Mary Anne And Too Many Babies Page 7

  "We lost her."

  "We lost the egg," Kevin spoke up. "It happened yesterday afternoon. We were at the park. Cathy was with us. She's our egg. I mean, she was our egg. And she was in the box we always kept her in."

  "The yellow cookie tin," Angela added.

  "Right," said Kevin. "Cathy was with us when we left school, and she was with us when we reached the park. We checked. But when we were leaving the park, we checked again, and the box was empty."

  "We tried to retrace our steps," said Angela. "We walked around everywhere. But we couldn't find her."

  "We don't know how she got out of the box."

  "I feel terrible," said Angela. "Honestly. I mean, if she were really our kid . . . How could we have been so irresponsible?" Angela was crying again.

  The room was silent. I suppose everyone was thinking similar thoughts. That in the blink of an eye, anything can happen to a

  child. You turn around and she's gone — lost or maybe even kidnapped. Or she's eaten something poisonous. Or she's fallen, or been struck by a car. Those things happen every day to all kinds of families.

  Angela and Kevin were the first kids in our Modern Living class to lose their baby, and it wasn't funny.

  "Are you worried about the grade you'll receive on your project now?" asked Mrs. Boy-den, which seemed a little insensitive.

  "No!" cried Angela. (She shouted it, actu-ally.)

  At the same time, Kevin said, "Yeah, I guess."

  Angela gave him a hard look, then softened. "All right, I guess I am a little worried, but that was not the first thing I thought about when I looked in the box and discovered it empty."

  Mrs. Boyden nodded. "I understand. Listen, don't worry about your grade. You still owe me a paper, and you can complete it despite what has happened, but some aspects of your project will now change. See me after class, okay?"

  "Okay," answered Kevin and Angela.

  Mrs. Boyden turned her attention to the rest of the class. "What else?" she asked. She propped her feet on an empty chair. "Anyone?

  No one? ... So things are just fine for the rest of you?"

  At that point, I nearly raised my hand. No, things were not just fine between Logan and me. We had nearly lost our own child. We had discovered we didn't quite trust one another as parents.

  "Mrs. Boy den?" said a quiet voice.

  I turned around. The voice belonged to a guy who was new at school. He'd been paired up with this girl named Zoe.

  "Yes, Tarik?" said Mrs. Boyden.

  Tarik couldn't look at our teacher. He couldn't look at Zoe or anyone else, either. He stared straight ahead and spoke sort of to the blackboard. "Maybe I should talk to you about this after class, but I — I can't complete the project. I've never had to say that to a teacher before, but it's the truth. I can't do this."

  "Why not?" asked Mrs. Boyden gently.

  "It's just. . . too much. I mean, Zoe — she's doing her part. But, see, I play two sports and I'm in the choir and I have an after-school job, and my parents are getting divorced and my mom needs a lot of help and I can't do this egg thing, too."

  "You mean, caring for a child is more than you can handle at this point in your life? You're overwhelmed?"

  "Well, yeah."

  "That's okay. Put that in your paper. There is no expected outcome for this project, nothing right or wrong that can be said in your papers. But I'd like to talk to you after class, too. Zoe as well. We'll work something out. Okay. Anyone else?"

  Whew. What a class. When it ended, Logan and I just sat in our chairs. Logan doodled. I looked at Sammie, safe in her basket on Logan's desk, protected by more padding than ever.

  "I guess that we aren't the only ones having problems," I said.

  "I guess not," replied Logan. "In fact, I think we're doing pretty well."

  "I bet most parents argue about how to raise their kids."

  "Not to mention other things. Like money. My parents had a big loud talk about money last night. That's what they call arguments — loud talks. And they had the loud talk at about two A.M."

  "Scary," I commented.

  "Yeah." Logan got to his feet. He picked up Sammie's basket.

  "I thought you had baseball practice for gym today," I said. "I do." "So let me take Sammie."

  "Well — "

  "You still don't trust me, do you? Just because I lost her for five seconds. Logan, accidents happen. Look at Kevin and Angela."

  "I know." Logan didn't let go of Sammie, though.

  My eyes filled with tears. "I'll see you later," I whispered, and ran out of the room without Sammie.

