Girls in Trouble: A Novel

by Caroline Leavitt

  The window was smeary but still a ruler of yellow light shone through. She kept one hand protectively on the baby. The man an aisle up was snoring. The woman across from her was reading a magazine. “Hope that one’s going to be quiet,” she said pointedly.

  Sara ignored her, fired with plans. She should have thought of this a long time ago. She was smart, she could make a new life. She could go to college anywhere, because as her guidance teacher was always telling her, any college would be thrilled to have her. The first thing she’d do when she got there was get a job, then a place for them to stay. It didn’t have to be very big, just something with a little kitchenette, a single bedroom where they both could sleep. She opened her purse and touched her wallet. She had enough to last her two weeks and by then she’d have things in place. She just knew it.

  She touched the baby’s face, unzipping the fuzzy coat a little. She thought of all the things she would do. She wouldn’t tell Anne she loved her and then renege on the promise. She wouldn’t make Anne think she was family and always welcome, and then shut all the doors of her heart against her. She wouldn’t make her feel that nothing about her was right or good or reasonable. And she wouldn’t say a thing as foolish as “Wait until your father comes home.”

  The bus seemed to Sara to be stopping every few minutes, and then staying put for hours, not making good time at all. All these little towns she had never heard of, these grey-looking places. People trooped out of the bus and sometimes didn’t come back. They were out of state when the woman who had been reading the magazine looked over at Sara again. “This baby’s so good, not even making a peep! What’s her name?”

  “My baby’s name is Priscilla,” Sara said.

  “Your baby! I thought you were a big sister. Or one of those au pairs. Pardon me for staring, but you look so young to be a mother!” the woman said.

  “Oh, everyone says that,” Sara said. “But I’m actually twenty-four.”

  “Well, aren’t you the lucky one, then, looking so young.”

  At the next stop, the woman got off, patting Sara on the arm, “Good luck to you,” the woman had said. Sara was exhausted, but she didn’t dare sleep. Anne began fussing and she took her to the back to change her. As soon as she opened the door, she smelled disinfectant and pee. Her nose wrinkled. Anne cried. The bathroom was so tiny, she had to try and change Anne on the closed toilet seat, and even then, she barely had enough room to scooch down. When she stood up, her legs were jelly, and when she opened the door again, another person was waiting. “Took you long enough,” the man said.

  Back at her seat, Sara set Anne on her lap. The road sped by, and lulled, Anne slept. The sky was turning gold with light. In another hour, it would be morning.

  While Anne slept, Sara opened her purse and got to work. It was too bad about her clothes, jeans and a sweater, her casual coat, but she still had things to work with. She put on lipstick and blush and curled her lashes dark. She took her hair and piled it up on her head with one of the barrettes Danny had given her, and then she studied herself in the mirror. There. Anyone looking at her would think she was at least twenty.

  The bus suddenly slowed. The driver stood up. “Cleveland,” he said.

  Cleveland’s air was clean and cold. She turned up the collar of her coat and wished for gloves. She wrapped both arms about Anne to try to keep her warmer. And there, right across the street, was a busy-looking restaurant called Tiffany’s. “What a good omen,” she told Anne, who blinked at her, yawned, and fell asleep in her arms.

  As soon as they walked into Tiffany’s, there was a blast of Christmas music, and a harried-looking waitress came toward them. “Two?” she said.

  “I’m looking for a job actually,” Sara said.

  The waitress glanced at Anne, up and then down, a long, slow slide. “Nothing for you here,” said the waitress and turned away.

  In two hours, Sara went to four restaurants and two copy shops and no one would hire her. There was a hiring freeze, or they didn’t think she had enough experience, and at the last place she had ventured into, a Rite-Aid drugstore, Anne had begun wailing so loudly, the manager had snapped, “Come back when you have a dress and a baby-sitter.”

  She bought a Cleveland Plain Dealer and leafed through it. Okay, so the want ads weren’t all that promising, she could deal with that later. Maybe she had gone about it wrong, maybe the first thing they needed to do was find a place to stay.

