Page 42 of Tiny Precious Secrets (The Brothers of Calloway Creek The Montanas #4)

Allie

When I return home an hour later, Darla is at the kitchen table, folding a load of Asher’s laundry. She looks relieved but guarded when I enter. I’m sure she understands if something were wrong, I wouldn’t be back so soon.

“Everything’s okay,” I say, taking the seat across from her. “I’m fine. The babies are fine.”

She doesn’t make eye contact. “I didn’t know you were behind the door.”

I want to reach across the table and touch her hand, because the way she looks right now is like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

“Darla, it’s not your fault. How could you have known I was leaning on the door? If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I was trying to get you to open the door, yet I was putting all my weight against it. It was stupid of me. But listen, everything is okay.”

She stares at my stomach over the pile of laundry. “You swear?”

“I swear.” I pull out a few pictures of the babies Hudson took during the ultrasound and slide them across the table. “See?”

She stops folding one of Asher’s shirts and looks at the pictures. I’m not even sure she realizes the huge sigh of relief that leaves her lungs.

“You do too much for your dad,” I say, pulling the shirt over and folding it. “You shouldn’t be home doing laundry and cleaning up after your father. You should be going to the movies and eating ice cream.”

“You say that like there’s anyone to do it with.”

“There was someone here earlier who I’m sure would love to do all those things with you. Or how about some of the girls you’ve been playing soccer with?”

“They all think I’m a freak.”

“Darla, I’m going to be honest here. I think the only one who thinks you’re a freak is you. Yes, you’re the new girl in town. And maybe they need time to get to know you. But I’m telling you right now, if you believe you’re a freak… well, have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

She shakes her head.

“It means if you believe something about yourself hard enough, it’s likely to come true.”

“That’s crap. So if I believe I’m as good as Mia Hamm, I’ll suddenly be some star soccer sensation?”

“Well, sometimes they can be positive, but more often, they’re negative.

A self-fulfilling prophecy is a belief that influences behavior, which in turn makes the belief come true.

In your case, you think you’re unworthy of friendship, so you may be putting out signals to support that.

You’re expecting people to reject you. That leads to withdrawn behavior which can push away potential friends. ”

“So now you’re a philosopher?”

“It has nothing to do with philosophy. More like sociology or psychology.”

“Whatever.”

Aaaand, there she is.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to be aware that if you act a certain way because you think you are something you aren’t, it can and will affect how others see and interact with you.” I pull over the entire laundry basket. “Let me do this. You shouldn’t have to.”

She snatches it back. “I know how he likes it.”

“Okay. Why don’t you teach me?”

“It’s just easier for me to do it.”

“Darla, I’m not trying to take your place, you know.”

She practically doubles over, clenching her stomach. Then, clearly in pain, gets up from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

My eyes go wide when I see the red stain on the back of her shorts. “Darla!”

She turns and spouts, “What?”

Suddenly, everything over the past few days begins to make sense. I motion to her shorts. “You’ve gotten your period.”

Embarrassed, she tries to look behind her but can’t see the stain.

Then her eyes catch on the chair she vacated where a small smear of blood remains.

Looking horrified, she runs to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I contemplate not following her—I have climbed them a lot today—but she’s obviously in need of a little support.

I pause at her door, not wanting to open it and invade her space.

I’m sure it’s locked anyway. I knock softly.

“Darla? Why don’t you hand me your soiled clothes and I’ll get them soaking.

” I chuckle, wanting to add levity to the situation.

“Wow, you know, this explains a lot about the past few days. I thought maybe you were re-thinking the whole school thing. Do you always get cramps that bad?”

“I don’t know!” she shouts from what seems the far end of the room, or maybe the bathroom. “I’ve never had it before. Now leave me alone!”

Shocked, I sit on the top step. She’s never had it before? As in this is her very first period? She’s thirteen—fourteen in less than six months. I was eleven when I got mine.

She’s going to need someone to talk to. Maybe I should call Asher. But even as close as they are, I’m not sure that’s the way to go. Marti maybe?

I hear Bug’s shower running so I go downstairs and pick at a cookie as I call Marti.

It goes to voicemail, and I decide not to leave a message.

Then I convince myself that calling anyone else would be a mistake.

Darla might be upset with me if I did. If this is her first period, she’s probably embarrassed and confused, not to mention hormonal.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the water stop upstairs so I trek back up yet again. But before I can knock, I hear her voice. Her phone must not be on speaker because I only hear one side of the conversation.

