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The afternoon sun bore down on her back and shoulders. The walls seemed to be pressing in, and she had nowhere to go. She concentrated instead on the sensation of her cotton skirt, tight and itchy, bunched between two fisted hands. December 21st, Winter Solstice. She’d circled the date in her notebook and zoned out.
This week was undoubtedly one of the worst of her life. And there had been a few. Waiting at that diner and receiving the call that her mom was gone. Starting 8th grade without her. Coming home from band practice to find Tommy covered in blood then running to the neighbors to ask if she could use their first aid. Watching dad drink himself sick over and over.
Now this. She’d forgotten to bring a menstrual pad with her this morning and by noontime her tights bore the evidence. Her mom would know what to do. But Teresa was on her own. With something close to self-loathing, she’d made for the cramped, oft forgotten downstairs bathroom and all but tore those stockings off, scrubbing them in the icy cold water.
The harsh chemical smell in the bathroom gave her a headache - it had the same lemony intensity as the one her grandmother used.
Even her stomach seemed to loathe the stale air.
A sudden knock on the door outside startled Teresa out of her thoughts. Her hand went up, as if on its own accord to scrub at her eyes. Burning with shame. Anger. How she wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Teresa?” Sister Catherine’s shoes appeared under the stall. “Teresa, come out right this instant."
Sister Catherine had always been her least favorite. Teresa drew in a breath and made herself count to five before she undid the latch. The door swung open much too quickly. The nun's aged face came into focus. Green eyes much like her own squinted, taking in the situation.
"What in the world has gotten into you?"
“Nothing.”
“Teresa. You will answer me at once. You have missed half of your Algebra Course, and you will tell me why you are not in uniform.” The older woman’s stern gaze dropped down to the bare legs, white as the driven snow. Time stretched on in that awful way when you know things will only get worse. Teresa wished the woman would simply say what they both were thinking.
“I’m sorry, Sister,” she said. “Look, I, I can explain.” Pleading eyes searched for a hint of sympathy but there was none to be found.
Much later, Teresa would have understood Sister Catherine was betraying a part of the vows she had taken. Even worse, she was betraying the command to love and care for those in her midst.
Twenty-some odd years later and Teresa found herself sat by a toilet stall with her head in her hands. Nausea unbidden. Counting the chalk lines and pencil markings left by her husband who had been working feverishly to finish the half-bath off the kitchen.
In the past she was grateful that she could sneak away from crime scenes or the office. When that nasty case of the flu had hit, she had the washroom on the second floor all to herself. She knew that she could go home and draw a bath, licking her wounds and tending to her aches and pains in secret. Until Patrick Jane came to her life. He annoyingly started to sense when she needed Epsom salt or a cup of raspberry tea. As time passed, it was less and less of a point of frustration or embarrassment.
She could remember scolding Van Pelt once for getting too personal. Well, Teresa, she thought, feeling somewhat chagrined, they had both come a long way since then.
Her younger self ventured into independence as quickly as she could manage, frightened and furious at what lay out of control. Jane would say something about how she was reacting to what little compassion she had been shown.
Soft, blue eyes met hers undid her in mind and body. She could hear him puttering around in the kitchen, no doubt wondering if she needed anything.
“Lisbon?
“In here.” She called out. Jane waited a moment before knocking and letting himself in.
“Hey sweetheart, you need anything?” Not pity, Lisbon knew, but care.
“No. I don’t think so.” But even so. She found herself caught between an old familiar impulse and the longing to have someone stick around. “Stay?”
“Of course.” Jane said, a warm smile reaching his eyes. He stepped across the threshold and knelt at her feet. “Whatever you need.”
Shame coursed through her as the stockings were discovered. They had been wadded into a pile below the sink, leaving Teresa to cringe as they were unceremoniously tossed into the waste bin.
“But those-“
“Not worth saving. Teresa. Womanhood is about preparedness.” Sister Catherine had gone on in her lecture, arguing that a girl of Teresa’s age should have known better. A bad day in a string of more than one of the Lisbon kids could count.
The woman's words left a sting. Taking each word personally, Teresa refused to allow anything of the sort to happen again. Her brothers had wondered why she locked herself in her room to cry. Her dad had all but ignored the signs, uncomfortable with even the mention of one's cycle. The compounded pain of losing her dear mother and closest confidante while navigating changes for which she felt woefully unprepared.
She wanted to figure it out before she'd be tested. Really, she needed to figure it out. Step away until she had the answers and could hold her own.