Girls in Trouble: A Novel

by Caroline Leavitt

  The clock in the kitchen ticked loudly. Outside, Eva heard a squeal of tires.

  “We won’t lose Anne,” George repeated. “The papers are signed.”

  One night, on the sixth day Sara had been at home, Abby and Jack came into her room and sat on her bed and for the first time, seeing the expressions on their faces, she felt afraid. She sat up, suddenly dizzy. Her fingers pleated the chenille spread on her bed.

  Alarmed, she imagined all sorts of terrible things. She had to go to prison. Or they were sending her away, to a boarding school, or to live with some relative she had never met before. She could bear anything as long as they told her she could see Anne again.

  And then Abby suddenly gave a long, slow smile. Jack’s expression lightened. Her parents looked at each other and then back at her.

  “The charges were dropped, honey,” Abby said.

  “They dropped them? Really?” Sara felt the colors in the room growing lighter.

  “But not the restraining order,” Abby said. “You aren’t to go see them. You aren’t to go anywhere near them. Do you understand?”

  Sara was motionless. “For now,” Sara said.

  “No, not for now. From now on.”

  “No.” Sara shook her head. “They’re just mad still. That’s all. They just need more time. They’ll see me, we’ll talk. I’ll—I’ll apologize. I’ll do anything.” She stood up.

  “Sara,” said Jack. “Do you understand what you did, how terrible it was, how lucky you are that they aren’t pressing charges against you? If you call them now, if you go to see them, you could be in trouble again. Big trouble. You could be arrested.”

  She nodded. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, as if she had swallowed construction paper.

  “Well, I can see them at the adoption hearing then,” Sara said, glancing at the kitchen calendar. “That’s just two more days.”

  “I wouldn’t think of going,” Abby said sharply.

  “But that’s different! I have a right to go to that. Margaret told me I could go.”

  “Oh, honey, but why would you even want to?” Jack said.

  “It’s still my baby. Even if I don’t get to raise her.”

  “Sara. Let’s just say it’s the end of a bad time,” Jack said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. “Now it’s time for everyone to get on with their lives. Think about college. Think about all the wonderful things that can happen for you.”

  “You can go back to school, you can just forget this all happened. This wasn’t in the papers. No one need even know,” Abby said.

  “I know that it happened,” Sara said.

  “Now,” Jack said. “What do you say this grounding is over and we all go out to dinner? I’d love to try that new Thai place.”

  “Oh, me, too!” Abby’s voice was bright.

  “I’m not hungry,” Sara said.

  Two days later, the day of the court hearing, Sara got up early. She put on the blue cashmere sweater Abby had bought her for college interviews. She slid on a dark skirt and pinned her hair back with Danny’s barrette. When she came downstairs, Abby was in jeans, drinking coffee with Jack, and she started when she saw Sara.

  “Please tell me you’re not dressed up for the reason I think,” Abby said quietly.

  Sara drew herself up. She knew they would give her a hard time. “I have a right to be there,” she said quietly.

  “No. You don’t. You can’t go,” Abby said. “I know you want to, but you’re in trouble. And if you go, you could be in more trouble. No one wants you there.”

  Sara’s eyes flashed. “I have a right!” she repeated.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” Jack said. “That they’ll give you Anne?”

  Sara wavered. “I could get visitation!”

  “Sara! After what happened? You were lucky they didn’t press charges!”

  “Danny could show up!”

  “Now?” Jack said. “If we have to stay here to keep you from going, we will.”

  Sara started to storm from the room when Abby grabbed at her arm. Jerking back, Sara banged her head against the cabinet. Her hands flew to her head. The bump didn’t hurt, but she couldn’t stop holding her head. Abby and Jack both jumped up, their faces concerned. “Are you hurt?” Jack asked. “Are you okay?”

  As soon as Abby touched her, Sara started shaking. “Everything’s going to be okay now,” Abby said gently, “you’ll see.” And then Sara began to shake harder.

