Page 47 of They Say a Girl Died Here

“It’s a whole weekend now?” Anna’s unease crept back. “I thought you didn’t want to go. Because of the tent thing? And that stupid urban legend Farmhand stuff.”

Caroline ignored the questions. “But we didn’t go because she’s in a foul mood and said we couldn’t because she didn’t have time. And even though nobody tells me anything, I know that it’s got to do with you. It’s always to do with you. And it’s not fair.”

She barged past Anna, storming into her room like a true teenager. Anna watched her go, hurt and guilty all at once. Yes, it probably was her fault. But life wasn’t fair, and Anna had had it worse by far.

Her stomach churned against the lie. She looked at the tired bathroom. The old towels. Caroline wrenched away from her Boston friends and having to start all over again in the middle of nowhere. Living with a fading woman whose mind was going and an angry, damaged older sister. Mom was always tired. No dad to remember. Anna leaned her head against the cool doorframe. Callie might be the golden child, but that didn’t mean she’d had it easy. Maybe she was the golden girl because she didn’t fight it like Anna did. Summer child versus the storm.

She considered going after her but decided against it, heading back downstairs instead. Callie would get over it. One foul mood wasn’t going to destroy her hero worship overnight.

She took a deep breath before going into the kitchen, not wanting to face Mom yet, not really wanting to face her ever, and banking on the stilted awkwardness of nonconfrontation to continue so they could all survive this. “I told her,” she said. The windows were open, but the glass was still steamed up from the pasta and sauce bubbling on the stove. It reminded her of how it was after the thing. The kitchen always busy. Plates full of food. Everyone trying to eat their way through a crisis.

“Smells good.” It did, but she wasn’t hungry. Mom’s face was tight as she stirred the sauce while Grandma carefully set the table. A tiny hesitation before she put the forks down, as if unsure which way around they went. “She’ll be down in a minute. Shaving her legs, believe it or not.” She paused. Screw it. She was already in trouble; poking Mom one more time wasn’t going to make much difference. “I think she’s a bit upset you didn’t take her shopping.”

“I’m well aware, thank you, Anna.” Mom still didn’t look at her.

God, this dinner was going to feel long. She was wondering if she could get away with saying she’d eat in her room—they’d probably be relieved—when her phone buzzed and then buzzed again in her pocket.

It was Melissa. Are you busy? I need your help. She opened the second text. It’s Jezebel.

“Can you put a plate in the fridge for me?” She was already pocketing the phone and hurrying to the hallway. “I have to go out.”

“No.” Mom came after her, face incredulous with disbelief, sauce splattered on her blouse. One of her favorites. It looked like blood. “No, I can’t. We’re all going to sit at the table and eat and at least pretend to be normal, Anna, and that includes you. I can’t do this with you today.”

“Sorry, Mom.” She grabbed the scooter and charger and pulled open the front door. “There’s a problem with a cow.”

55

She rode fast through the blazing sunset to reach the farm and ran straight to the barn. While a terrible low groan came from the far stall, Melissa was shrieking in rage as she kicked viciously at the barn wall in the suffocating heat.

“Melissa?”

“Anna. Thank god.” Melissa turned, panting, her shoulders slumping, the rage gone. “I’ve moved the others out. It was too upsetting for them.” She was slick with sweat and looked like she’d been crying as she went back to the stall. “It’s okay, Jezebel, it’ll be okay.” The cow dropped to its knees then stood up again, head lowering and rising, struggling to find a position she could settle in. Anna joined them in the stall, ignoring the stench of blood and shit soaked up by the straw, and gently stroked the distressed animal.

“It’s gone on too long,” Melissa said. “I think she’s breech.”

“Shit.” Anna didn’t know much about giving birth, but a baby the wrong way around was never a good thing. “Where’s the vet? Is he coming?”

“Dad owes him money.” Melissa looked younger with no heavy kohl around her eyes. She didn’t have her plastic bangles on either, and her arms were filthy. The cow wasn’t the only one exhausted by this labor. “He won’t come out to us until the bill’s paid.”

“I thought the farm was making money.”

“It was.” Melissa shrugged. “I guess good luck doesn’t last.”

“How’s your dad doing?” The careful swallow from the bottle. Was Melissa aware of that?

“He feels things hard, you know? Takes things to heart. And the anniversary this week. He can’t even go into the fields because of the memory of Bonnie.” She leaned forward and kissed Jezebel’s head as the cow grunted. “I can’t wait for this week to be over. Constantly thinking I’ll be next or some shit. And now this.”

“What do you need me to do? Go fetch Doc Burdett? Can’t you call him?”

“I tried. He’s with a patient who’s having some chemo complications.” She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “You’re going to have to help me get this calf out.”

Anna stared at her. She’d seen movies where this had happened. Normally on the Hallmark Channel with Mom where the new vet in town met the set-in-his-ways farmer and it was all enemies-to-lovers by breakfast. Somehow, she figured, in reality, delivering a calf was going to be a whole lot messier.

“Okay.” She nodded, happy that she sounded calm when in fact she was terrified. This was life and death. This was too much trust. “So you want me to stroke her head and talk to her or something?”

“I brought Jezebel into this world. She can be feisty but she trusts me. She’ll need to see me to stay calm.” Anna stared at her. Oh hell no. “Don’t freak out,” Melissa continued, “but you’ve got the business end. I can talk you through it, but you’re going to have to do the work.”

For a long moment, Anna said nothing, dumb with disbelief. There was no way. It would go wrong. She’d do more harm than good. She wasn’t built for it. It was too much responsibility. A tornado of thoughts in her mind.