Page 41 of Broken Surrender
Heat burned in my chest, flushing my cheeks. I didn’t know what to say to a teenage girl that had just gotten her first period, and I knew that pretty much anything I said would be wrong. But I had to figure out a way to comfort her.
“You know what these are, then?” I said, gesturing at the armoire.
“My brother made me readThe Period Bookas soon as he adopted me.”
What had happened to their parents?
That question wasn’t appropriate right then.
“And your choice?” I asked.
“No one uses pads,” she scoffed. “It’s like a diaper.”
“I switch between tampons and pads,” I said. “Some days, a pad is more comfortable. And other times, I’d prefer a tampon.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re serious?”
“I tried the cups, but never got them to work without leaking.”
Her cheeks flamed red. “I’m honestly wearing a pad right now. When I told our estate manager what was going on, he threw the heaviest maxi pad at me.”
“They come in varying sizes.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know. Tell that to Leonard.”
After a few minutes of digging through the shelves, Corinne settled on a small box of tampons and wrinkled her nose. I remembered that feeling well.
“I got my first period when I was in gym class,” I said. “We were swimming. And it ran down my legs.”
“Gross!” she yelled. Then she laughed and lowered her voice, “Was it embarrassing?”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“But you’re not embarrassed now?”
“It happens.” I lifted my shoulders, my attention on the armoire. “We’re not the only two people in the world to get periods.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said quietly.
When she came back from the bathroom, she threw the armoire door open again. “Wonder if the genius put some pain killers in here,” she muttered.
I pulled out a small container from my clutch. “Here,” I said, handing her some pain relief tablets. “My husband kept me stocked onallthings drug-related.”
“Husband?” she asked.
I paused. This was awkward. How did I explain it?
“He worked in pharmaceuticals.”
“Worked,” she said to herself. “Is he gone?”
I nodded, and she looked away, leaving it at that. She drank some water, throwing the pills back. In my gut, I knew that she was the woman Desmond had talked about, who had been abused and raped, and it made me sad. It sucked for anyone, but she was so much younger than me.
How could someone let that happen?
She tossed her dark brown hair over her shoulders. “I take it Desmond didn’t tell you about me,” she said.
I shook my head. “But he didn’t tell you about me either.”
