Room Temperature

A child's emotions are pretty good indicators of what her circumstances are dishing up. She can't predict what will happen next, but she can probably sense what a less intuitive adult might be quick to dismiss. The smaller the person, the higher up she can look. As a toddler, and a crying one at that, she may not understand all of her tears, but she can feel comfort and attention. She can be folded like a fragile ingredient into the strong arms of an adult.

Most people forget that a babysitter is nothing more than an in-between adult learning how to fold eggshells into her own life, and still turn out all right. She has the added advantage of being closer to a crying child in age, but not so much with vomit splattered on her footie pyjamas. Miranda is this babysitter, and this is the tale she'd rather not revisit.

Miranda is thirteen years of age and beginning to babysit for the Kensington family. They live across the street, and in their eyes, Miranda seems like she is well beyond her years. At least that’s what they tell themselves. Miranda is surprised but not excessively so. The flattery masks her nervousness, so she assumes they must be right. Wouldn’t Mom have piped up if it hadn’t been true?

She makes fast friends with Jake and his younger sister, Riley. They are good kids, and Miranda sits for them at least one night every weekend. The Kensingtons never leave a number because they know Miranda’s mom is right across the street.

“Just call 911 if there’s a problem.” There never is.

Miranda likes being in charge, and the children don’t give her much to take charge of. They play, eat the snacks their mom leaves for them and then it’s time for baths and bedtime stories. If Miranda feels guilty about anything, it’s that she sneaks into the fridge once they’re asleep. It’s not that it’s forbidden. Jennifer and George always tell her to help herself to whatever she wants. They're so open about it that it exposes Miranda’s never-ending shame that her father instills in her about food. The Kensington house is huge, gorgeous and well-stocked, and sometimes Miranda gets bored.

The thing with Miranda’s shame is that it doesn’t exist to anyone but herself and her father. She’s well into her first official year as a babysitter, and the Kensingtons couldn’t be more pleased with her. The kids wouldn’t trade her for anyone, either. But Jennifer and George like to brag about their babysitter, and one day, Miranda gets a call from Mrs. Kensington. Would she like to try babysitting for her sister? Miranda’s a bit nervous but decides to accept because of Jennifer.

It’s a Saturday night in January, and it may be a small town, but it’s nowhere near where Miranda would know how to get to herself. Since Jennifer is spending the evening with her relatives, she drives Miranda to this new house in the dark, where she doesn’t normally go. A new neighbourhood, a new couple, a new child and a new house. One that’s not quite so luxurious or large and is cramped between two other strange houses. Brenda Palmer and her husband, Rob, are excitedly, self-consciously happy to meet Miranda, but they don’t leave instructions or a number either, and Mom is nowhere near. They do leave food, though. There are open boxes of cookies on the counter, a plate of uncovered doughnuts and milk that should be in the refrigerator.

The child is already in bed, sleeping. It’s a girl, and her name is Leah. Miranda checks in on her but can’t see very well with just the hallway light shining into the bedroom. The place looks kind of untidy. Brenda might be a bit of a hoarder. Miranda decides to go downstairs and watch TV with a bag of safely unopened potato chips. They have no savour. She’s not sitting for very long before she hears faint crying at the top of the stairs. The child she could barely see—Leah—is now standing in the light, covered in vomit.

“What…?”

Miranda races up the stairs in case Leah is going to pass out and fall. The only thing she can think of doing is to carry the child into the bathroom and turn on the taps in the bathtub. Leah is crying louder now. She doesn’t recognize Miranda.

Will she throw up again? She removes the soiled pyjamas.

Should I call an ambulance? She left her mobile downstairs.

The landline phone in the kitchen starts ringing shrilly.

Miranda puts the child in the tub and tries to reassure her, but the water, the strange girl in her house and whatever sickness she’s got only makes her cry all the more. Miranda runs for the phone and picks it up.

“Heeeeyyye, how’s it goiiin’?

Miranda hears the voice, tells him he’s got the wrong number and immediately hangs up the phone. Someone she doesn't know knows she's here. She runs back to the bathroom, and Leah takes one look at her and resumes her cries at a much louder pitch than before. Miranda sits on the floor beside the bathtub and tries to smile at the little girl. She introduces herself as Miranda. The phone rings again, and Miranda jumps up without knowing if she should answer it or let it ring. Leah hasn’t stopped crying, so Miranda decides that maybe putting out one fire would help her help the child. She retraces her steps into the kitchen and wipes the water off her jeans before picking up the receiver.