  "Mary Anne!" called Logan.

  I didn't answer.

  Logan and I had a long way to go before we reconciled our differences.

  Ill

  Chapter 13.

  Not many days after that memorable Modern Living class, I found myself baby-sitting for Ricky and Rose again. For some reason, I wasn't looking forward to the job. I wasn't dreading it; I just wasn't approaching it with great glee. I wasn't jumping up and down, singing, "Oh, boy, babies! I get to take care of babies again!"

  Luckily, Sammie did not come along on the job with me. Logan had taken her home with him.

  "This will make the afternoon much easier," I said to Kristy, as we left school that day. "Just two babies."

  "Yeah. Piece of cake. Sitting for the Ro-dowsky boys could be much harder. The Walking Disaster and his two brothers. Think what could happen at the Rodowskys' in an afternoon."

  I rolled my eyes. "Mayhem," I said. "Chaos. Anarchy."

  Kristy smiled. "Oh, there's my bus!" she cried. "I have to go. Have fun this afternoon, Mary Anne."

  "Thanks!" I said. "I'll talk to you tonight."

  I walked to the Salems' house, dawdling a little. The weather was absolutely gorgeous, warmer than usual, with a wonderful smell of damp earth and new leaves in the air. Perfect baby-walking weather.

  I rang the Salems' bell and was greeted by Mrs. Salem, who looked sort of worn out. Her eyes were red, and she seemed saggy.

  "Hi, Mary Anne," she said. "Whew. I'm exhausted. The last thing I want to do is go to this meeting, but I'm on the board of the Small Animal Rescue League, so I have to attend."

  I hesitated. I wanted to ask Mrs. Salem if everything was okay, but I wasn't sure I should. I mean, adults always ask kids that question, but should a kid ask an adult? I didn't want Mrs. Salem to think I was being nosy. However, she had said she was exhausted, so I went ahead and asked.

  "Oh, I'm fine," Mrs. Salem replied. "Just tired. The babies seem to be changing their schedule. I never know what to expect. They were sleeping through the night just fine, and

  now, well, they're not. And they didn't go down for their naps this afternoon until later than usual. So they should sleep longer. You'll probably have a chance to get some homework done this afternoon."

  "Great. I was going to take Rose and Ricky for a walk, but I do have a lot of work."

  Mrs. Salem wrote down the number of the Small Animal Rescue League and reminded me where the emergency numbers were located. Then she left. I watched her back her car down the drive. She was yawning.

  I settled myself at the kitchen table with a glass of juice and a bran muffin. I opened the book of short stories we were reading for English class.

  " The Telltale Heart/ by Edgar Allan Foe," I murmured.

  The story was scary. I don't know why I was surprised. Foe's stories are all scary. I was reading along, and my heart was beginning to pound, when something squeaked.

  I yelped and knocked over the glass of juice.

  "Darn it!" I cried, as juice spread across the Salems' table and dripped down one of the legs and onto the floor.

  I mopped it up with paper towels and forgot about the squeak until . . .

  "WAHH!!"

  I jumped, jerking my hands up and tossing

  the book across the kitchen to a counter, where it landed on this bowl of fruit.

  "WAHH!" I heard a
gain. It was Ricky. I could tell his cry from Rose's. I could also tell that his cry was going to become a scream.

  I ran upstairs and into the twins' room. Ricky was sitting in his crib. His face was red and tearstained.

  "Hey, Ricky/What's the matter?" I said soothingly as I lifted him into my arms. "Your mom said you just went to sleep. Why are you up so soon? Are you wet? Or hungry?"

  Ricky's answer was a shriek, so I hurried him out of the room before he could wake his sister.

  I carried Ricky to the kitchen.

  I felt his diaper. Dry.

  I offered him a bottle. He fussed and turned his head away.

  "What is it? What can I do for you?" I asked.

  Ricky drooled and cried.

  From upstairs, I thought I heard a whimper, although it was hard to hear over the noise Ricky was making.

  "Come on," I said to him. "We'd better check on Rose."

  I carried Ricky back upstairs. With every step, his wails seemed to grow louder. "Shh, shh," I said soothingly. "Quiet down."

