Getting Somewhere (28 page)

S
ARAH'S NOT SURE
if they have all been in the living room together before. It makes the room feel foreign, more like it did early on, less . . . hers.

Today, no one, except Lauren, is sitting where she belongs. Sarah is annoyed that she will need to join the circle in the only space that is really left—beside Lauren. Since she is the last one to arrive, she has no choice and moves quickly to her newly assigned spot.

Over the course of the afternoon, Sarah has tried to remember exactly what Lauren said on the phone to her boyfriend and feels sick all over again every time she replays the conversation in her mind. She should have done something then, told somebody, and can't remember why she didn't. Now, it is too late. Someone has listened to Lauren, has believed her, and Ellie—and the program—are in trouble.

Ellie turns to Grace and says, “Let's just go around and see if anybody has anything they want to talk about, and then I have something I want to share with you.”

No one does. How could they? Sarah feels momentarily irritated toward Ellie, then contrite.

Sarah notices that Ellie's shoulders are slumped and, even though her face and body look calm, her bare feet are constantly moving, one rubbing over the top of the other as if they are cold. She is wearing that smile that Sarah now recognizes as a face she puts on. Her real smile lights up her whole face, makes her eyes look like they are dancing. This one is only her mouth, the lips curving upward, no teeth showing. Sarah's thumb is tracing the scars on her opposite wrist, lightly at first, then deeper and with more agitation.

“We have received a letter. It is from the Office of Child and Family Services, which is the arm of the Welfare Department that monitors this program and your participation in it. Your caseworkers are employed by the Office of Child and Family Services and, in a way, so are we, me and Donna and Grace. It seems that they have received some kind of complaint, and so they want to come out and ask everybody some questions to reassure themselves that we are following the rules and that you guys are receiving the services you are supposed to get under this program. They believe there may have been a violation of those rules, and it is their responsibility to check it out.”

Nobody says anything. Ellie looks around at each girl's face and so does Sarah. Everyone looks blank.

“So, they're coming next Wednesday.”

“Who?” It's Jenna, and Ellie glances at her and then back down.

“It will be the supervisor, Sandra Preston. She's the one I talked to on the phone. Plus, an investigator she says works for the whole welfare department, whenever there's any type of complaint. I kind of argued with Sandra about that, wondered how this investigator could be sensitive to . . . the situation. . . . Sandra just said that's why your caseworkers are also coming, so they can be in the room when you are interviewed.” Ellie rolls her eyes and waves her hand in front of her face as if the thought of the caseworkers ensuring the girls' safety or comfort can be easily dismissed.

“I asked her if I could be there for your interviews, too, and she was pretty pissy about that, said ‘absolutely not,' like she was mad I'd even had the gall to ask. She said each one of you, and us, would be interviewed separately. Oh, and there will also be a recorder, a ‘neutral party,' she said, to be sure everything is properly documented. I guess that means there will be four adults to every one girl. No, wait, actually five.” Ellie is shaking her head in bafflement.

“Then what?” It's Donna this time.

“Then they'll take all the interviews back to their committee, which is a group of various people from the Family and Children office, and they'll decide whether charges should be brought.”

“Charges?”

“Yep.”

Ellie shrugs a little, apologetic. “I wish there was more I could tell you. All I really know is that they'll be here Wednesday at ten in the morning and that we have to talk to them.”

Sarah speaks up then. “Wait. I don't get it. You mean they have to talk to us one person at a time?”

Ellie nods. “Yep. One person at a time.”

“Do they think one of us did something wrong?” Cassie asks.

Ellie looks over at her. “No, they think maybe one of
us
did something wrong.” She gestures toward Donna and herself, nods toward Grace.

“The thing to remember, though, is that they are just investigating. They just have a complaint, no proof of anything. Innocent until proven guilty, right?” Ellie gives a weak smile.

Sarah and Jenna meet eyes, shake their heads and moan. They are not great believers in due process.

Grace hasn't spoken, but now she leans forward.

“I think it's important to remember that probably none of this is even going to happen. Ellie's going to talk to them first, and she's going to straighten it out. I'm guessing that no one else is even going to have to meet with them.”

Ellie turns toward Grace with a look of incredulity.

