. But life—” She shrugged, helpless. “Life moves on. My life has to move on. It has to. I need more than this. And you know, there are some good men out there.”

“Did you just hashtag not all men me?” Anna looked up, no wind in her sails for a fight. She felt old and tired rather than young and angry and she knew Mom was right. She wasn’t being fair. But life wasn’t fair. Mainly, Anna just wanted to survive.

“I’m trying to have a serious talk with you.”

“No need.” Her face flushed. She couldn’t do this. Not with Mom. Talk about the thing. Talk about their feelings. If she started to unpick the tight knots inside her, she might unravel completely. “I think he’s a creep, but you do you. Or do him. Whatever.” None of it was what she wanted to say, which was how sorry she was, and how she knew she was being unreasonable, how she knew Mom was at a breaking point, but the heat inside her wouldn’t let any of that out, so instead she stormed past her frustrated mother, not knowing how to tell her that her shame and anger and fear were all-consuming and she couldn’t let them go. That they were all she had.

19

Anna’s skin prickled unpleasantly, the house claustrophobic. Her rage of earlier had slowly evaporated into the night heat, but sleep once again eluded her. Mom had wished her a muted good night before she’d left for work, but the tense truce was a cracked eggshell around them, ready to shatter under the lightest pressure.

She leaned out the window, ignoring the fluttering moth-wing tickle of the thin curtains around her face, not wanting to think about Mom and hoping for some cooler air. The night was silent. No owls or crickets calling to each other in the void. With no streetlamps or passing cars on the road, she could be staring out at the ocean. It was a good thought. There was something soothing about the ocean. The long nothingness of it. The death of it.

She stretched out a little farther until her hips pressed painfully against the frame, her skin wanting every twitch of slight breeze, half tempted to fall into the gloom and drown there, and then she heard it. A hint of music. A throb of bass, as if the darkness had a heartbeat. Seconds later a firefly lit up the night, a flashlight going on. For a moment she was puzzled, and then it came to her. The diner girl. Melissa.

She pulled on her sneakers, grabbed her phone, cigarettes, lighter, and house keys, and crept out into the hallway. Mom was at work and Caroline was fast asleep. Downstairs was equally quiet, no noise coming from Grandma’s bedroom or the bathroom. It was fine. She wouldn’t leave them for long. Twenty minutes maximum and she’d be back. She wasn’t going far.

She unlocked the front door and left as quietly as she could before running down the porch steps into the enveloping night, heading toward the cemetery, the flashlight growing brighter as she got closer. The music called her on too, old R&B she didn’t know well, and she tried not to think about growling cars hiding in the darkness, headlights off.

Once she reached the cemetery gates she dug her fingers and toes into the chain-link fence and climbed over, the feeling of breaking the rules exhilarating. Momentarily, she was the old Anna again. It both frightened and excited her.

“Who’s there?” The full beam was on her as Anna dropped to the ground, hard on one ankle, and she gasped and then squinted, holding one hand up against the glare.

“I’m Anna. From the diner.” She reached down to rub her ankle. “Fuck, that hurt.”

The flashlight stayed where it was, blinding her for a moment longer, and then dropped, leaving Anna’s vision full of sparks and shadows.

“And?”

Anna blinked hard, trying to see. Finally, Melissa came into view. Low-slung jeans and a torn T-shirt showing off her taut midriff. Her body was tight and muscular, a proud sheaf of corn next to Anna’s willowy, weak weed. They were the same but different. Country versus city. Her hair, though, like Anna’s, was up in a loose ponytail, out of the way of the heat.

“You’re Melissa, right?” Anna got out her cigarettes and lit one, offering the pack to the other girl, who, after a moment’s pause, took one. “I walked back this way on Saturday from the diner and saw you here then. Heard the music and figured it was you again.”

“Oh, yeah.” Melissa lit her own smoke and handed back the lighter. “The new waitress.”

“I was going to say hi on Saturday night, but a car came up behind me. Had its headlights off like it was following me, then all of a sudden they came on. Freaked me out, so I ran home, but I saw it stopped here. Who was it?”

“You saw that too? No idea who it was. I grabbed my shit and was gone.” She held out her wrist where a nasty cut was scabbed over. “Tore myself on the fence.” She was thoughtful, looking at Anna. “But could have been anyone. Lot of bored farmers looking for a fuck around here while their wives sleep, or maybe someone just trying to goose you or me.” She paused. “You want a beer?”

Anna glanced back to where the house lurked invisible in the night. Twenty minutes. She’d go back in twenty minutes. “Sure. I can’t stay long. My mom’s working nights and my sister’s sleeping.” She followed Melissa over to where a backpack was slung on the ground and they sat down together, cross-legged.

“You live in the old Beech house? Up there?” She flicked her head in the direction of home, and Anna nodded.

“If that’s what it’s called. My grandma bought it. She came from Harper’s Creek originally.”

As Melissa cracked open the bottles and handed her one, Anna stared at the grave they were sitting in front of. Lila Clarke—beloved daughter, now with the angels. The stone was modern marble, bright in the light of the torch, and at the center was an oval photo where Lila was brought to life in glorious color. It had been taken somewhere formal, a patterned scarf wrapped loose to show bare shoulders and the top of a strapless dress. Her blond hair was up in a chignon, and her smiling face tilted professionally toward the camera. If she’d lived to see prom, no photo from there could match it.

“That’s from her cousin’s wedding. She was a bridesmaid,” Melissa said. “It was in Atlanta, I think. Not long before she died. She loved that scarf. Some vintage designer. Her folks never found it, so she must have had it with her when she was killed. Maybe he strangled her with it. Motherfucker. You heard what happened to her, I guess?”

Anna nodded. “She was very beautiful.”

“Hey, look at this video.” Melissa grinned and scrolled through her phone until she found what she was looking for. “Recognize it?” She pressed play and handed the phone to Anna to watch.