  But he didn't. By the time we had reached

  the bedroom, he was throwing his head back and screaming so hard I thought he would choke.

  Rose stirred in her crib. Her eyelids fluttered. She was waking up.

  I fled downstairs. "Ricky, Rose needs her sleep. Can't you quiet down?" I said. I walked him around the first floor of the house, making a circle from the kitchen to the dining room to the living room, through the hall, and back into the kitchen. As long as I kept moving, Ricky confined his crying to loud whimpers. If I slowed down, the screaming started. I knew what he needed. He needed a walk in the stroller. I was pretty sure that (and only that) would calm him down. But what about Rose? I couldn't wake her up just because her brother needed a walk. I also couldn't check on her while her brother was crying. If I brought him with me, he'd disturb her. If I left him strapped into his high chair or his infant seat, he would begin the awful ear-shattering, choking screaming.

  I was desperate.

  I phoned my sister.

  "Dawn, can you come over to the Salems' right away?" I asked shakily.

  "Sure. What's wrong?"

  I explained as quickly as I could. "So the thing is," I finished up, "I can't be in two

  places at the same time. Someone has to take Ricky outside. I've never heard such screaming. Or seen such drooling."

  "I bet he's teething/' said Dawn. "Give him one of those hard crackers. I'll be over as soon as I can."

  "Thank you. You saved my life," I said seriously.

  Fifteen minutes later, Dawn arrived at the Salems', sweaty from having ridden her bicycle in such a hurry. I was still walking Ricky in circles around the first floor. He was gumming madly on a teething biscuit I'd found in the kitchen cupboard. The biscuit had quieted him slightly — as long as we kept moving.

  "Do you mind taking Ricky?" I asked Dawn. I circled from the dining room into the living room, Dawn at my heels. "I'd take him, but I think I better stay here in case Mrs. Salem comes home. It would probably be better if she found the same baby-sitter who was here when she left the house."

  "I don't mind taking him," Dawn replied. "It's so nice out. Where's the stroller? We'll leave right away."

  "It's in the garage. Can you wheel it to the front door? I don't want to stop moving until I can put Ricky right in the stroller."

  Dawn retrieved the stroller while I circled with Ricky. As soon as she was waiting out-

  side, I made one last circle, but when I reached the hallway, I turned right instead of left, walked through the front door, which Dawn was holding open, and plopped Ricky in the stroller. Dawn was pushing him down the walk before he knew what was happening. Right away, his cries began to fade.

  I went back inside and checked on Rose, who was (miraculously) still sleeping. Then I collapsed in an armchair in the living room.

  I was just reclining there, enjoying the peace when . . .

  "WAHH!"

  Oh, no. Not again.

  I ran upstairs.

  Now Rose was awake, sitting in her crib, screaming and drooling.

  "I guess you're teething, too," I said wearily, understanding why Mrs. Salem looked so haggard. "At least I know what to do now. You need a biscuit and a walk."

  I found a teething biscuit for Rose — and then realized that in order to take her for a walk, I needed the stroller, of course. I ran to the front stoop and looked up and down the street. Dawn and Ricky had already disappeared. Double darn. So I picked up Crying Baby Number Two and began making the circle. Kitchen to dining room to living room to hall and back to kitchen.

  I was still walking Rose when Dawn returned, and Dawn and I were still walking both babies when Mrs. Salem returned.

  "Do I have to write about that job in the notebook?" I asked Dawn that evening. "I would really rather forget the entire incident."

  Chapter 14.

  Ordinarily, when the phone rings at our house, everyone runs for it as if we were going to win a prize for being the one to answer. On the evening after my latest disaster with Ricky and Rose, the phone rang, and no one dove for it.

  We were all tired.

  I was tired from my taxing afternoon. Dawn was tired for the same reason. And Dad and Sharon were tired because they each had had a difficult day at work. Every member of my family was sacked out in a different room.

  Ring . . . ring . . . ring.

  The phone rang three times before I realized what was happening.

  "Dawn, can you get that?" I called from my bedroom.

  "Why?" she called from her bedroom.

  "Because it's ringing."

