“Every word I utter and everything you see in this class could potentially be on an exam. So pay attention. You never know what might be significant,” Miss Tappan replied, hopping delicately off the desk and clicking over to the white board where she wrote a list of books and poems. “In case you’re wondering, write this down — it’s important.”
Six hours and five classes later, Grace collapsed in the front seat of Charlie’s car. More than anything else in the world she wanted to free herself from her clothes, but that would have to wait. She was having trouble getting enough air, but she couldn’t decide whether she was simply being strangled by her sports bra or was suffering a six-hour panic attack.
“You made it through the first day. Only one hundred and seventy-nine left to go,” Charlie said as he started the car and turned the air conditioning on full blast. Grace’s face was on fire, tiny beads of sweat dotting her forehead, even though it wasn’t that warm out. It was obvious that she’d had a rough time of it. Charlie pressed a button on the steering wheel, and classical music floated out of half a dozen speakers. It was like a relaxation tank on wheels, but in Grace’s state, cool air and a Bach concerto were of little help.
“Don’t remind me.” Fiddling mindlessly with the thermostat, Grace said, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Look, you got through today. You’ll see how it goes tomorrow. Take one day at a time,” Charlie said, trying to be supportive and sensitive, but worrying that he sounded like a refugee from one of those alcoholics’ support groups that meet in church basements once a week to trade platitudes and sobriety chips. Having spent much of his life in all-boys schools, he was a novice when it came to friendships with girls, and Grace wasn’t your average teenage girl. That coupled with the fact that he felt different with her left him on edge. She made him nervous, in a really good way, but it was disconcerting. Searching for just the right words to comfort his new friend, he would do or say anything to make her happy, or at least make her feel better. He wished he could fast-forward to next April.
“I’m not sure that I made it through. Between the sweating and the hyperventilating and the paranoia, I have no idea what actually happened today. Even if I go to class, I’m going to flunk all my courses.” Grace flipped the visor down and examined the tomato that was her face in the mirror. “Yikes. I look like a pomegranate.” She flipped it back up and stared out the window as the glacial, German-engineered air conditioning dried her damp skin and hair. Perhaps if she could go to class in this car she could survive.
“You look fine.”
What Charlie really wanted to say was that she looked beautiful and vulnerable and he would do anything to protect her. He had spotted the evil Nick in his history class. With girls swarming around him like bees buzzing around a particularly luscious flower, Nick was impossible to miss. No wonder Grace had fallen under his spell — he looked deep into each girl’s eyes, and the way they all batted their lashes and twirled their hair, it seemed only a matter of time until each one found her way into the back seat of the infamous Jeep Grand Cherokee. That this one guy could have random sex with the entire female population of the senior class, along with a healthy quotient of underclass girls, seemed entirely plausible, and that made Charlie even more furious about what he had done to Grace. As bad as it was to be in her unfortunate condition, it was that much worse, because she was clearly only one of many toys in this jerk’s playpen. Charlie fantasized about sucker punching him, whispering, “How does it feel to get fucked?” as Nick fell to the floor.
CHAPTER 8
Dear Baby,
You’re twelve weeks old. That’s the cutoff date, the end of the first trimester. We’re in this thing for the long haul now, you and I. No backing out, no more flip-flopping. No procedures involving scraping and vacuuming. The only way you’re coming out is head first, screaming your lungs out, and as scary as that is, I’m a hundred percent sure it’s the right thing to do. You are fully formed already (I wonder whether you’re a boy or a girl), a perfect miniature of a person. Your teeth are starting to grow in your gums. My teeth are pretty good. They’re very white and I only had to wear braces for a year, so maybe you’ll get lucky. I’m off to see the doctor. Wish me luck.
Love,
Grace
“Grace Warren?” A nurse who looked almost exactly like the nurse at Dr. Ryder’s clinic, but in lavender scrubs, was holding a folder and calling Grace’s name. Also different was that Betsy wasn’t present, and this time Grace knew why she was here and what was going to happen. Helen looked up from a copy of Good Housekeeping and smiled encouragingly. When Grace stood, she held out her hand to her new friend and benefactor.
“Mrs. T., would you come in with me? Please?” Not exactly frightened after doing a spread-eagle for Dr. Ryder, all this doctor stuff was still new, and having an adult nearby — one who would offer kind words instead of lobbing insults and accusations — would be comforting.
“Of course, darling. Let’s go meet Dr. Weston.”
Helen followed Grace back to the examining room, where Grace put on the crunchy paper gown and sat, feet dangling over the edge of the examining table, waiting for the doctor. A few discreet inquiries to Helen’s own physician had yielded the name of Dr. Annabelle Weston. She was young, well educated, and, most importantly, not judgmental. Grace didn’t need to hear any more disparaging remarks about her moral character, and since Dr. Weston had spent her internship delivering babies at an inner-city hospital where virtually all her patients were under the age of twenty, examining a seventeen-year-old who was twelve weeks pregnant would be just another day at the office.
“Thank you again for finding me a doctor and taking care of everything.”
