Chapter 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.”
“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.”