  "Mom'11 get it."

  "No she won't!" Sharon yelled from downstairs. "She's too tired."

  Ring . . . ring.

  "Will someone please answer the phone?" said Dad.

  "Mary Anne will!" shouted Dawn.

  "I will not! I can't move!"

  The phone stopped ringing.

  "Did someone answer that?" called Sharon.

  "No!" replied Dad and Dawn and I.

  "You know, that could have been an important call," said Dawn. "Maybe someone died and left us an island or something."

  "A tropical island?" I asked.

  "Yes, with palm trees and beautiful sea-shells."

  The phone rang again.

  I sprinted into Dad and Sharon's room. So did Dawn. We grabbed the receiver at the same time. "Hello?" we said.

  "Hello?" said Dad and Sharon on the other extension.

  "Hello?" said a fifth voice.

  "Logan?" I asked.

  "Mary Anne?"

  "Okay, everyone can get off the phone," I said. "We haven't inherited an island. This is just Logan calling."

  "Just Logan?" he repeated. "Thanks a lot."

  "Don't be insulted," I told him, giggling, as

  the rest of my family went back to being tired. "It's just that — Oh, never mind. It's a long story."

  "Oh. Well, I was calling because . . . You won't believe this, but good news! Sammie is walking, and I captured the event on videotape."

  I began to laugh again. "A Kodak moment?" I suggested.

  "Definitely." Logan was laughing, too.

  I knew he was calling so we could talk things out, so we could make up once and for all. "How is Sammie really?" I asked.

  "She's fine. How were the twins this afternoon?"

  "A mess. They're teething. I'm glad you were taking care of Sammie today. I could never have handled her and the twins. As it was, Dawn had to come over and help me."

  "Wow. I hardly ever hear you say you can't handle a sitting job."

  "Sitting is different when babies are involved."

  "Yeah. Mary Anne? I'm sorry we've been arguing."

  "Me, too," I answered. "It's Sammie and Modern Living. That's why we're arguing. Mrs. Boy den is asking us to do something really difficult — be adults, be married, have babies, and at the same time be kids in school.

  I'm glad she didn
't give us real babies. Can you imagine what shape we'd be in now?"

  "For one thing, we'd be broke. Dad took Hunter to the pediatrician for a checkup the other day, and you know what that visit cost? Seventy-five dollars! Seventy-five dollars when nothing was wrong with him in the first place. And we still haven't gotten the bill from the lab for the tests they're doing. Who knows how much that will be for. I don't know how my parents can afford to raise three children. Kerry and Hunter and I are expensive!"

  "Well, we already know we can't afford even an egg right now, but I didn't expect us to argue so much. I thought that when two people got married they just moved into a nice little place and began hanging curtains and planting flower gardens."

  "You mean they played house?"

  "I guess so. I never thought about stuff like what to do if you can't find a baby-sitter. Or if you and your husband couldn't agree on how to raise a baby."

  "Maybe when you're older you can figure those things out more easily."

  "Maybe. I don't think that being older solves everything, though. Look at Dawn's mother and father. Or Kristy's mother and father. Or Stacey's mother and father."

  "Yeah. But I bet you have a better chance at

  a relationship if you wait awhile. Until after college or something."

  "Probably."

  "I mean, we couldn't get married now," said Logan.

  "We? You and I? Get married now?" I squeaked. "I'll say we couldn't. I want to enjoy the rest of eighth grade first. I want to enjoy being thirteen and not have to worry about all those things I'll have plenty of time to worry about when I'm twenty-two or something."

  "Yeah. I would like to play baseball without first having to think of who's going to watch Sammie. That would be a luxury. I'm not ready for so many complications."

  "Me, neither. Logan, I really like you. I hope you know that."

  "I do."

  "But I'm not ready to be your wife, or anyone else's wife."

  "That's cool. I'm not ready to be a husband."

  "Do you think this is the kind of material Mrs. Boy den wants us to include in our report? What we learned about ourselves?"

  "Probably. I think she wants us to consider ourselves as couples and also as the single parts of couples. Remember the questions she asked at the beginning of class one day? The

  day Shawna said she wanted to divorce Miles?"