Page 2 of They Say a Girl Died Here

“I think that every day,” Anna said quietly. “But you all thought moving to this place was a great idea. So here we are.”

3

The kitchen was no more appealing with the lights on. The faucet continued to drip as Anna opened the Formica cupboards to look for the chocolate powder as milk heated in the microwave. Although there was nothing wrong with the room, there was something dated about it, no matter how clean and new the surfaces were. She ignored the notes stuck to everything. Kettle. Milk. Sugar.

Your grandmother’s sick. She’s going to have confused moments more and more often and we need to look after her. She may think you’re me when I was little. She may think you’re someone from the past. She may seem lost. It might be scary, but she’s still Grandma, and it’s scarier for her than it is for us, and we have to love her and look after her.

Loving her and looking after her would be easier if Grandma had been less judgmental about what happened with Anna. Mom claimed that the nastiness was the start of the disease taking her. Before she’d been diagnosed. Anna hadn’t been so convinced.

The microwave pinged and she checked that the milk was warm but not hot, in case Grandma spilled it or burned her mouth. Her care was less for Grandma—a year of Evelyn’s less-than-silent judgment and that’s what comes of dancing down the devil’s path comments hadn’t been wiped out by this sudden decline in her health—than the repercussions from Mom. The choice had been stark: Either Anna watched over Grandma and Caroline during her mom’s night shifts or they’d have to get a nurse in. That in turn would mean Anna doing more hours at the diner or a second job and there’d be a stranger in their house during the hours only Anna was usually awake, and she didn’t like the idea of that at all. This was the easiest option.

She stirred in two spoons of chocolate powder, then carried the cup through to Grandma, flicking off the kitchen light as she went, leaving the faucet dripping alone in the darkness.

Grandma was sitting up in bed, looking sideways out the window. “Why doesn’t it rain?” she said. No acknowledgment of the strange lost moment that just occurred. Her voice was back to normal. Brittle as dry summer twigs. “All this noise and light but no rain. What’s the point without the rain?”

“It’ll pass soon,” Anna said. “Drink your hot chocolate and go back to sleep.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, girl.”

There she was. The Grandma Anna knew. “I’m just trying to help, Grandma.”

“Why are you calling me Grandma, Claire? What is the matter—” Her head snapped around, irritated, and she stopped mid-sentence. Claire was Anna’s mother’s name. The wrong person. A wrong moment. Anna stood there, awkward, as time settled back down around Evelyn. Maybe a nurse in the house wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Good night,” she said quietly.

She was pulling the door behind her when Grandma stopped her.

“Anna.”

Her own name, at least. Grandma was back in the building.

“Yes?”

Evelyn stared defiantly at her from the bed, all her formidable God-fearing rage and strength now housed in that diminished, breaking-down body and mind, but if the old woman was afraid, she wasn’t going to show it.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate,” she said eventually. “You’d best get some sleep. You want to be fresh for work tomorrow.” She picked up the cup, took a sip, and went back to staring out at the dry storm in the night. Anna took that as her cue to escape.

Found Grandma in the sitting room when getting water. She was pressed up against the window. Don’t know how long she was there for. Maybe ages. Her hands were freezing.

She sent the text to her mother, then once back in her own room, stripped down to her T-shirt and underwear and got into bed. She was unsettled. Much as Anna didn’t like Grandma, the idea of Evelyn getting out of bed and potentially hurting herself made her feel responsible, and she didn’t want to be responsible for anyone.

4

The air was still like hot molasses, but the thunder faded as the dry storm moved on across the swaths of struggling farmland, leaving what was left of the night peaceful. Anna reached for her earbuds and was about to plug herself into a true-crime podcast when her bedroom door creaked open.

“Anna?”

Caroline stood in the doorway, her long hair messy down her back from sweaty sleep.

“What do you want?” What now? Why couldn’t people just leave her alone?

“I thought I heard something.” Her little sister hovered where she was, nervous to come in, nervous to stay outside, one bare foot pressing down awkwardly on the other. “Downstairs.” A few years earlier she would have just run and jumped into Anna’s bed, excited to be in the presence of that rare creature, her sophisticated and wild older sister. Those days were gone.

“I got up for water, that’s all,” Anna said. “Go back to sleep.”

Caroline glanced back over her shoulder into the gloom of the hallway and then over to Anna again. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”

“I’m sure.”