“Heeeeyye, what’s the maaaatter? Do you want some company?”

The same male voice has a smile in it, and Miranda wants to yell into the receiver for this guy to stop calling, but fear has stolen her voice. She hangs up again and watches as her hands start to shake uncontrollably. Leah. She has to get Leah cleaned and dressed. Mom will have to take them both home. Wrapping the clean child in a thick bath towel, Miranda takes her to her darkened room where she looks for a light switch so she can put some clothes on her. The phone begins ringing again. Miranda rubs Leah’s head to dry her hair as much as possible and opens drawers to pull out warm clothes. She strews them about the room unthinkingly and remembers her phone downstairs. She has to call the police, her mom, or both.

Racing through the house and down the stairs, she picks up her phone and speed dials her mom. Mom answers. Miranda runs upstairs, back to Leah, begging her mom to come and get them both.

“Well, where are you?” she asks.

“Mom, I don’t know!”

But now there’s someone at the door, knocking.

Miranda freezes and drops her phone.

Is it locked?

The knocking gets louder the second time. Someone's head and shoulders are on the other side of the kitchen door's window, darkened against the nighttime sky.

Miranda sits Leah on the bed and tells her to keep dressing herself.

“I’ll be right back, OK?”

She tries to sound reassuring, but Leah is probably going to vomit again, and Miranda might follow suit. She closes the door to Leah's room behind her and walks through the hallway towards the kitchen door.

This isn’t what I signed up for, she thinks to herself.

“Heeeeye, let me in!”

The male voice sounds concerned, or is it angry?

Miranda hears herself crying, but there's no sound coming out of her mouth. Leah is wailing. She had dropped her phone in Leah’s room. Why didn’t she put it in Leah's hands so that Leah could at least hear her mom's reassuring voice?

Miranda sees a siren flashing outside. Why would there be flashing lights in the driveway? There’s another knock at the door, but this time, the voice is different. It says it’s the police. Flashing lights are a good sign. But what if it’s a bad cop? What would a safe policeman be doing with this man?

“Miranda, it’s OK, open the door. We’re here to help.”

Miranda peeks through the frosted window behind the kitchen door's curtain and sees the officer. He doesn’t look angry. He's calm, tall and official. The door is locked, and Miranda fumbles to figure out the mechanism, still unsure if she's doing the right thing.

“Officer?” It’s all she can manage.

“I’m Officer Stadely. Can I come in?”

“Officer, who’s that man with you?” He’s been calling me here," Miranda tries to explain through tears.

“That’s not what I meant!” The other man tries to defend himself.

“Wait out here,” she hears the officer say to him gruffly.

Miranda has to open the door, even if the other man is out there, too.

The flashing light from the police car is really the only thing that makes this cop seem like a real one. She thinks of Leah as she’s about to turn the knob and let a stranger in, even if he is a police officer. She peeks her head out of the door and sees the officer. His eyes are gentle for a man wearing a gun holster and a parka with a badge on it. She opens the door wider and stands there, crying, just as Leah is doing in her room. The officer lets himself in and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“How… how did you know? What are you doing here?”

Miranda looks up at him with tears streaming down her face. Officer Stadely smiles gently down at her, and she notices the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"We've had a few calls to come and see you," he says kindly.

"A...A few?"

"Your mother called us", he added. And George and Jennifer. Our switchboard lit up because of you."

Officer Stadely's voice was firm but understanding. He proceeded to make his way into the house, scanning the interior while keeping a close eye on Miranda. She leaned against the countertop for stability, but looked cross. She wasn't quite ready to trust him, and he could see it by the way she kept folding and unfolding her arms.

"Is this your first time babysitting for the Palmers?" He asks gently, but with his notepad open and ready to write anything down.

Miranda is scared, but about to answer when she sees the other man getting ready to follow the officer inside the house. She screams. Lunging for the door and slamming it shut, she locks it again. She's angry with the officer, too, for coming inside. She holds it against him for being so familiar with the bad guy on the other side of the door.