  All that day, Sara stayed in her room. She kept waiting for a last-minute phone call, a reprieve like the ones she saw in Abby’s old movies where the governor would call the prison right before the switch on the electric chair was pulled. She kept imagining Danny showing up, wild, searching every seat for her, as he stormed into the courtroom calling her name, crying, “Stop! I don’t give permission!” Or Eva and George coming to their senses, thinking, What have we done? How can we do this to Sara?

  By evening, she gave up. No one had to tell her what had happened. She knew it, felt it deep inside her, like a jagged chink in her heart. Final. The adoption was final and it was her fault. She pulled her pillow over her head.

  All that week, her parents acted as if everything were fine, over and done with. They left her alone in her room, and Abby took to bringing Sara trays of food she barely touched. And then, a week later, she went back to school, but she was sleepwalking, going crazy, unable to bear not seeing Anne. Everyone was always telling her how smart she was—surely she could find a way out of this. So what if Anne was adopted, couldn’t she still see her? Couldn’t she beg George and Eva, stand outside their house until they acknowledged her? She felt a bright flare of hope.

  She wras already in trouble. What difference did it make if she risked even more?

  By the time she hiked to George and Eva’s house, she felt numb from the cold, her breath felt siphoned from her lungs. Her heart felt as if any moment it might pound a hole through her ribs and her legs ached. She passed the rusty wire fence, the house with four Siamese cats. She rounded the corner, trying to practice what she might say, how she might act. “I’m sorry,” she’d say. I cannot bear this, she’d think.

  She didn’t see the car in the drive way. She rode closer, and there, in the center of the front yard was a square white sign with red letters. FOR SALE. Sara froze on her bike. She rubbed her eyes, sure she must be hallucinating. FOR SALE, it said.

  She looked at the house again, as if she might have been thrown into a different universe where nothing made sense. No, it was the same. Number 62. She threw the bike down on the grass and ran to the front door, and as soon as she gripped the handle, it opened.

  The house was empty. The floors had been waxed and cleaned, the walls were all freshly painted white and it smelled of lemon Pledge. If you didn’t know better, you couldn’t even tell that a family had ever lived here. Stunned, she stepped deeper into the house. She heard voices, footsteps coming up from the basement into the kitchen. She followed the sound, walking into the kitchen where a strange woman in a red suit was talking to a couple who were holding hands. They all stopped talking and looked at Sara.

  “Can I help you?” the strange woman said.

  “Where’s Eva and George?”

  The woman frowned at Sara. The couple looked puzzled.

  “Eva and George. The people who live here,” Sara said.

  “The couple who used to live here, you mean?” the strange woman said. “Well, clearly, they’ve moved.”

  Sara felt everything suddenly go upside down. “They moved? So quickly?”

  “Oh, movers can do anything these days,” the strange woman said. She nodded at the couple. “Remind me to give you some good names, if you’re interested. I know one place that can pack you up and get you out in twenty-four hours!”

  “When did they move? Where did they go?” Sara asked.

  “I can’t say I know,” the strange woman said. She straightened, brushing something invisible off her suit. “But you really sh
ouldn’t be here, dear.”

  “Are you sure they’re not here?” Sara’s mouth was dry.

  The woman spread her hands and gave a little laugh. “Really. I don’t know anything about them. Would you make sure the front door is closed when you leave?” She smiled at Sara. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said pointedly, and Sara finally left.

  Sara rode into town to the adoption lawyer. She hadn’t been in this office since Abby had brought her over, back when she was pregnant. “You don’t have an appointment?” the secretary asked incredulously.

  Sara was only sitting in the waiting room for ten minutes when Margaret strode out. “Sara,” Margaret said calmly. “Come on in.”

  Sara sat opposite Margaret in her office. “They left!” Sara cried.

  Margaret frowned. “They left? Who left?”

  “George and Eva! The house is for sale.”

  Margaret was quiet for a minute. “That’s highly unusual.”

