Page 46 of They Say a Girl Died Here

“Please, Mrs. Carlson. I—”

“He was doing so much better until you came along. He was starting to put it behind him. He was thinking about the future. Coming back to us.” Her bloodshot eyes filled with tears again, her whole body shaking with rage.

“No, he wasn’t. He was putting posters up. He wanted to raise awareness. He thought Lila’s killer was still out there somewhere.” Anna was defensive in the face of the accusations. “He wasn’t over it.”

“You encouraged him.” Mrs. Carlson stepped forward suddenly, as if she might gouge Anna’s eyes out, but her husband held her back and she burst into tears instead, crumpling into his chest.

“Haven’t you meddled enough?” he said coldly. “What kind of ghoul are you?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’ll go.” Her face burned. Ghoul. Maybe she was. Maybe it was madness after the thing. “I didn’t mean any harm.” The words sounded empty as she backed away, knocking into the edge of the coffin as she went.

“You’re not even from here!” Mrs. Carlson called after her, grief and anger blending into a perfect storm of hatred.

Anna turned and ran back the way she had come, pushing through the awkward, staring mourners, flushed and sweating. I’m sorry, Jamie, she thought as she grabbed his scooter, kicking off to flee her embarrassment as the sheriff’s cruiser pulled up and he and Todd got out to join the funeral. I’m sorry.

53

Back in the house, Anna showered until the water ran cold and then lay on her bed, where emotional exhaustion took hold and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she woke, hair tangled and still damp, she was finally calm. Empty but calm. She needed a smoke, and there was still more than half her salvaged pack left, so she went downstairs, slipping out front before Mom or Grandma spotted her and wanted to talk.

The sky was once again a wash of orange as day began the shift to night, the sun gratefully fading and sinking into the horizon. While the air was warm, there was a welcome gentle breeze and Anna lit a cigarette and stared out toward the empty cemetery, the living having left Jamie to settle in to his new, dark forever home. Maybe he was watching her from there. Don’t forget me, Anna. Don’t forget what I said. If anything happens to me, they’re still out there. She wouldn’t forget and she couldn’t. But was she making herself a target by asking questions? Forcing the sheriff to look at the case again?

As night fell, she shivered, not liking the shadows stretching toward the house, hungrily reaching for her. Her cigarette finished, she grabbed her scooter to bring it inside and top up the charge, happy to be back in the house, even full as it was of its own tensions.

“Anna?” Grandma came into the hallway and smiled at her. “Good. You’re up. Can you tell Caroline dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, dear.” Grandma’s tone was perfectly normal, no admonishment in it, no are you all right, as if the dramas of the day hadn’t happened. Anna wondered for a moment if maybe it was the Alzheimer’s and Grandma had forgotten already, but it wasn’t that. It was just how they were. Brush everything under the rug and maybe it would go away. Mom’s outburst had shocked them both. That wasn’t how they didn’t things in this family. Why talk to each other about a thing if it can be repressed and ignored?

54

The door to the bathroom was open and Anna heard Caroline before she saw her.

“Ouch.” A splash of water. “Shit.”

“Dinner in fifteen.” Inside, her little sister was frowning, annoyed, balancing on one leg, the other up in the sink and a cheap pink razor in her hand. There was a cut by her knee and another on her shin.

“You’re supposed to shave them, not hack them to pieces.” Anna didn’t want to look at the blood. It made her think of the basement. Could she really have cut her own hand so badly it left a handprint and not known it? And who’d cleaned it off? Grandma was the only possibility, and that wasn’t likely. But it was possible, she told herself, finding the thought calming. Both of those things were possible.

“Very funny.” Callie glared up at her.

“And use shaving gel, not hand soap, and also, use a man’s razor. Gillette Mach3 is the golden choice.” Anna looked at her sister’s pale, hair-free legs. “But this is information you don’t need, because you don’t need to shave your legs yet. In fact, you don’t need to shave them at all if you don’t want to. Male-gaze conditioning and all that.”

“Don’t be gross.” Caroline blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Holly shaves hers. And I don’t want anyone to look at my legs like they look at Donna Maguire’s. One of the boys started calling her the monkey.”

“Well, that sounds more than a little bit racist.”

“You know what I mean.”

Callie snapped the answer as she pulled her leg out of the sink and rubbed it down with a towel, leaving a smear of blood behind. There were also drops of blood on the bathroom mat by the toilet. Darker, though.

“Wow, you’re snarky. I get you’ve got a period, but no need to be a cliché just yet. And anyway, you’re not thirteen till next month.”

“I’m not in a bad mood because of that.”

She couldn’t even say the word. Cool at school, at home less so. “Okay, what’s bugging you?”

“Mom was supposed to take me shopping after school. To get some new stuff for the party weekend.”