Ann Martin - Mary Anne And Too Many Babies

"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 again. 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.