“That's
not
right, Grace. I've already talked to them, and this is what they said would happen. There is no way I'm going to be able to go in there and just smooth it all out.”

“But you're the program director.”

Ellie looks suspicious. “Riiiight. So, what's your point?”

“It seems like the complaint is against the program, should be handled by the person in charge. I'm not sure why the rest of us would need to participate. I mean, me and Donna.”

Ellie has clearly lost her patience, is staring at Grace as though she doesn't quite recognize her. She speaks very slowly, as if to a young child.

“They want to hear from everybody. Sandra made that very clear. We
all
have to be there and we
all
have to answer their questions. There isn't any way out of it, and it isn't reasonable to imagine that there is.”

Grace just shrugs and sits back, doesn't seem the least bit daunted by Ellie's stridency.

“What do they think you did?” Lauren asks.

Sarah can tell right away that this is the question Ellie has been waiting for, hoped not to hear. Ellie has two bright spots of red on her cheeks. She seems to be struggling with the answer, or with whether she will answer at all, Sarah doesn't know. She is looking down at her clipboard again, and Sarah thinks she may be about to cry.

Finally, Ellie looks up, first at Donna and then at Lauren.

“I've been thinking about this all day. She strongly recommended that I not tell you that, said each person would be fully informed at the beginning of their interviews. I guess she doesn't think it's a good idea to have a lot of discussion about it ahead of time, among ourselves, that it might affect everybody's ability to answer honestly. Since they are already unsure whether our program follows their rules, I'm a little hesitant to violate her trust. But part of me also thinks that you should know.” Ellie looks down again, shakes her head sadly.

“I knew someone would ask me this”—and she laughs a little—“so I should have made a decision by now, shouldn't I?”

“I don't think you should tell us.”

Everyone looks at Cassie. Cassie turns directly to Jenna.

“I don't think she should. I think it would be better if we didn't have it in our minds when we go into it. We should just be completely honest and answer their questions, whatever they are, because either we don't know about it, or we don't think there's anything wrong with it. And, that way, Ellie wouldn't have to worry that she's done something wrong.”

Jenna is nodding. “Cassie's right. Don't tell us. Do you know who . . . complained or reported you or whatever?”

Ellie shakes her head. “No. She wouldn't tell me but she said we will be fully informed about that on Wednesday, too.”

“So, she didn't even tell
you
all of it.”

“No, I guess not.”

Jenna lays her palms out to the group. “Well, there you go. It's better going into it not knowing. Cassie's right.” She turns to Ellie. “I don't think you should tell us.”

Lauren says, “Well, I do. How can we answer the questions correctly if we don't know what they're being accused of?”

Not one person looks at Lauren, and Sarah thinks that she hates the word “accused” and imagines it poofing out of Lauren's mouth like a green spray of noxious smelling gas.

Donna asks Ellie gently, “Does it help you to know that the girls don't think you should tell them? That we think you're doing the right thing if you follow their suggestion?”

Lauren is almost whispering under her breath, “Who is ‘we'? Did no one hear what I just said?”

Ellie's eyes are filled now, but she is swallowing hard to hold the tears back, nods.

“Yes, it helps a lot. I appreciate your input, Lauren, and it's not an easy decision. I think maybe it's best to leave things as they are. I wanted you to know what's going on, as much as possible, and be prepared, and that's all we can do for now. I can tell you for sure though, that I believe the complaint is completely groundless, and I don't want you guys to worry about anything.”

Ellie clearly wants to say more, her mouth still open, but no more words come out. It is as if the energy to propel them has just sputtered out.

Finally, she says, “If there's . . . well, anything anyone needs to tell me, this would be the time. Not here, necessarily, with everybody, but anything you think I should know about this complaint, please consider giving me a chance to hear it from you first.”

Ellie isn't meeting their eyes, as if she's wanting to keep even her gaze neutral, but Sarah can't help but notice that, after a long moment, she is glancing at Jenna.

Ellie hasn't told them that the meeting is over, but the girls slowly rise anyway, move out of the room without looking back. They all go in separate directions, either not wanting to talk or to look like they are talking among themselves. Sarah takes the stairs two at a time, grabs the book she's been reading off her bed, and is back down the stairs and out the back door, all before Ellie and Donna and Grace have stood up from their seats in the living room. She doesn't know how she'll face any of them again.