  She scanned the real estate ads. Eight hundred a month for a studio! Sixteen hundred for a one-bedroom! How could things cost that much? She was almost about to put the paper away when she saw the ad on the bottom. A room. Ninety dollars a week. She could do that. Anne fussed in her lap. “Hang on,” she told Anne and went to find a pay phone. “Hello?” she said breathlessly. “I’m calling about the room—”

  “Ninety a week. First month, last month, and security.”

  Sara did the math. “All at once?” she said, incredulous.

  “Where vou from, the moon? Of course all at once.”

  Sara hung up the phone. Her arms hurt from carrying Anne. Her stomach growled. She felt like crying and then she drew herself up. No one said she had to stay in Cleveland. The farther out she got, the cheaper things would be. She started to think about a little cottage in the country, a bike with a baby seat in back.

  She stopped at a grocer’s and bought a ready-made peanut butter sandwich, some formula for Anne, and a bottle of water. Then she went back to the bus stop and bought a one-way ticket to Omaha.

  As soon as she was seated, in the middle of the bus, she took down her hair, rubbing at her scalp, which hurt. She wiped off her makeup. Anne woke up and coughed.

  In the back of the bus were three kids, giggling and carrying on so loudly she was afraid they’d wake Anne. She turned to look at them, narrowing her eyes. They were punching each other in the arm, laughing, waving at whoever was following the bus. Sara rolled her eyes, and then she saw what they were waving at and her heart beat so fast she felt lightheaded.

  A cop car.

  “Rest stop in five minutes,” the driver called, turning on his blinker, and Sara felt her stomach plummet. The kids were still waving. The cop car was still following.

  She slid down in her seat. She wouldn’t get out. She and Anne would stay quietly in the bus and maybe it would be okay. If the cops were really following the bus, wouldn’t they have pulled it over already? Wouldn’t they have done a search?

  Of course, she told herself. Don’t get nuts. Of course.

  The bus pulled into a parking lot, filled with cars and people. “Half an hour rest stop tops!” the driver said. “You’re not here, I’m not waiting.” He lumbered off the bus, and the passengers began to lift themselves up, to stretch. The waving kids jumped past Sara, laughing, knocking into each other, and then the bus was empty.

  Terrified, she glanced outside. The cop car was parked, but no one was coming toward the bus or toward the driver. The two cops were walking toward the diner, laughing, their hips rolling with the weight of their guns. It’s okay, she told herself, it’s okay.

  And then Anne began to wail, so loudly she was almost screaming, and alarmed, Sara tried to rock her, to calm her down. “It’s okay,” she said, trying to make her voice a promise. She rubbed Anne’s back. She tried to readjust the baby on her lap and her fingers flew to Anne’s bottom. Diaper. But it was dry. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You must be hungry. Me, too.

  She had a little bit of a chocolate drink left, but in settling Anne, she spilled some on the front of her sweater. “Oh bother,” she said. Then she fed Anne the rest of the formula from her bag, but Anne still cried. “Let’s see what else we have,” Sara said, digging in her bag. She pulled out the peanut butter sandwich. Anne was eating solid food already. She knew Anne couldn’t handle the bread, but the peanut butter was soft. She could feed it to Anne on the tip of her finger. Peanut butter was nourishing. High in protein.

  The peanut butter smelled so
good Sara was suddenly starving herself. Well, she’d feed Anne first, get her content, and then she’d eat the rest of the sandwich herself. Poking her finger into the sandwich, she held out some to Anne who sucked at it greedily, swallowing. “Delicious, right?” Sara said.

  And then Anne coughed. Once, and then again, a strange little bark. Her small face pulled tighter, like a drawstring. Sara patted her on the back. “Take too much?” she said, and then Anne began to turn red and then to choke and everything in Sara froze.

