Girls in Trouble: A Novel

by Caroline Leavitt

  Sara sat back down and picked up the history book again. She read a few pages and then began scribbling notes, but she kept thinking she heard Anne. She couldn’t get lost in that place where she needed to be to study, fully focused, oblivious to everything but her work. Plus, she was hungry. “Eva, you want something to eat?” she called, getting up. She could study at home tonight.

  “On the phone in the bedroom,” Eva called. “And not hungry.” Sara went in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of eating if Eva wasn’t eating, too, so she picked at what was there, peeling open tinfoil and taking a bit of coffee cake, breaking off a chunk of cheese. She poured herself a glass of milk, saving time by drinking it standing in front of the refrigerator.

  “Eva?” she called.

  “I said in a minute—” Eva said, and then she came in the kitchen. She picked up a rag and stooped to the floor, where Sara saw drips of milk, a pattern of crumbs. “Oh, I’d get that—” Sara said, but Eva shook her head.

  “I already did.”

  Anne began crying from the other room, and Eva rubbed her eyes with the flat of her hand. “Oh, she’s up again.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sara said. “I’ll clean up.” She reached for Eva’s hand, she wanted to touch her, but Eva was moving past her like quicksilver, disappearing around a corner.

  All that afternoon, Sara felt as if she were trailing Eva. Every time she tried to talk to Eva, Eva had something she needed to do. She was diapering Anne, preoccupied, and when Sara reached out an arm to help, Eva said simply, “I can manage.” Sara wanted to feel useful. She wanted to be with Eva and Anne, and she wanted to do her history reading, and by six, she had really done none of those things. Instead, she had to go home.

  Timing was everything. She usually got in before her parents did, so that by the time they put their key in the lock, she was on the couch studying. “How was school?” Abby always asked. “How’s my girl?” Jack wanted to know. Neither one of them ever asked if she was at Eva and George’s. They never asked about Anne or commented on the photo of Anne she had tucked in her mirror, that small, perfect baby face looking out at her.

  That evening, right after dinner, she went to her room to work. Her books spread across her desk, her computer hummed on, she tried to read. The words swam in front of her eyes. She stood up and stretched and then sat down again, and tried to read, but she couldn’t get past the first paragraph. There was that strange static in her head again.

  Coffee. What she needed was coffee. Strong and black and thick. She couldn’t fall behind, wouldn’t let herself. She went to the kitchen and made herself a pot of inky coffee, then carried it back to her room. She sipped until she felt a little buzzed, and then she made the light brighter and hunkered down to do her work.

  “Sara?”

  Sara awoke, drifting up from her dream, squinting at the light and at Abby who was in a flowery robe, her face glistening with cream. “It’s late, get to sleep now,” Abby said.

  Sara stood up, her legs wobbly. Her head still felt thick. Outside it was dark, and she glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. She had fallen asleep at her desk, and now there was a crick in her neck. “I didn’t finish my reading—” Sara said, but Abby shook her head adamantly. “Finish in the morning, then,” Abby said. “Get to bed now.”

  Sara waited until Abby left. She shut off her overhead light, and then sat at her desk waiting until all the other lights in the house went off, until she heard Abby’s door shut, her father’s deep, sonorous snores. Then she clicked the light on again. An extra hour would do it. She could finish and then she’d be fine.

  The alarm rang and she jolted awake. Stretching, she padded onto the floor. This wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t that tired, even with a lesser amount of sleep.

  One week of school passed, then another, and gradually, after a month, she began to feel like her old self. Oh, maybe her jeans were looser now, her T-shirts more baggy, and her hair less wild, the color faded, but she was still first at the board figuring out a complicated math equation in first period, still first to hand in homework. “That’s the Sara we know and love,” her teacher said, making her blush. She was old news now. People had stopped staring at her, and when she overheard a bit of gossip, it was now about a boy who had broken his leg in a motorcycle accident, about a girl who was seen having dinner with the history teacher.