In addition to finding an obstetrician, Helen had a frank discussion with Betsy and Brad, who in their fit of moral outrage had dropped Grace from their health insurance policy. After a twenty-minute debate on the Warren’s driveway, Helen, backed up by her lawyer — since Brad had a law degree, it seemed wise to bring her own mouthpiece — convinced them to reestablish Grace’s insurance coverage. Not that it mattered financially. Helen would happily have paid all of Grace’s medical bills, but she didn’t want Grace’s parents to get away with such despicable behavior. Grace was their daughter, not their employee, and even if they had made her leave the family home, they couldn’t make her leave the family. No matter what happened, Grace was their child, and Helen was determined to make sure they didn’t forget that. As incensed as Helen was on Grace’s behalf, she held out hope that someday, when the baby was placed with adoptive parents and Grace no longer looked like a pear, Betsy and Brad would come to their senses. There was no doubt that, in spite of what Helen saw as the Warrens’s unforgivable treatment of their only child, Grace would happily run into those reproachful arms, forgiving and forgetting all their cruelty. Children were nothing if not resilient. Bringing that fractured family back together would be the culmination of Helen’s rescuing career; at this point, she wasn’t sure it could really happen.
“You’re welcome, but there’s no need to thank me. I enjoy your company tremendously, as does Charlie. You’re a wonderful addition to our little household, and I’m sure it will all work out in the end. Your parents are having a hard time with this. Not everybody is able to look at the big picture and see beyond all the potholes that litter the road of life.”
“I hope so. But I’ve never seen them this mad. I can’t imagine they’ll ever get over what I’ve done.”
How long could she live with Helen? It didn’t sound like she would ask Grace to leave after the baby was born, but Grace couldn’t stay there forever. So much to think about, and her brain seemed to be stuck in low gear, unable to plan more than a few days, or sometimes minutes, into the future.
“I don’t mean to sound like one of those awful inspirational speakers on Channel Ten, but I truly feel that everything works out eventually, even if it doesn’t seem possible when you’re in the middle of it. With ev
ery fiber of my being, I believe that they love you, very much, even if they can’t show you right now.” Helen spoke as if she were naturally well-adjusted and highly evolved, but it had taken years on Dr. Evelyn Needleman’s black leather couch to get to this point.
“You’ve been through so much, losing your family in such a horrible way. But you’re not angry? How is that possible? Do you think it was supposed to be that way?” Although Grace knew she was prying, she needed to figure it out. Did life just happen? Did fate steer your car where it was supposed to go, even if you tried to turn the wheel in a different direction?
“Not supposed to be that way. I would give anything to get my family back, but once they were gone, I decided that I had to live my life as well as I possibly could, make the most of it. Otherwise it would have been as if the Nazis had killed me as well.”
Natalie, Helen’s older sister, had turned seventeen the day before the last day they saw each other, standing in the cold mud in that endless long line of people who had no idea that it was the last line most of them would ever stand in. More than once it had occurred to her that maybe she was trying to channel Natalie through Grace, retrieve a little bit of what she had lost so long ago. Helen wondered what Dr. Needleman would have to say about that.
Helen closed her eyes and she was standing next to her mother and sister, waving goodbye to her father, not understanding that she would never see him again after that day. “Bye, Papa. I love you,” she had called to him.
“Be good, my precious girls. I’ll see you very soon, and I will tell you the story about your Great-Uncle Max.” In spite of the wind and the mud and the snow that was beginning to fall, her father never stopped smiling.
Wondering why her mother wasn’t saying anything to Papa, Helen had looked up. At the exact same time, her mother looked down and their eyes locked. Helen was only ten years old, but she could see from her mother’s petrified gaze that this was the line that led to the end of the world, and there was nothing left to say. Shaking with terror, Helen flung her arms around her mother’s waist and grabbed Natalie’s hand in a vain effort to keep her family from being torn away from her.
A soldier raised his gun and yelled something Helen couldn’t understand, and her father’s line started to move away. He turned back, just before the line went around the corner of a low wooden building, blowing a last kiss to his girls; he was still smiling. Helen smiled and blew a kiss back to him. What else was there to do? And then he was gone.
“Mrs. T., are you all right?” Grace asked.
Waving her hand in front of her face, Helen said, “I’m fine. When you’re old, sometimes the memories pop up out of nowhere. I was just thinking about my family for a second. You would have loved my dear parents. They were very special … and my sister, too.” Helen smiled and patted Grace’s hand.
“You’re amazing.” How could Helen be so good, so understanding, after all that had happened to her? She had every right to be bitter and angry, but she was the warmest, most loving person Grace had ever met.
“Not amazing. Just practical. Ultimately, what’s the alternative? Unless you fling yourself off a bridge, you’re alive, and as long as you’re breathing, you might as well do a decent job of it,” said Helen.