  “Can they do that?” Sara cried. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Sara, maybe they should have told me, but they aren’t required to. And they didn’t have to tell you.”

  “What do you mean, they didn’t have to?”

  Margaret sighed. “Didn’t I warn you to think about all of this carefully? Didn’t I tell you there were no guarantees?”

  “Where? Where are they?”

  “The adoption hearing was held, Sara. It’s a done deal. I told you before that open adoptions are enforceable only in Oregon. Right now that’s just the way it is. I can try to find them. But my advice is to take this as a blessing. Get on with your life. Be a kid.”

  A kid. She didn’t even know what that felt like anymore. Sara leaned forward. “They took the baby! I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye! How could they do that!”

  “Listen to me. You signed papers giving up Anne. The father signed papers. Open adoption isn’t enforceable here. And the hearing’s over.”

  “Danny signed? Danny was here? No one told me that!” Sara looked at Margaret with amazement. “It can’t be true. I would have known it if he was here, I would have felt it—”

  “He signed,” said Margaret. “He terminated his rights. And so did you. And you did something else. You kidnapped the baby. The courts won’t look kindly on that. You don’t have a job. You’re a minor. No husband or parents on your side. There was a restraining order. That’s going to put a big damper on visitation. And Sara, it’s their baby to take. You know that. Don’t tell me you didn’t always know that.”

  “I don’t know anything!” Sara cried.

  She got back on her bike. She didn’t feel her body pedaling. She was halfway down the street when she heard a low, keening noise that startled her until she realized it was coming from her. She sobbed so hard, she could barely see, and by the time she got back to her block, her eyes were nearly swollen shut.

  She went inside her house. “Mom!” she called, her voice thick. “Mommy!”

  Abby came into the room, a book in her hand, and as soon as she saw Sara, she stopped. “Oh my God, what happened?” Abby said, alarmed.

  “Did you know?” Sara demanded.

  “Know what?” Abby said.

  “That Danny was here! That he signed papers! That George and Eva left! That the house is for sale!” Sara started to cry. “I did something wrong, but so did they!”

  “They moved?” Abby said, stunned. “I didn’t think they’d do something like that—”

  Abby wrapped one arm about Sara, holding her so tightly Sara couldn’t move. “Forget about those awful people,” Abby said. “It’s going to be good now, I promise. It’s over.”

  Sara wrenched free. Her mind swam. Things bobbed to the surface and pushed down again. There was nothing to grab on to. “It will never be good!” she cried. “Never!” Sara bolted to her room, slamming the door, flinging herself on her bed.

  Danny. She saw his face. A million times she had imagined him calling her, begging her forgiveness. She had imagined him coming to the house, to the school. How was it possible for him to be in the same town as she was and not come to see her?

  She thought of this article she had read recently, just a piece in one of the old magazines Abby brought home from the dental office where she worked. It was about a special home for birth mothers. Of course it had caught her eye. Of course she had read it. It was completely unlike the Girls in Trouble home Abby always talked about. This home had only six girls, and they lived in an old colonial house in Georgia, coming and going as they pleased, all waiting for their babies to be born. The scrapbooks, the letters from prospective parents all came to the house and the birth mothers pored over them. Instead of being shunned, these girls were treated like royalty. They had so many couples desperate for their babies that they could choose or reject an adoptive family on the basis of whether or not they liked the color of the family dog, on whether or not the backyard pool was kidney shaped or oval. “We get to choose, that’s the important thing,” one of the birth mothers said. “That makes all the difference.” But then there was one birth mother who decided at the last minute to keep her baby, and as soon as she gave birth, she was whisked instantly out of the home. She didn’t even get to say goodbye to the friends she had made there. “We didn’t want her decision infecting the other mothers,” the head of the house said. Infecting. That was the word Sara remembered. As if the girl herself were a disease for wanting her own baby. A disease that had to be knocked out.