“I don’t have anything, Mel. And Aunt Marti isn’t answering her phone.”

“I’m not about to go to the store.”

“No way am I asking her. She’s pregnant. She won’t even have that stuff.”

Blowing out a long sigh, because I’ve now done this far more than any pregnant woman should have to, I descend the stairs, head to my bathroom, and gather various size pads I’ve accumulated over the years along with the smallest size tampons I can find.

I fish around my underwear drawer until I find a pair of brand-new period underwear I’d never gotten around to opening.

I put it all in a small box and head back up to Darla’s room.

No longer hearing her on the phone, I knock. “I have some things you might need. Can I come in?”

“Just leave it by the door.”

I contemplate doing just that. But she seems pretty freaked out. Has no one ever talked to her about this? Until I know, I can’t just leave her to fend for herself.

“It would be nice if I could come in and show it to you.”

She laughs disingenuously. “You want to give me a demonstration?”

“I just thought I could explain some stuff. You know, in case nobody has. I mean, we’re sort of lucky if you think about it. When my mom was my age, it wasn’t so easy. Now they have underwear and even swimsuits that are more absorbent than tampons.”

The door opens hastily, but at least this time she doesn’t practically rip it off the hinges. I guess the thought of watching me fall on my face two times in one day doesn’t excite her.

“Easy? I have to bleed between my legs every month until I’m what… sixty? And I don’t even want kids.” She shakes her head, then takes the box from me and sifts through it.

“You don’t have to have a period every month.”

Now I seem to have gotten her interest, though she still doesn’t respond.

“There are pills you can take that will allow you to go a long time between periods. But it’s birth control, and I’m not about to counsel you on that.”

“How can I get it? Can your doctor give it to me without Dad knowing?” She cocks her head showing a hint of excitement. “Can you take me?”

“Hold on. It’s hardly my place—”

“Oh, right. You’re living with my dad. You’re trying to be my friend or whatever. You want to marry him, right? But you don’t want to help me with this one little thing.”

“It’s not little. This is a big deal. It’s your first period. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t had one until now. Has nobody spoken with you about this?”

She shrugs. “Aunt Marti sat me down about five years ago. Mel got hers when she was ten, but she didn’t warn me about all this. She claimed it was no big deal.”

I lean against the wall, my feet hurting from all the up and down, but I don’t presume I’m welcome in her room enough to take a seat.

“It’s different for everyone. Some women get bad cramps, some get migraines, some get nauseous.

But a lot of women, like Mel, don’t have any problems their time of the month.

I’m somewhere in between. I’ll usually get a bit depressed and crave chocolate.

I do a lot of binge-watching TV.” I nod to the box in her hands.

“Do you want me to show you how to use any of that?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Of course not. It just might be confusing to figure out what sizes you need. If you choose to use tampons, always use the smallest size that will work. And never ever leave it in longer than eight hours. You could get really sick from something I can’t remember the name of.”

She rolls her eyes. “Great. More crap to worry about.”

“Believe me, you’ll get used to it after a few months. You’ll figure out what works the best. My advice, be sure to always carry a few things in your school backpack. And when it’s approaching your time, wearing period underwear or a small pad might ease your mind.”

One of the babies kicks hard, and I rub my stomach with a small wince.

Her eyes follow the motion. “Dad’s going to be so pissed at me.”

“That you got your period?”

“That I made you fall.”

“Not your fault. It’s forgotten. I’m fine and there’s no reason he should know. Now, do you have any questions?”

She sighs. “I just want to go to bed.”

“I get it. But at least let me wash out your clothes.”

“I threw them away.”

“Those shorts are really cute on you. It would be a waste to get rid of them.” I hold my hand out. “Please let me do this for you.”

She hesitates, then puts the box down, walks into the bathroom, and comes out with her trash can, looking more than a little embarrassed.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I reach in and get her shorts and underwear in a way that I hope shows her it’s not disgusting, but just a fact of life.

“Some peroxide and a little soaking will have these looking as good as new.” I turn and head out the door.

“Get some sleep. You know where I am if you need anything.”

Once I’m at the bottom of the stairs, I hear my name being called. I look up and Darla’s door is cracked just enough so I can see her face.

“Thanks,” she says, the word coming out with zero inflection and little emotion, like it’s the hardest word she’s ever had to say to anyone ever.

But that’s not the point. The point is, she said it.

“Anytime.”

Her door slams shut before she can see the magnificent smile spread across my face.