‘Why are you so quiet?’ Eleanor’s mother asked. Eleanor was taking a bath, and her mom was making fifteen-bean soup. ‘That leaves three beans for each us,’ Ben had cracked to Eleanor earlier.
‘I’m not quiet. I’m taking a bath.’ ‘Usually you sing in the bathtub.’ ‘I do not,’ Eleanor said.
‘You do. Usually you sing “Rocky Raccoon.”’
‘God. Well, thanks for telling me, I won’t anymore. God.’
Eleanor got dressed quickly and tried to squeeze past her mother. Her mom grabbed her by the wrists. ‘I like to hear you sing,’ she said. She reached for a bottle on the counter behind Eleanor and rubbed a drop of vanilla behind each of the girl’s ears. Eleanor raised her shoulders like it tickled.
‘Why do you always do that? I smell like a Strawberry Shortcake doll.’ ‘I do it,’ her mom said, ‘because it’s cheaper than perfume, but it smells
just as good.’ Then she rubbed some vanilla behind her own ears and laughed.
Eleanor laughed with her, and stood there for a few seconds smiling. Her mom was wearing soft old jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a smooth ponytail. She looked almost like she used to. There was a picture of her – at one of Maisie’s birthday parties, scooping ice cream cones – with a ponytail just like that.
‘Are you okay?’ her mom asked.
‘Yeah …’ Eleanor said, ‘yeah, I’m just tired. I’m going to do my homework and go to bed.’ Her mom seemed to know that something was off, but she didn’t push. She used to make Eleanor tell her everything. ‘What’s going on up there?’ she’d say, knocking on the top of Eleanor’s head. ‘Are you making yourself crazy?’ Her mom hadn’t said anything like
that since Eleanor had moved home. She seemed to realize that she’d lost her right to knock.
Eleanor climbed up onto her bunk and pushed the cat to the end. She didn’t have anything to read. Nothing new, anyway. Was he done bringing her comics? Why had he even started? She ran her fingers over the embarrassing song titles – ‘This Charming Man’ and ‘How Soon Is Now?’ – on her math book. She wanted to scribble them out, but he’d probably notice and lord it over her.
Eleanor really was tired, that wasn’t a lie. She’d been staying up, reading, almost every night. She fell asleep that night right after dinner.
She woke up to shouting. Richie shouting. Eleanor couldn’t tell what he was saying.
Underneath the shouting, her mother was crying. She sounded like she’d been crying for a long time – she must be completely out of her head if she was letting them hear her cry like that.
Eleanor could tell that everyone else in the room was already awake. She hung off the bunk until she could see the little kids take shape in the dark. All four of them were sitting together in a clump of blankets on the floor. Maisie was holding the baby, rocking him almost frantically. Eleanor slid off the bed soundlessly and huddled with them. Mouse immediately climbed into her lap. He was shaking and wet, and he wrapped his arms and legs around Eleanor like a monkey. Their mother shrieked, two rooms away, and they all five jumped together.
If this had happened two summers ago, Eleanor would have run and banged on the door herself. She would have yelled at Richie to stop. She would have called 911 at the very, very, very least. But now that seemed like something a child would do, or a fool. Now, all she could think about was what they were going to do if the baby actually started to cry. Thank God he didn’t. Even he seemed to realize that trying to make this stop would only ever make it worse.
When her alarm went off the next morning, Eleanor couldn’t remember having fallen to sleep. She couldn’t remember when the crying had stopped.
A horrible thought came to her, and she got up, stumbling over the kids and the blankets. She opened the bedroom door and smelled bacon.
Which meant that her mother was alive.
And that her stepdad was probably still eating breakfast.
Eleanor took a deep breath. She smelled like pee. God. The cleanest clothes she had were the ones she wore yesterday, which Tina would surely point out, because it was a goddamn gym day on top of everything else.
She grabbed her clothes and stepped purposely out into the living room, determined not to make eye contact with Richie if he was there. He was. (That demon. That bastard.) Her mother was standing at the stove, standing more still than usual. You couldn’t not notice the bruise on the side of her face. Or the hickey under her chin. (That fuck, that fuck, that fuck.)
‘Mom,’ Eleanor whispered urgently, ‘I have to clean off.’ Her mother’s eyes slowly focused on her.
‘What?’
Eleanor gestured at her clothes, which probably just looked wrinkled. ‘I slept on the floor with Mouse.’
Her mother glanced nervously into the living room; Richie would punish Mouse if he knew. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said, pushing Eleanor into the bathroom. ‘Give me your clothes, I’ll watch the door. And don’t let him smell it. I don’t need this this morning.’
As if Eleanor was the one who’d peed all over everything.
She washed off the top half of her body, then the bottom, so that she wouldn’t ever be totally naked. Then she walked back through the living room, wearing yesterday’s clothes, trying really hard not to smell like pee.
Her books were in her bedroom, but Eleanor didn’t want to open the door and let out any more acrid air – so she just left.
She got to the bus stop fifteen minutes early. She still felt rumpled and panicked, and, thanks to the bacon, her stomach was growling.
