Page 2 of The Space Between

“Hi,” Jeanie said to her. “Are you okay?”

Carol’s face was stony. She moved her pack of ice around on her ribcage with a wince. “I’m fine,” she said, not meeting Jeanie’s eye.

“You don’t look fine.” Jeanie stood there, forgetting for a moment about the fact that the only thing standing between her and certain disaster was a wad of toilet paper shoved into her underwear. “Do you want to talk?”

Carol exhaled, sounding exasperated. “Why would I talk to you? We haven’t spoken a word to one another since sixth grade.”

“So.” Jeanie shifted her book bag from one shoulder to the other. “No one said we weren’t allowed to speak to each other. Just because we don’t doesn’t mean that we can’t.”

Carol considered this. “That’s true.”

Jeanie sat in the empty chair next to Carol’s. “Then tell me what’s wrong. I’m a good listener, and I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

Carol cast a glance at the nurse’s open door. “Stuff at home.” She shrugged.

Jeanie stood up and held out a hand to Carol. “Come on.”

Carol frowned at her hand. “Where?”

“Excuse me, Nurse Heller?” Jeanie took Carol’s hand and pulled her to a standing position. “We’re going to the restroom.”

Nurse Heller was on the phone and she simply waved a hand at them, so Jeanie led Carol down the hall to the girls’ room.

Inside, she held a finger to her lips and then looked under the stall doors. Seeing that there were no feet, she finally spoke. “What’s going on at home?”

Carol turned to face the long mirror over the sinks. She stared into her own blue eyes absently, leaning forward so that her nose was nearly touching her own reflection. She sighed deeply. “My mother,” she said.

“Your mother…is she okay?”

This time, instead of sighing, Carol huffed angrily. “She’s fine. I’m not.” She removed the pack of ice she’d been holding to her ribs and then lifted the bottom of her sweater. There, across her skin, was a deep purple bruise.

Jeanie recoiled. “What happened?”

Carol let her sweater fall. “My mother kicked me. That’s what happens at my house when you don’t do what you’re supposed to do.”

Jeanie wasn’t sure what to say to this. She’d never been hit or kicked by anyone in her life. Her mother was as patient as the day was long, and her stepfather was somehow both distant and jovial. He talked to Jeanie and her sister and brother like they were all adult colleagues, and other than the twins’ squabbles or excited shouts, their house was almost entirely absent of any type of yelling. Certainly, there was no strife.

Carol made a face like she was deeply regretting their entire interaction. “What happens at your house when you don’t listen? Does Mr. Macklin make you write out the periodic tableone hundred times?” She sneered, but seemed to lose the energy for it, and her face fell. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s fine,” Jeanie said. They were quiet for a moment. “It’s not okay, Carol. No one should be hurting you like that—especially your mom.”

“Yeah, well.”

The only sound in the bathroom was of one of the three sinks, which dripped endlessly from the faucet into the porcelain.

“Anyway, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I won’t. Unless you want me to, and then I will.”

Carol reached out a hand and grabbed onto Jeanie’s wrist urgently. “No. Don’t. Please.”

Instead of letting go of Jeanie’s arm, Carol’s hand lingered, and Jeanie took her sworn enemy’s fingers in her own, holding her hand as they looked into one another’s eyes.

“Okay,” Jeanie said. “I won’t.”

And just like that, Jeanie Florence learned firsthand that sometimes the dogs with the meanest bites only snap at people to protect themselves. Later in life, she’d hear the phrase “Hurt people hurt people,” and she would remember this day in the girls’ bathroom, recalling how mean Carol had been, and how much she must have been hurting on the inside. But right then, all Jeanie was sure about was the fact that she no longer hated Carol Fairchild.

* * *

May 1954

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