Page 41 of They Say a Girl Died Here

“Yeah. I wondered if that was it.” She pulled the plug, letting the water drain out, before turning to Anna with a surprisingly warm smile. “Thank you for taking Caroline to that farm today. That was very sweet of you. She adores you, you know. She’s still a little kid.”

“Not such a little kid. She got her period today. At the farm.”

“Oh, Christ.” Mom leaned back against the sink. “I’ll go talk to her. Can you do Grandma?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Without warning, Mom gave her a brief hug and kissed her forehead. “I’m proud of you, Anna, I really am.” By the time Anna had recovered from the shock of it—physical contact was not something they had done much of since the thing—Mom was gone, and Anna was left with her gnawing guilt and a pang for the time she would have hugged her mother back.

45

Grandma was sitting ramrod straight on the side of the bed when Anna took the glass of water in. She raised her chin, her eyes glittering, sharp.

“I heard what you said. You lied to your mother about the police being here. You made her think I was confused.”

Grandma’s clear gaze didn’t flinch and in the end, Anna’s shoulders slumped. Great. Another thing to feel guilty about. “I’m sorry. But it’s something I didn’t want her to know. Not yet.”

“Lying is never the way. It’s a sin.” Her mouth pursed. “And it was a cruel lie.”

“I’m sorry.” She was always sorry. Sorry, stupid Anna. “I’ll tell her the truth tomorrow. I promise.” And that was another lie. Mom would lose her shit about the blood in the basement, and until there was some answer about whose it was, there was no way Anna was going to talk to Mom about it.

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,” Grandma said with a sigh, and her eyes glistened with tears. She began to shake and clasped one hand over her mouth as if holding back a sob. “We need to be good with God, Anna. He’s all that can save us.” She looked up. “My head is too full. Is it in your head now too? You said you’d let it in.”

“Is what in my head?” Anna sat on the bed beside her. Was Grandma having one of her funny turns? “You okay?”

“Oh, Anna,” Grandma said, suddenly pressing her hands tightly against Anna’s face, holding it close to her own. “We should pray. His will be done.” Her skin smelled of lavender, her breath stale. It was a nauseating mix. She was dropping in and out of her weird Alzheimer’s activity or whatever it was, switching between normal and not in an instant. And voices in her head? Was this some kind of psychotic break? Or ghosts, Anna thought. Unable to leave. Dead girls haunting Grandma from the inside. They say a girl died here. It was crazy, but it made her shiver all the same.

Grandma pressed her forehead to Anna’s, her paper-fragile skin against Anna’s taut firmness as outside a night owl screeched over its prey. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and took a long breath before she spoke again.

“One day I will save you even if it kills me,” she whispered, her breath damp and cool and desperate against Anna’s cheek. “I swear it.”

46

The old floorboards, as tired as she was, creaked under Anna’s feet as she trudged upstairs, Grandma finally settled but Anna now the opposite. These strange moments were disturbing, and while the thought might be mad, the idea that maybe the dead girls were haunting Grandma was taking hold, and it was creepy as fuck even if it was the sort of thing she’d tell Caroline off for believing.

She wanted to plug in to a podcast or an old movie and zone out. She didn’t even want to make notes for the article. That could wait until tomorrow, when she was thinking rationally again. You had jelly on your T-shirt. It was weird. There was too much weird. And why did it only happen when she and Grandma were alone?

Mom was on the landing getting fresh towels out of the closet, and she handed one to Anna.

“She was in full flight telling her friends about her period over FaceTime or whatever, but she really didn’t want to talk to me about it.” She smiled, rueful. “She’s growing up.”

“She’s got a ways to go yet.” Anna didn’t want to think of Caroline as anything other than safe.

“Grandma okay?” Mom followed her into her bedroom. So much for some peace and quiet.

“Yeah, she’s gone to sleep.” She paused. “I know I said I would, but I’ve never given her the pills. I don’t think she wants them.”

Mom leaned on the doorframe. The youthful glow she’d had when she’d been flirting with Lucas was long gone and she looked tired. She probably was tired. Anna knew how she felt.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I didn’t feel great about it.” Mom sighed so deep it was almost a death rattle. “I just worry, you know. That I won’t hear her at night when I’m here. Or you won’t. This house is too big.”

“It’s okay. I’d hear her. I never sleep till dawn anyway.”

Mom looked at her sideways. “Still?”

Anna shrugged. She didn’t need to say more. The thing, the thing, the thing, forever glued to her, a stain she couldn’t get out.

“You’re being very good with her.”