Page 39 of They Say a Girl Died Here

“Of course. You okay to take her, Anna? In the house, third door on the left. Dad’s out.”

“Sure.” She squeezed Melissa’s arm. “And thanks for this.”

“Anytime. What are friends for?”

It gave Anna a warmth in her core that the sun couldn’t touch. It was a fragile, precious feeling. She had a friend.

43

The farmhouse was cool inside, curtains shut to keep out the sun, but even in the half-light Anna could see that if the Lavernes had made money when their crops started coming in, a lot of it must have gone toward clearing debts rather than making home improvements. It wasn’t like the place was dirty, but there was a tired vibe, all the furniture a little bit too much out of date. No plants or knickknacks. A large TV and a few books on a shelf, but that was about it. Some old photos, framed. Melissa as a kid on a tractor. None of her mother, but she couldn’t blame them for that. Dad wasn’t exactly taking up space on their dressers either.

It felt odd waiting inside without Melissa there, as if they were trespassing, and as her discomfort grew, she wondered what was taking Caroline so long. In the gloom of the narrow corridor, she knocked on the door.

“You okay in there, Callie? They out of paper?”

Caroline didn’t answer.

“Come on, we’ve got to get home.”

There was another pause, and she was about to knock again, when the lock clicked and the door opened. Caroline, red-faced, was crying on the other side.

“It’s in my jeans and everything,” she said. “I don’t know what to do. It’s horrible.”

For a second Anna didn’t understand, and then she glanced into the toilet bowl and saw the blood there. No wonder Caroline had had an upset stomach and been in such a shitty mood.

“You didn’t know your period was due?” Anna asked. Caroline stared at her blankly before her face crumpled again, ashamed.

“I never had one before. And it hurts.”

“Oh. Shit.” Callie’s first period and they weren’t even home. It could have been worse. It could have come in her classroom. “Hey, look, don’t cry, it’s fine. Trust me, you’ll get used to it.” She pulled at the toilet roll, handing Caroline a wedge. “Clean yourself up a bit. I’ll go ask Melissa if she has a pad or something.” Caroline’s period was not coming in quietly, the toilet deep red and clots sinking to the bottom of the bowl. She’d leak all over Mom’s car seat if she went home unprotected.

“Don’t tell her.” Caroline grabbed her arm. “I just want to go home.”

“She won’t care, she’s not like that. And all women get them, Callie, it’s normal.”

“Please.”

Anna stared at her, a quiet rage creeping up from her toes. What was this shame women carried from bleeding? She remembered Miss Jones in high school, who never left the room during class except occasional days when she’d grab her purse and rush out on some pretext of needing a new marker for the board or whatever. Someone found out she had endometriosis or fibroids or whichever made you bleed harder and they’d laughed about it. Hidden their own shame at their bodies, and the Tampax they tucked into their sweater sleeves, hurrying to the restroom and praying they hadn’t leaked. God, she wished they’d all just let it flow and bleed all over school and college so men could truly see the power of women. Women fucking bleed to make life and people made them ashamed of it. How messed up was that? Why did all women—her included—feel that way?

She looked at her sister’s begging expression and for a moment she wanted to spite her. To make Caroline the girl who took on her period, her womanhood, unashamed. To force her to tell if not the world, then at least Melissa.

“Please, Anna. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want anyone to know.”

The rage left as soon as Callie’s small hand desperately gripped her arm. It was too late anyway. That shit was born into them, centuries of conditioning. The shame of womanhood, of her sexuality, of her power had just landed in Caroline’s underwear. No more girlhood. All the dangers of the world would smell that blood out.

“Okay, okay. But here, let me show you. You need to roll that tissue up tight and wedge it in your panties, okay? That will hold for a while. We’ll soak your things when we get back. Your jeans will be good as new.”

“Thanks, Anna.” Caroline sniffed, her tears easing. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I’ve got stuff at home you can have. Don’t worry.” Anna leaned forward and kissed her little sister’s head, the warm smell of her hair different now. Pheromones changing. “I’ll wait outside. Make sure you clean up the seat. Look under it too.” She scanned the carpet. At least there were no telltale red spots needing scrubbing out.

In the gloomy corridor, dust motes hanging in the heavy air, she felt the oddness of a jolt of time passing. Caroline was nearly thirteen. Before long, she’d be in college herself, and Anna didn’t want to think about that. The parties. The fun. How quickly everything could go wrong and lead to a whole other kind of shame, so much worse than a period.

She leaned against the door. The house had felt colder when they’d come inside, but now that she’d adjusted she could feel the stale heat. It was everywhere. There was no escaping it. She’d read or watched some science-fiction story once about sand that got into everything. Took over until it drowned anyone it came across. This heat was like that. Why couldn’t it just rain? Dear god, she’d do anything for some rain.

She was leaning against the wall, enjoying the coolness, when she heard a noise from back by the front door. Paper rustling, maybe. Heavy feet. Couldn’t be Melissa because she would have called out. It must be her dad.

“Hello?” She headed toward the noise, and as she reached the open-plan kitchen-living area, a wiry tanned man with thinning hair, dressed in scruffy jeans and shirt, was standing at the breakfast counter, a couple of grocery bags in front of him, with the refrigerator door open. His eyes were dark in his thin, weaselly face. He stared at her, saying nothing.