  In third-period history class, she felt her lids drooping. Propping her head in her hands, she tried to concentrate, but the teacher’s voice was hypnotic and droning. She shut her eyes for just a moment, and then someone was shaking her, the bell for next period was blasting, and she was rousing up from a deep, steady sleep.

  Sara tried readjusting everything, playing with how she used her time. One month, she stopped eating lunch so she could try to do her work at lunch time, but then she was too hungry to concentrate. Another month, she set the alarm an hour early so she could get up and study, but she fell asleep in history class again and the teacher sent her to the principal’s office with a note. “Sleeping is one thing,” the teacher said. “Snoring is another.” At Eva’s, she tried to stay awake so she could talk with Eva, so she could help with Anne, but half the time, she’d fall asleep, waking with a start to find herself on Eva’s couch, a blanket thrown over her, and the person Eva was animatedly talking to was on the other end of the phone. Dazed, she tried to shake off her drowsiness.

  “You don’t have to come over every day,” Eva said gently. “Stay home and sleep.”

  “Of course I have to come every day,” Sara said. “I’d miss you too much.”

  “Go home. Sleep. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sara went home and busied herself with schoolwork, falling asleep at her desk. The next day, when she got to Eva’s, Eva was just coming back into the house, Anne in a baby carrier, her hands full of grocery bags. “Oh, you should have called—” Eva said. “Today turned out to be impossible. I have so much to do, and Anne’s out of sorts.”

  “I tried to call,” Sara said.

  Eva glanced at the car and then back at Sara. “Okay, honey, come on inside.”

  Inside, Eva put Anne in her rocking carrier and started unloading groceries. “I can’t figure out how to do everything—” Sara said. “School and Anne and coming here—”

  Eva put three packages of pasta high up on a shelf. “Why do you have to do everything?” she said. Bending, she lifted up another bag and handed it to Sara. “Can you be a love and help me with this?”

  Sara took the bag. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

  Eva nodded at the bag. “Perishables,” Eva said. “I’m saying if you have a paper due, you should do it at home. I’m saying if you need to talk to me, you can call me on the phone, you don’t always have to be over here.”

  “Call you! That’s not the same—”

  “But sometimes I’m busy—”

  “And that’s why I’m here. I can help—”

  Eva glanced at the bag. “The ice cream,” she said, reaching over to the bag and taking out the pint herself. “Don’t want it to melt.” She put it in the freezer and then reached into another bag for a package of cereal. “Can you believe how time flies? Five months old. Solid-food time,” Eva said, her face lightening.

  They talked only a little after that. The phone kept ringing, and it was always a call Eva needed to take. “I’m sorry, Sara,” she apologized, but as soon as she got off the phone, it rang again. Sara felt like every step she took was in Eva’s way. Sara sat at the dining room table, opened her books, but the words shimmied on the page, her hand wouldn’t hold her pen. Finally, she just put her schoolwork away and went to see Anne.

  “Look at you,” she said, lifting up the baby. Anne had spit up over her romper. “Yow. Let me give you a bath.” she said.

  She didn’t think twice about it. She had helped Eva bathe the baby before. Filling the tub, she tested the water with her elbow the way Eva did, she set up t
he nonskid baby seat and put Anne, squirming and naked, into it. She couldn’t get close enough to the baby. The day Anne had been born, the doctor had put her on Sara’s belly, skin to skin, the way all the books she had ever read had suggested, but then her baby had been whisked away from her by Eva. There had always been barriers. Even bathing Anne with Eva, Sara had had to step back, to give Eva the room Eva always said she needed. Eva’s elbows were always slicing the air. Bending, Sara floated her hand in the water, and the baby kicked and splashed water on Sara’s dress. “Hey, you soaked me,” Sara said. Anne smiled and then Sara slid off her dress and got into the tub with Anne, splashing water on the floor. It was the most natural thing in the world. Chortling, the baby slapped her hands in the water. Sara grabbed for the baby’s hands and nuzzled them. She rubbed her nose against Anne’s, making the baby laugh even louder. “Ah, isn’t this better?” she said. She couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt to be in the tub with Anne. How silky Anne’s skin felt, how delicious she smelled, like plums, Sara thought, or fresh green grapes. She lifted Anne up out of the baby seat and put her in her lap. Wrapping her arms about the baby, Sara hummed, rocking them both in the water. Bliss. This was bliss.