  There was a knock on her door. “Sara?” Abby said.

  Sara put the pillow over her head. “Go away!” she screamed, and then Abby did.

  * * *

  How could people just disappear? Sara wondered. She didn’t have money for a detective or a lawyer and she couldn’t ask her parents. Even if she somehow, miraculously, were able to find them, how could she make them listen to her? Her only hope was that they would start to miss her somehow, that they would contact her.

  The mail came and Sara jumped, rushing through the envelopes, yearning to see Eva’s familiar scrawl. “We made a mistake. We’ll be home soon.” O r better yet, “Here’s a ticket for you to come and live with us. “She tried to imagine where they might be, but all she could remember was Eva telling her a funny story about how she had burned on the beach in Hawaii and didn’t love tropical climates, and George had chimed in that he didn’t love cities. That had left her no clues, no way to follow them .

  “The baby will fade from your memory,” Abby had said, trying to be kind. But her mother was wrong. Anne didn’t fade. She took on life and presence. Four o’clock and Sara thought, Anne has a bath now. Six and she was getting formula. And at night, when Sara slept, she imagined Anne sleeping too, the two of them like unmoored ships, veering dangerously toward the sharpest rocks, and all she could think was: / can’t protect you. She woke feeling Anne in the bed beside her. There was a small indentation in the sheet, and when she placed her hand on it, it was so warm, she rested her cheek against it.

  She made bargains with God. Let me just see Anne one more time and I will never ask for anything ever again. And sometimes: Let me die. She watched for signs. A fork in the road meant Eva would call. A bird flying overhead meant George would.

  “Could you do some errands for me?” Abby asked, handing Sara a list. Sara knew there were no errands to run, that Abby just wanted her to get outside, doing something useful, something physical. She glanced at the list. Butter, milk, eggs, cream. Pick up dry cleaning. Pick up shoes from cobblers. She went and came back and felt the same.

  One afternoon, she climbed up on the roof to sit, the way she used to when she was a kid. Way up, the new vantage point had always calmed her, as though she truly were seeing things from a different perspective. This time though it didn’t seem to matter whether she sat or stood or did anything at all. Her pain felt too big; nothing could calm it. She walked to the edge of the roof, staring impassively down at the long drop below, her toes inched over the
ledge, and then she looked across the block, and there, in the house across the way, was Mrs. Thomas, one of the neighbors, frowning warningly, shaking her finger back and forth at Sara: no, no, no. She thinks I’m going to jump, Sara thought. And then Sara slowly looked down, at the long drop to the hard cement below, and she felt suddenly dizzy. What’s the matter with me? She pulled herself back, she stepped inside her house again, and, hands shaking, locked the window tight.

  Sara didn’t think she’d last through the year. She lay awake nights staring into the darkness. She pushed food around on her plate. She lost so much weight she began wearing baggy clothing again, but now to hide her skinniness instead of her girth. She forced herself to make an effort, to find a reason to go on living, to feel anything but this rawness. She played her music at stun level. She put hot sauce in all her food until it burned her throat, and if it hurt, well, at least she was feeling something. In school, she studied until her sight blurred, and if sometimes thoughts of Anne sifted through her mind, or of Danny, she turned a page and studied harder.

  Her history teacher held her paper up. “You all should strive for such scholarship,” he said.

  Her teachers were happy with her again. Her parents smiled every time they caught sight of her. Be a kid, Margaret had told her, but she didn’t know what that was supposed to feel like anymore. She was too much a kid to care for her own child, but she wasn’t kid enough to fit into school, not anymore, no matter how much she tried.

  Last week, in the cafeteria, two girls from her math class had plunked their trays down next to hers and started talking as if they were old friends. Sara tried to follow their conversation, but she couldn’t relate to anything they were talking about. Boys. Clothes. Cars. “My mother grounded me for smoking,” one girl said, “I could just die.” Sara sipped her juice. My parents grounded me for kidnapping my baby. I could die, too.