“It looks worse than it is,” Lauren babbled. “Just a little mess. You’re just surprised, right? Did it start earlier today?”
“I . . . I guess. I saw some . . . brown in the airport. And then I shut the TV off and got up and . . . and . . . it gushed.”
“Okay, okay,” Lauren soothed. “You’re fine. I know you feel scared, because it seems weird to see a lot of blood. But this is totally normal.” It wasn’t her most elegant speech, but she was pinch-hitting here.
“I want my mom,” Elsa sobbed, her narrow shoulders shaking.
Lauren’s eyes welled instantly and spilled over. “Oh, honey. I’m so, so sorry she isn’t here.” She swallowed her own tears. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m going to help you the best I can. I know it’s not nearly the same as having your mom around, but I’ve gotten periods for a long time, okay? I’ll get you set up.”
“Okay,” Elsa ground out.
She convinced Elsa to take a quick shower while she went to look in her luggage for a pad. Luckily, she found one. Often there were only tampons in there.
With Elsa standing there in a towel, she gave her a quick explanation of how pads were affixed to underwear. “You can just throw your ruined ones away, okay? I have extras. And we’ll use cold water to get the stain out of your jeans. Do you have another pair with you?”
She did, luckily.
Ten minutes later, Elsa was dressed in clean, dry clothes and sitting on her bed looking a little shell-shocked but otherwise fine. It was almost time to head over to the rink, but Lauren took the risky step of climbing onto the bed next to Elsa. She hugged her knees to her chest and sighed. “I got my first period on a bus trip with my class. In eighth grade.”
“Oh, no!” Elsa gasped.
“It was on the way home, at least. I tied my sweatshirt around my waist. But I was still a hundred percent sure that everyone saw. I felt like I was glowing like a beacon.”
Elsa groaned, because the idea of bleeding in front of your classmates was universally acknowledged to be a fate worse than death.
“We’ll buy some pads in the hotel gift shop on our way to the game, all right? I’ll stash them in my purse.”
Elsa risked a glance in Lauren’s direction. “Thank you,” she said gruffly.
“It’s nothing, honey. I know it seems like a huge deal today. But you get really good at handling the details, and life goes on. You can ask me for anything, okay? One of these days you’ll be ready to handle tampons, which makes life even easier. But today is probably not that day.”
“Ew, no,” Elsa said, and Lauren had to bite back her smile.
There was a crash in the other room, and Lauren jumped. A split second later, Mike appeared in the doorway between the two hotel rooms, his face red, his eyes wild. “What happened?” he panted.
For a second, Lauren just blinked. “You’re supposed to be at the rink!”
“No kidding! But I got a call from you on my phone that there’s some kind of crisis. I texted you back a hundred times with no answer.”
“Omigod,” Lauren said, sitting up straighter. “The message I left! I’m so sorry. We’re fine.”
“Looks that way.” He bent over and grabbed his knees. “Jesus. Ran all the way here.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Elsa said quickly. “You’d better get back. Like, yesterday.”
He stood up and leaned on the doorjamb. “You two sure you’re okay? Want to tell me what happened?”
“Later,” Lauren said.
His eyes shifted to Elsa. “Young lady, were you causing drama?”
Lauren tried to meet his gaze and tell him to drop it, but his eyes had a laserlike focus on his daughter.
Elsa swallowed. “I wouldn’t come out of the bathroom because I got, uh, my period.”
His expression went from angry to shocked to completely uncomfortable in about two seconds. “Oh,” he said slowly. “Uh, okay. And . . .” He scratched his chin. “Is that, uh, working out all right?”
“Yup,” Elsa said quickly. “You can go back to guarding the net now.”
“Right,” he said.
“Right,” Lauren repeated.
“So . . . I’m just going to . . .” He pointed over his shoulder.
“Stop ’em all,” Elsa encouraged.
“Stay sharp,” Lauren added.
He gave them both one more appraising look. Then he turned around and disappeared. The next sound was the hotel room door shutting again.
“Whoops,” Lauren said into the silence.
“Yeah,” Elsa whispered. “Did you . . .” A hysterical giggle bubbled out of her chest. “. . . see the look on his face?”
“I did.” Lauren kept it together for about two seconds before bursting out in laughter.
“He was like, oh, omigod,” Elsa giggled.
“Any topic but that,” Lauren added, her stomach contracting with more laughter. It was a few minutes before they could calm down. “We should go or we’ll miss the beginning.”
“Okay.” Elsa got off the bed carefully. She looked a little freaked out again.
“Do you feel okay? Does your stomach hurt?”
“It did earlier but I think I’m good.”
Five minutes later they took the elevators downstairs, and Lauren pointed out the lobby shop.
“Are you going to, uh, ask for them?” Elsa whispered when they stepped inside.
“Sure. Don’t forget—every woman buys these. And if there are men at the checkout counter of Rite Aid at home, that’s what self checkout is for.”
“Huh. Okay.”
Lauren strode right up to the bored looking woman behind the register. “Do you have maxi pads? I need them very badly.”
“Omigod, Lauren,” Elsa hissed. “Shhh.”
The woman barely lifted her eyes from her phone. She turned around, grabbed a plastic-wrapped pack of eight and plunked it on the counter. “Six-fifty,” she said.
Everything sold in hotels was such a rip-off. Lauren paid anyway, tucked the pads into her bag and went outside. “There’s supposed to be a shuttle bus to the game.”
The doorman turned to her with a frown. “It’s running slow tonight because there’s a protest rally going on. Give it ten minutes. Or you could walk it.”
“Thanks,” Lauren said, turning to Elsa. “Shuttle or walk?”
“Walk.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Beacon made a giant error by getting into the hotel’s courtesy car.
He’d been trying to save time, and the guy was right there when he emerged from the hotel’s front door. But now they were stuck in traffic, and he couldn’t even see the arena.
The half-mile sprint he’d done along the river to get to his family? That had worked fine.
“Seems to be some kind of rally,” the driver murmured. “I can’t turn left at any of these cross streets.”
“Shit.” His phone was blowing up with messages, too. WHERE ARE YOU? the general manager of the team kept texting. That was in addition to Rebecca’s texts, Jimbo’s texts, and Silas’s.
Your phone shows that you’re at the hotel, Becca texted. Or maybe you left your phone at the hotel, and you’re here in the building? I hope so. If you get this message, please know that people are freaking out. I hope you’re in a bathroom stall somewhere meditating.