  “Sara?” She heard Eva. Footsteps coming closer.

  “Giving Anne her bath,” Sara called. She slapped gently at the water, making waves, and Anne squealed happily, trying to slap the water with her own baby hands. She held Anne tight because everyone knew babies could drown in just inches of water.

  Sara was gently washing Anne when the door opened. “Oh, what a help this is—” Eva started to say and then she saw the two of them naked in the tub, and her mouth dropped open, and as soon as Sara saw Eva’s expression, she knew she had done something wrong. Something flickered in her belly and grew until she felt covered in shame, and she hunched over, hiding her breasts with her free hand, keeping the other about Anne.

  “Oh, my God, what are you doing?” Eva’s voice rose. “Where are your clothes?” Her eyes widened. “And she’s not supposed to be out of the baby bath seat! The tub is too slippery!” Bending, Eva grabbed Anne up, drawing the wet baby against her. Water dripped down Eva’s dress, and Anne squirmed. Eva grabbed for a towel, one foot skidding on the soapy floor, and she grabbed onto the towel rack to right herself.

  “I’ll clean the floor—” Sara said and Eva cut her off.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” Eva said, her voice sharp, and Sara drew back, stung. When she dared to look up at Eva, at the baby bundled in the towel, Eva was looking at Sara as if she no longer knew her.

  “Come out of that tub,” Eva said, and then she strode from the bathroom.

  Sara dressed. She was shaking so badly it was hard to mop the floor with the towel, harder to put on the same damp dress she had been wearing. Eva had never been angry with her like this, or disapproving, especially over something Sara had meant to be helpful. Didn’t all the baby books Eva had talk about bathing with your baby? Wasn’t it the most natural thing in the world? By the time she shored up enough courage to walk into the living room, George was just getting home, pulling his key out of the lock. “Sara, still here?” he said pleasantly. “Your hair’s wet.”

  Sara touched the ends of her hair. She wanted more than anything to say something to George, to have him comfort her, tell her it was all right, but she was afraid.

  “How about since I have my coat on, I give you a lift home?” He looked around for Eva. “I’ll just be a moment.”

  She heard him in the kitchen, talking to Eva. She heard Anne babbling. Their voices carried. “Getting tired of this,” she heard. “Not a moment to myself Needy. More work for me. Bath. I can’t take care of two babies.”

  And then George’s voice. “You shouldn’t have to.”

  And then, George walked out, frowning, Eva carrying the baby behind him, and Sara flinched, waiting for him to say something, for Eva to yell at her, but instead they were silent, and it made her more uncomfortable. Weren’t they going to talk about this? Clear the air? And if they didn’t, how would things ever get back to normal?

  George cleared his throat. “Sara—” he began.

  “All I did was bathe with the baby,” she blurted. “I thought it would be easier.”

  “It’s inappropriate,” George said.

  “Why? I wasn’t doing anything but bathing her.” She searched Eva’s face.

  “We don’t want you naked in a tub with the baby,” Eva said.

  “Naked! It was innocent! All of it was innocent!” She looked at Eva. “It’s better for her! You shouldn’t be so nervous about it!”

  “Nervous! Of course I’m nervous! Babies can drown in three inches of water! She has a bath seat! You have to be careful!”

  “I was careful!”

  “Look,” George said firmly. “The fact is we don’t want it happening again. The matter’s closed. Now, let’s get you home.”

  As soon as they got in the car, he turned on the radio. He stared straight ahead, but even though he didn’t say anything, Sara felt the tension in the car. Hunching, she wrapped both arms about her body, the same way she had in the tub. There were a million things she could say, a million wrays she could defend herself. / carried the baby inside me for nine months in water, what’s the difference in being in a tub with her? But no matter what she thought to say, she kept seeing the way Eva had looked at her when Eva had first come into the bathroom. She kept feeling the same flush of shame, the first time she had ever felt such an emotion in Eva’s presence. All the words Sara wanted to say were locked in her throat. “Good night now,” George said curtly, and as soon as she was on the sidewalk, he pulled away.