  She jolted up, still holding the baby. What were you supposed to do? All those books she had read and everything flew out of her head and all she could think about was how Anne’s skin was turning from red to blue, how her choking was getting worse. She tried to hit her lightly on the back, but all it did was make the baby choke more. Terrified, Sara looked out the window for help. The cops were still inside. If they saw her, they’d ask her all sorts of questions. They’d make a call and she’d be arrested. They’d take Anne from her. No, no, she’d never let them separate her from her baby again. Never. “Anne,” she begged, and then she saw how Anne’s slate eyes were filmed, she felt how her skin was clammy and then Anne gasped for air, struggling in Sara’s arms. “Anne!” Sara screamed. What were you supposed to do? Desperate, she thumped her across the back. Anne’s eyes slid shut, she grew heavier in Sara’s arms. “Anne!” Sara pleaded. Anne’s chest heaved and clutched. And then Sara bolted out of the bus, gripping Anne, screaming and screaming for help.

  She stumbled, hitting the pavement on her knees, struggling to hold Anne above her. “Help!” she shrieked. A woman who was leaning along the wall, smoking, flung down her cigarette and raced over. “She’s choking!” Sara screamed and the woman grabbed Anne and popped her on her lap, thumping her expertly on her chest, and then Anne suddenly coughed and spit up a sticky bulb of peanut butter. The blue in her skin began fading, turning rose again, the gasping stopped and Anne began to whimper. Sara was so relieved, she burst into tears.

  The woman stared at Sara. “Peanut butter?” she said, astonished.

  “From my sandwich. I fed her the butter, not the bread,” Sara said, reaching for the baby, but the woman stepped back from her, tightening her grip, suddenly angry.

  “What kind of an idiot gives a baby peanut butter?” the woman said. “Babies choke on peanut butter! They’re not supposed to have it until they’re four! They get allergic reactions to it! Do you know what could have happened? Do you realize how lucky you are that I was here? She could have died!” Her eyes swept Sara, the skinned knees, the starry burst of chocolate she had spilled on her sweater. “God, you kidsl” She said it as if it were a swear word, her voice escalating so that Anne’s cries took on volume, too. “Where’s the mother?” the woman said angrily.

  “I’m the mother,” Sara said, trying to keep her voice even. “Give me my baby.” A few people were looking at them, pointing, talking to one another. “I’m not giving you shit,” the woman snapped. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara saw the driver emerge from the diner, and then behind him the two cops, and both of them looked right at her.

  Sara lunged, grabbing Anne from the woman and running.

  She heard them coming after her. Feet pounding on the pavement. Angry voices shouting. “Stop! Stop right now!” And the whole time, Anne was shrieking, louder and louder, so that Sara couldn’t think straight.

  There ahead, was a turn. She could sprint across the field, rest, think what to do. And then an arm grabbed her in a steel grip. “I saved the baby!” Sara screamed, thinking of Eva, downstairs humming, not even hearing Anne wailing. “I saved her!” she repeated, and then she twisted, trying to tear herself free, and another cop pulled Anne from her arms and Sara couldn’t tell who was crying louder, she or Anne. “You’re all right now,” one cop said, but he was looking at Anne, not at Sara, and then Sara lunged forward again, grabbing for her daughter, shouting, “I saved her!” and the other cop jerked her so roughly back, she spilled onto the ground into a hopeless ball of grief.

  It was Saturday morning. Eva squinted at herself in the mirror. She looked faded, as if someone had rubbed at her with a gum eraser. Her hair felt sticky even though she had washed it that morning. She had worried and worried about losing Anne, but she had never thought it would end up like this.

  She had woken in the middle of the night to find George’s side of the bed empty. She had gone past Anne’s room, which was dark, and she had suddenly seen George there, sitting in the dark, one arm resting on the crib, and as soon as she switched on the light, she saw how red his eyes were. She touched his shoulder and then he started to cry, something which always surprised and shocked her. “If we don’t find her, I don’t know what I’ll do,” he wept.

  “Maybe we should call the news. Make an announcement, get people to help,” Eva said. She thought of it. One of those faces on the news, weeping in front of millions, laying herself bare. I’ll do anything if you’ll help me. Anything at all.

  George nodded. “I just want her back,” he said. “I don’t even care what happened or why. I just want the baby.”