"Why did you bring him here?" she yells. Officer Stadely has yet to fully earn the title of good cop.

Shakily, angrily and tearfully, Miranda walks past Officer Stadely and back to Leah's room. She scoops her up with all the authority and protection a thirteen-year-old girl can muster. Leah relaxes in her arms for the first time tonight.

Miranda tries to ignore Officer Stadely, but with Leah safely in her arms, she lets out a torrent of emotion this time and points to the door, raising a loud cry. She roars out all of the fear and the injustice of being tormented tonight.

Miranda has gotten it all out of her system, or so she thinks. She has regained her composure and states adamantly to the officer that she doesn’t want to see that man inside the house.

"Miranda, wait!” The officer is ready to bring clarity to the situation now that Miranda has calmed down.

“It’s ok to react so strongly, but that man out there is Brenda Palmer's brother. He called his sister on her mobile when you wouldn't pick up the landline. He was concerned. He thought you were her, playing a prank on him, or that she was in some kind of trouble."

At that moment, the Palmers open their door, knowing full well they're walking into something they're going to be sorry for. They look very sheepish and apologize profusely to Miranda. Henry, the brother, stays outside out of respect for Miranda after hearing her cry.

“Can we take you home, sweetheart?”

Miranda hands Leah to her mother and spots the milk on the counter. She feels ashamed for not having put it in the fridge. Miranda can’t stand milk at room temperature, and it makes her uneasy about people who can. She treated it as something distasteful and not needing her attention, either. Mom had raised her to prefer ice-cold milk. Anything less doesn't make sense to Miranda. It doesn’t help that the doughnuts were left on the counter, uncovered. Miranda had looked around the house and made a quick decision that she didn't want to babysit for the Palmers in the future because of that food. Junk food at that. Jennifer and George have Greek yogurt, prosciutto, chocolates and nuts. They keep the kind of food in their house that Miranda is used to in her own. She had never even wanted to look into the Palmers' fridge. She’d just grabbed a sealed bag of potato chips from the junk buffet and headed downstairs.

Now she remembers the mess of chips on the floor when Leah had made her jump up and out of her skin.

“Um, I dropped a bag of chips on the floor downstairs. I didn’t have time to clean it up.”

She says this in a low voice to Mrs. Palmer, but as soon as it's out, she remembers the vomit she’d had to clean off of Leah. She feels the food shame compounding.

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about.”

Mrs. Palmer is half-laughing at something so insignificant. She only hugs her clean daughter, who is now laughing too, because her mom is in such a jovial mood.

Miranda’s parents have now arrived and are ready to take her home. Miranda looks at her father. His eyes are full of concern. He reaches for his daughter and pulls her into a hug. She now understands why her father is so strict about her own tendencies for excessive eating. Just because it didn’t show up on her frame doesn't mean her bad habits would be easy to break later in life. Miranda is a child of privilege and has the best food available at all times. If he's being cautious, it's because he grew up with siblings, and food was divided fairly. It's not as easy for Miranda not to misinterpret this as shame.

“Are you ready to come home?” he asks her.

“I just need my phone. I left it in Leah’s room.”

She walks into the child's bedroom and sees the clothes strewn everywhere. Another mess she’d created. She looks down at herself. Her sweater is soaked in patches, and she has Leah’s vomit stuck to her. She catches a whiff of herself and is repulsed. She probably has it in her hair.

She pauses for a moment and thinks about this other man she will have to face, if not forgive. It would be easier to forgive him if she did it now, by herself.

“This is all my fault,” she hears Henry say.

He's in the house now, and she can hear the sorrow in his voice. He had meant her absolutely no harm whatsoever. He didn’t even know who she was. He thought he was playing phone tag with his sister. His call to the police had no doubt added to the lit-up switchboard on her behalf. He must be feeling pretty bad if he came himself with the police. And Miranda had slammed the door in his face and let him stand outside in the cold January night. Yeah, she could forgive him before stepping out of his life forever. She could forgive her father. His eggshells are now hers for the folding, but that's what makes life so textured. It's Miranda that Miranda has to forgive, and that might take longer than one cold Saturday night in the dead of winter.