SATURDAY, JULY 21

FINALLY. LAUREN IS ABSOLUTELY SURE THIS IS IT. SHE'S
finally, finally, finally going to get out of here.

She believes Ellie when she says she doesn't know who reported them. She could have just said she didn't know the nature of the complaint either, but she didn't. Lauren wonders if maybe they'll never be told after all. Maybe Lauren's dad or the attorney have figured out some way to get her out of here without them even finding out. But no. That will have to come out. Lauren may even have to testify or something when they bring the charges. She didn't think of that before, and a hard lump forms in her throat. Her dad would never let that happen. She's been hurt enough already. That's what they'll think. And it's true. She has suffered enough. Maybe it's almost over.

J
ENNA IS RIDING
back and forth in the driveway. She thinks about heading up the road a ways. She's done that before. Grace said it was fine. She could ride out into the road and just keep going. But she doesn't.

She tells herself she's not watching for Grace, but she is. Grace went into her little cabin over an hour ago and hasn't come out since. Each time Jenna gets to the end of the driveway and circles back, she imagines she will see Grace emerging, waving her over to help with some special job that Grace has been saving just for the two of them. But, it never happens. There is nothing to see, just the filtered sunlight drifting down through the trees, a bird crossing over the road, followed by another, too high for any interest in the world falling apart below.

T
HE MORE
L
AUREN
thinks about it, the more she realizes that she absolutely cannot be here when the investigators come. They already have her side of the story. She needs to be safely on the other side of the fence when this all comes down. There's just too big a chance that, after Wednesday, they would still leave her here while they figure things out. It's already obvious that it takes the stupid court system forever to get things sorted out. What in the world would Lauren do if she was stuck here while that happened? She's just glad she thought of this in time.

Everybody went to bed early and the house is completely quiet, so Lauren is quick and confident as she pads down the hallway and hugs the stairs to stay away from the center creaks. She has already picked the lock on the office before, is gratified, again, that it is identical to the one on her dad's office door at home where she's had plenty of practice. She's had Jason's phone number memorized forever and realizes how nervous she is when she has to repeat the digits in her head several times before she can punch them into the phone.

The first time she calls, she gets his voice mail and feels so panicked that she is tempted to destroy something in the office.

Punching in the series of numbers for the calling card a second time, Lauren sees her hands shaking, has to disconnect and start over twice before she hears the ring, a
click
, Jason's unenthusiastic greeting. By this time, Lauren is so frantic that Jason doesn't even try to argue. The only way he can calm her is to promise to come, to leave right now, to make the hour-and-a-half trip as quickly as he can.

Lauren knows he's not happy about it, but he'll come. She concentrates intensely on the image of Jason closing his cell phone, grabbing his keys, stepping out the door, climbing into his car, and backing out of the driveway. It is as if she controls the events if she just thinks hard enough about them, demands them to work out the way she has designed.

Lauren climbs the stairs and slips back into her room but still has to sit on the edge of the bed for a minute to catch her breath. She decides to plan for an hour. That will give her enough time to pack and put on the makeup she hasn't worn in weeks, get back downstairs so she'll see him the minute he pulls in. It is only now, in the slight release of tension and control, that she sees a few possible rips in her carefully constructed plan.

Does it make any difference that Cassie saw her with the cards, that Jenna knows about the letter? Lauren squeezes her eyes shut, tries to concentrate. Why would it? It simply matters that the authorities have all the information they need and, with it, will shut this place down in a heartbeat. But what about Sarah? She knows that Lauren lied. It seems impossible that she would say anything, get herself into trouble. But they'll ask, won't they? What will Sarah do when she's on the spot? Lauren lets her head drop into her hands, massages her pounding temples. Why is everything always left up to her? Why is she the only one, always the only one . . . ? Lauren feels her throat closing, her eyes swelling with tears.

No, she can't leave Sarah here. And maybe, just maybe, Sarah would be sorry to see her go, would be pissed if Lauren went without her. In fact, yeah. Sarah would probably
want
to come. Sure, that's right. Lauren shakes her head, smooths her hair. God, what gets into her sometimes? Everything is fine. Perfect.

Lauren gets back up, reenergized now, and tiptoes down the hall to Sarah's room.