  He got up and showered. Eva sat in the kitchen. She spent all her time worrying over what signs she had missed, why Sara had done such a thing. She worried what was happening now. Sara could be on her way to Danny. Sara could be doing drugs. Oh God, Sara and the baby could be dead. “Knowledge is power,” she kept telling her class. “We know!” they clamored. “We’re whiz kids!” With knowledge, you could close a door. Without it, all you had left was imagination. Stories you told yourself hoping they’d make you feel better. She thought of that poor man whose boy was snatched and then returned and no one knew why. She thought of all the days he’d have left wondering what had happened, each story he thought to tell himself more horrifying than the next.

  She searched for aspirins, when the phone rang. Her hand stopped, paralyzed. The phone kept ringing. She ran into the hall and grabbed for the phone. “Hello—” Her voice sounded foreign to her. And then George came up behind her, smelling damp.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Eva struggled for her voice. “They found them,” she said. “Anne was choking and a woman saved her. They’re flying them both back today. They said they should be at the Waltham police station by four.”

  “Thank God!” George hugged her fiercely. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her hair.

  Eva stepped back, nodding. “The police want to know if we intend to press charges.”

  George looked at Eva. “She took our baby,” George said.

  They were at the police station half an hour before the police brought back Sara. Cops were standing around, talking, shouting at a boy in handcuffs who was muttering to himself. A female cop was shouting at a woman who was rolling her eyes. “Where’s my fucking phone call?” the woman snapped.

  Everyone was talking at once, it seemed to Eva. And the place had an odd smell, like something terrible had just happened and it had been quickly cleaned up and now no one wanted to talk about it. The cop at the front desk stared impassively at them. Eva said her name, she told him why they were there, and his face softened, just for a moment. “Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward the bench.

  The bench was hard and uncomfortable, but Eva wouldn’t move from it, not even when she had to pee. She sat, waiting, holding hands with George, refusing the cups of coffee the cops kept offering. Every time the door opened, Eva tensed and gripped George’s hand tighter. She didn’t know what she might do when she saw Sara, when she saw the baby. She didn’t think she could be counted on to act rationally. Right now she wanted to kill her.

  She was just about to give in, to go find a ladies’ room, when the door swung wide open, and there was Sara, looking exhausted and defeated and scared. “God,” George breathed. Sara looked all of twelve, a hole in her jeans, her coat stained, her hair all scrambled, and as soon as she saw Eva and George, she started to cry. And there behind her was a cop carrying Anne who was sleeping in his
arms, and then Eva bolted to her feet. George’s hand fell from hers. She stepped forward and walked toward Sara. “I have a right to my baby,” Sara said in a low, defensive voice, and then something broke inside of Eva. Eva stepped forward another step and slapped Sara across the face.

  Sara’s hands flew to her face. She jumped back, horrified. A triangle of skin began to turn crimson on her cheek.

  “Ma’am.” The cop’s voice had a warning edge to it, but Eva didn’t give a damn.

  “Give me my baby!” Eva reached for Anne. She blocked Sara out of her view, turning. Who knew what she might do to that girl? She rocked Anne. And then George was beside her, stroking Anne’s face, her arms, her back, stroking Eva.

  “George—” Sara said.

  “Get her out of here,” George said sharply. “Get her the hell away from us.”

  Eva could hear Sara cry, but she refused to look at her.

  “Come with me,” the cop said, and Eva heard Sara leaving, and then the room was quiet again, and Eva opened her eyes as another cop came in. “You want to press charges now?” he asked.

  The cop took them into a room, sat them by the desk, and pulled out a sheet of paper. “What will happen to her?” Eva asked the cop. She suddenly saw Sara’s young face, those small birdlike shoulder blades. “They wouldn’t send her to jail, would they?”

  The cop shrugged. “Depends. Girl like that, good home, good family. Probation. Community service. Maybe they’d want her to see a shrink.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “She could be out and about.”

  “File the charges,” Eva said, holding Anne tighter. “And I want a restraining order.”

  For the first week the baby was home, Eva and George wouldn’t let her out of their sight. George took his vacation early so he could stay at home. They brought Anne outside, they brought her shopping. Even though at five months she had just about outgrown the bassinet, they put her in it anyway, just so she could sleep by their bed.