  * * *

  Sara stayed home from Eva’s the next day, and then the next, but the day after, as soon as school was over, she rode her bike to Eva’s. Two days had passed. Surely they couldn’t still be so angry with her. Surely they might laugh about it, or at least not talk about it any longer. In any case, she had learned one thing not to do there, and she would have to deal with her anxiety about what else they might consider wrong about her.

  It had been a horrible day. That morning, she had woken from a dream about Danny. He was at home, trying to call her, but something was wrong with his hand. Swinging her legs out of bed, Sara rushed to the phone, dialing his number, but no one answered. Why hadn’t he tried to contact her? Why hadn’t there even been a postcard or a call? She daubed herself with the patchouli oil he had given her, hoping it might signal him to her.

  By the time she reached Eva and George’s house, she was panting. Her legs were rubber, jittering when she stood on them. She ran up to the house, ringing the bell, but no one came to open it for her.

  She pressed her ear against the door. The house was quiet.

  Sara looked around the neighborhood. The street was so still, it seemed to hum. What if something were wrong inside the house? Eva was so tired these days, what if she had fallen down the stairs? Sara looked around. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. But still she kept seeing Eva sick. She kept imagining all the terrible things that could happen. She had studied chaos theory. One little move affected all else. A butterfly flapped its wings in Africa and the next thing you knew, the stock market collapsed in Japan.

  It wouldn’t hurt to check, to be careful. People kept extra keys sometimes. She checked the black mailbox, under the rubber welcome mat, under a potted plant. She was about to give up when she noticed a grey rock by the begonias. Sara went down the stairs and crouched and as soon as she touched the rock, she smiled. Rubber. Fake. As soon as she picked it up, it rattled and then a key, small and brass, fell out into her hands.

  She hesitated. This had to be wrong, this had to be worse than taking an innocent bath with the baby. She started to put the key back and then an image shone in her mind. Eva hurt, tumbled at the bottom of the rickety cellar stairs. The baby crying and hungry in her crib. What if she left and something had happened? What if she didn’t check?

  The key
flipped through her fingers. She told herself she’d go in for only a minute. Just to rest before she headed back home. Just to make sure everything was all right. Sara put the key in the lock, looking behind her. The street was empty.

  Sara turned the key. She let herself in and then shut the door behind her, her heart knocking so loudly she wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole neighborhood heard it.

  She licked her lips. “Eva?” she called. The house was quiet. She did a quick tour, even opening up the basement door and looking downstairs. “Hello?” she said.

  She came back upstairs into the kitchen. She could leave now and no one would even know she had been here. She could call later, pretend she had been home all the time.

  What was the matter with her? What kind of a girl was she to break in? She walked to Anne’s room and stood inside of it. There was a new oak rocker in the corner she hadn’t seen before. There was a stuffed white bear with a blue ribbon.

  This isn’t your house. This isn’t your baby. It was a drumbeat inside of her. Her good mood slid off her like a coat. She went back into the kitchen to get a drink and there on the refrigerator was a notice. “Sunny Skies Day Care.” Sara stared, stunned. A whole list of what to pack along with Anne. Bottles, diapers, wipes, food.

  When had Eva and George put the baby in day care? And why? Sara didn’t want that for her baby. She’d rather quit school and take care of Anne herself than have her baby with strangers in one of those places.

  She sat frozen on the kitchen chair, unsure what to do. Then she got up and walked outside. The street was empty. She could hear kids shouting but she couldn’t see them. She could hear the crack of a bat against a ball. She wondered if Eva or George would know she had been there. It felt like a risk as dangerous as telling someone you loved them when you weren’t sure how they felt about you. She closed the door and locked it. She bent to tuck the key under the rock, but at the last moment, her fingers curled tight about the key, warming the metal, and then she slid the key into her pocket, instead.