S
ARAH IS NOT
asleep. It's not that she has been expecting Lauren, though she's not surprised to see her either. She's been staying as far away from her as possible since they first found out about the letter, but Sarah knew it couldn't last. Sarah is so exhausted from her own turmoil that, before Lauren even speaks, she knows she will probably do whatever she suggests.

Lauren doesn't check to see if Sarah is awake, and her voice sounds, in Sarah's ears, like she's shouting even when she's whispering. Lauren leans aggressively over the bed and says, “I'm going. If you want to come, you better get ready. Jason will be here in an hour.”

Sarah pushes up on her elbows and says, “What do you mean? Going where?”

Sarah doesn't know why she's asking, can hear how ridiculous her questions sound, even to her. Of course Lauren is going, it doesn't matter where, and Sarah is perfectly aware of the reasons, both Lauren's and her own, why she needs to go with her. Maybe she just wants to hear Lauren say it, to confirm Sarah's own thoughts or to pretend to herself that it's really Lauren's idea and Sarah is being somehow forced to go along with it. But she's not being forced. She can't be here for the investigation any more than Lauren can. Betraying these people is bad enough—having to tell them about it is unbearable. She can't keep silent and she can't come clean and there is no middle ground.

Lauren is watching her, seems to be reading her thoughts.

“C'mon, Sarah. It's all over and you know it. You're in as much trouble as I am. This program is totally screwed, and you're all headed right back to detention. I say get while the getting is good.”

Sarah doesn't nod or acknowledge Lauren at all, just stares at her knees bent in front of her under the blanket. When Lauren speaks next, her tone is less harsh, almost wheedling, and Sarah tries to dredge some satisfaction out of the fact that Lauren needs something from Sarah, as if Sarah actually has some choice about whether she'll give it.

“If you're worried about what will happen next, I'm sure Jason will give you a little cash, and he'll take you wherever you want to go. All the addies you want until you can get the better stuff.”

The resistance is all an act. Sarah's already decided. Lauren is right. Why would she wait around to be sent back to detention when she could just find her friends on the street and resume life exactly as she left it? That, of course, is the problem. Life will never be the same as when she left because Sarah herself will never be the same, but any other choices seem too complicated, too dependent on trust in everything coming out right, which Sarah can pretty much guarantee it won't.

Lauren is becoming impatient with Sarah's silence. The wheedling tone has completely vanished when Lauren hisses, “One hour. If you're not ready, we go without you.”

After Lauren is gone, Sarah lies back down on the bed, curls up with her knees to her chest, and gazes out the window into the moonlight. She knows she needs to get up, pack her stuff, empty this room of herself and all that has happened to her here. And yet, for the moment, everything is quiet and she can't make herself move. She can't see the garden from this angle, but she can imagine it, the moon bright enough to throw shadows, everything gilded with its silver light. Sarah wonders how she could have ever believed in anything good here, what made her let her guard down and expose herself, even temporarily, to hope.

She barely looks at her clothes as she packs them into the black plastic garbage bags that have spent the summer balled up in the back of the tiny closet. It only takes her a few minutes to stuff everything inside, and then she is sitting on the edge of the bed, willing herself not to climb back in. She'll miss this bed, that's for sure. And the food. But she can't think about the food without thinking of Donna, and her throat starts to constrict and a heavy pressure builds behind her eyes so she goes back to thinking about the bed. Maybe she should change the sheets before she goes. At least she can make the bed. She hops up with some pretense of energy and begins to pull the sheet and light blanket into place. She plumps the two pillows as she must have seen someone do on a TV commercial or something and leans them against the headboard, stands back to admire her work.
No sign of Sarah,
she thinks. It's as if she's never been here. She steps over to the window to look out but even if it was bright as day, she wouldn't have been able to see anything through the haze of blinding tears.

S
ARAH HEARS THE
purr of Jason's souped-up engine just as she is returning to her room from the bathroom. She knots the top of her bags after dropping her toothbrush in and hefts one over each shoulder. Neither bag is very full, but they are old and stretchy, banging the back of her legs when she tries to walk. She opens her door and peers out, sees Lauren just closing the door to her own room, so heads down the stairway. She doesn't want to meet Lauren's eyes or have any more conversation until they are far down the road.