Page 72 of They Say a Girl Died Here

The light went out in Melissa’s eyes.

It was over.

This time when the thunder rumbled, it finally started to rain.

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Anna stood out front of the house, oblivious to the noise and activity around her, the sirens and swirling lights, and people wanting to get her into an ambulance and look at her hand and her ankle and ask her questions. She turned her face up to the sky, letting the downpour soak her, and half laughed, half cried as the rain fell for what seemed like forever.

Eventually, when the thunder had become merely a distant grumble and the dry earth was wet mud under her feet, the rain stopped. The night air was fresh and cool. The pressure had gone. Anna threw her head back and laughed some more. They were free. All the Annas were free. They were all her again. One Anna. The one who lived.

When she’d gotten her breath back, she sat on the edge of the ambulance doorway and let the paramedic put a temporary cast on her hand. She wouldn’t let them take her or Caroline or Grandma to the hospital, not tonight. Grandma was wrapped in a blanket behind her, still hugging Huckleberry Finn, and Caroline was on the gurney, slowly coming around. They needed to be here. At home. Grandma couldn’t cope with the hospital, and they were family, they’d stay together.

“Thank you, Todd,” she said. “For everything.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you more seriously.” Todd sat down beside her. “That’s a lesson learned.”

“I didn’t make it easy.” He was sitting so close that their thighs were nearly brushing, but for the first time in a long time, that didn’t make Anna’s anxiety rise. “How did you know to come here, anyway? And through the basement window?”

“I did my fair share of partying here when I was in school. I knew how to open that window. As for getting here—Roz called me to say you’d picked up my inhaler and were bringing it out to me. She wasn’t overly impressed I was letting you come all that way on your scooter. Since I hadn’t asked you to do that, I figured you must have been hunting through the sheriff’s office for something, so I came here to find out what. I met Brett Laverne on the way. He was coming here too, drunk and ranting about people going to kill you and how he tried to scare you off, so I called for backup. The door was locked and I couldn’t see anyone and then I remembered the basement window. And there you all were.”

“Right is right and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.” Grandma’s voice was strong behind them.

“I never heard Huck Finn quoted about a crime before.” Todd glanced back at her. “But that sure is apt for Doc Burdett and the sheriff.” From the house, someone called for Todd, and he got to his feet. “Your mom will be here soon. I need to go talk the state guys through everything again.”

Anna turned and looked at her grandmother, small under the blanket. It wasn’t the first time she’d used that quote, but it was only now that Anna knew where it was from. I need to help. That’s what Grandma had said when Anna had found her confused in the basement. She’d helped by moving the book. Then hiding the knife behind it clutched to her chest. Anna climbed into the ambulance and sat on the gurney, wrapping her good arm around her. “You helped, Grandma. Boy, did you help. We’d be dead without you.” She pressed her face into the old lady’s thin hair. “I love you, Grandma. I’m sorry for all this.”

“Anna?”

Caroline’s voice was weak, but music to Anna’s ears. She had tears in her eyes as Caroline sat up, bleary and confused. “What happened? I was at the doc’s.” She looked around, taking in the ambulance and the flashing lights and Grandma, and Anna’s soaking and bandaged appearance, and her eyes widened. “Did you set the house on fire smoking?”

Anna smiled, and then she started to laugh and then she was pulling Caroline toward her and relishing the very life of her and the scent of her hair, so like Mom’s and so like Grandma’s and so like her own. “Maybe it’s time to quit smoking,” she said, still laughing, and Caroline joined in even though she didn’t really know why, and even Grandma, in her confusion, smiled.

“Anna? Caroline? Oh god, Mom! Oh god, are you all okay?”

Anna looked up, laughing and crying and everything in between, and there was Mom, running toward them, her face full of desperate fear and love, not able to get to them fast enough, and as her arms wrapped around Anna—god, how she loved the feel of that—they were all crying, holding one another tight, saying how much they loved each other, a family tangle no one could ever unknot.

87

Turned out that once Sheriff Adams started talking after his arrest, he couldn’t stop, desperate to be a man unburdened of things he had no choice but to carry for the rest of his life. Anna didn’t feel sorry for him. His choices had been his own, but at least he’d pleaded guilty to all charges, and the town, reeling from the shock of it all, was saved the scandal of a protracted trial.

Harper’s Creek was a hardy place, though, Anna thought as she locked up the small, freshly painted office. Resilient. That was part of what she’d come to realize she loved about it. The rain had come and washed all their sins away, or maybe, when the shock of the truth had faded, there was just a collective sigh of relief.

She looked up to where the sign that Todd was making for her would go and felt a thrill of excitement.

The Harper’s Creek Chronicle. Local news for local people.

She’d considered going back to college—a different one, but college all the same—but that time was done. She was nearly twenty-three, and this was where she wanted to be. One day maybe she’d write the long-form piece on the true story of the Farmhand that a couple of New York editors wanted from her, or even a book, but for now, both she and Harper’s Creek needed to recover. The last thing anyone here wanted was to be flooded by outsiders, ghouls come to stare. It was time to make Harper’s Creek home.

Summer was fading to autumn and there were the first hints of crispness in the warmth as she strolled up Main toward the church. Mom was at work, Callie was back in school, the long summer vacation over, and once Anna got Grandma home, they’d maybe watch a movie for a couple of hours before the others got back. Her scooter was now in the shed until Callie was old enough for it, the town having gifted Anna a car as a thank-you. She in turn had gifted that to Mom as a trade-in for her old one. Seemed fair. Mom had sacrificed enough for them over the years.

Sacrifice. Anna thought about that word often. She was thinking about it now as she pushed open the church doors. It was warmer inside, and welcoming, and she could see Grandma, who had sacrificed so much, down at the front, staring up at the cross, that strange wistful smile on her lips that was her forever expression these days.

“Anna.” Pastor Keene, tidying Bibles into stacks on a side table, smiled at her. “How are things going with the paper?”

“Jeannie’s signed up for advertising and is going to run a recipe column. Nearly ready to start putting together the first issue.” She looked across to her grandma. “She been okay?”

“She always is.” He put down the last Bible and studied her. “And how are you? Now that things are settling? Any news from New York?” It was strange, this friendship she’d formed with Pastor Keene. She’d gotten past his awkwardness, and now that all her anger was gone, she saw him for what he was. Devout but a good man.