The door opened. “Hi, I’m Dr. Weston. You must be Grace. A pleasure to meet you. And this is your … ?” Although she was fairly certain this had to be the grandmother, Dr. Weston had once grievously insulted the mother of a pregnant teen by assuming she was one generation more removed than she actually was. How was she to know that the pregnant girl had been a change-of-life baby and the mother had given birth at the age of fifty-two, making her sixty-nine when she walked into Dr. Weston’s office with her daughter? Lesson learned: never assume anything, especially with the rampant use of fertility drugs.
“I’m Helen Teitelbaum, a close friend of Grace’s.” Helen scribbled on her notepad to remind herself to send Dr. Weston an e-mail explaining the specifics of Grace’s situation, and suggesting that this young lady could use some extra attention and understanding during this difficult time.
Dr. Weston’s eyebrows rose slightly but she said nothing. When a friend accompanied the patient, that usually meant there had been a brouhaha in the family over the unplanned pregnancy. The chart said seventeen, but this girl looked about twelve.
Cutting to the chase, Dr. Weston said, “Dr. Ryder sent me your ultrasound. The notes in your chart indicate that you hadn’t yet made a decision about this pregnancy. You’re about twelve weeks, so if you’re going to terminate, you need to do so immediately. It’s not so easy to find someone to perform one, except for medical reasons, when you get much further along.”
Grace took a deep breath. “I’m definitely having the baby,” she said, hoping that each time she said it out loud she would be more certain that she had made the right decision. Perhaps a few more times, and she would almost be there.
“Very good. So let’s talk prenatal care. Are you taking vitamins?”
Grace nodded.
“That’s good. And of course, you must eat well, because your baby eats what you eat. You don’t look like a Pop-Tarts and Cheetos kind of girl, but keep in mind that you want to eat simply — lots of fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean protein. Try to keep the salt down. That will keep the swelling at bay. Avoid caffeine, and of course no booze, no drugs, no smoking.” Dr. Weston ticked off on her fingers as she ran down the list of dos and don’ts she automatically recited to every expectant mother.
“I would never ….” Grace was more than a little dismayed that this doctor thought she might drink or smoke, or worse.
“Please don’t be insulted. It’s just boilerplate. I have to give that speech to everyone who comes through this office. I know you would never do anything to harm this child. You’re very brave. Having a child at your age is a very difficult thing.”
While Dr. Weston was tempted to throw in a few words about thinking more than five minutes into the future when some boy has his hand down your pants, she decided against it — once the horse was already out of the barn, what good would it do, especially with this girl? She didn’t look like Dr. Weston’s typical pregnant teen patient. Something about the way she perched on the edge of the table, ankles primly crossed, her hair pulled back in a tidy French braid anchored by a pink ribbon, simple pearl earrings — this girl screamed prude. She must have gotten pregnant her very first time. For a second, Dr. Weston wondered if she’d been raped, because she didn’t have the look of a girl who would get swept away by a little sweet talk and a couple of Coors Lights. But there was nothing in the chart about that, and Dr. Ryder would certainly have noted such a situation. Some frat guy must have gotten her really drunk on wine coolers, which was ultimately irrelevant — knocked up was knocked up — but fascinating nonetheless. Dr. Weston had yet to meet a teenager who had gotten the message that sex was a dangerous business, and five minutes of messing around really could change one’s life forever.
“I’m not brave at all. I’m scared to death,” Grace said to the doctor.
“You wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t afraid. I won’t lie to you — it’s not a walk in the park. But if it were that bad, no one would ever have more than one child, and the human race would have died out long ago.” Dr. Weston smiled and patted Grace’s shoulder.
“I guess that makes sense, but it’s still scary.”
“It’s the great unknown. Not having any idea what to expect is daunting. You can read one of those month-by-month baby books, so you know what’s happening to your body, but don’t read too much, and stay off the Internet. And don’t listen to all the horror stories people are bound to tell you about three-headed, twenty-pound babies covered with fur.”
It was a mystery to Dr. Weston why otherwise well-intentioned people felt the need to share their Guinness World Records carnival sideshow stories. Most of them probably weren’t true anyway, and it was hard to imagine why anyone would want to make someone wor
ry about a potential complication that they had probably never contemplated in the first place.
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Grace, grateful that Dr. Weston made jokes instead of bawling her out. When the doctor was warning her about drinking and smoking, Grace had feared a morality lecture would follow, which was unnecessary since Grace delivered one to herself twice a day anyway.
“Look, you’re young, you’re in good health. The odds are with you that you’ll have a healthy baby, and I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful mother,” Dr. Weston said with as much conviction as she could muster, as no seventeen-year-old she had ever taken care of turned out to be a wonderful mother — a teenager couldn’t care for a child when she was still a child herself. But maybe this girl would be the exception. Determined not to become a cynic, Dr. Weston sincerely hoped for the best every time she had to tell a girl who was barely old enough to drive that she was going to be a mother.
Helen had remained silent throughout the visit, but now she spoke up. “Grace, didn’t you want to talk to the doctor about that?”
“Yeah, um, I’m planning on giving the baby up for adoption. I can’t raise a child. I wouldn’t even have a place to live if not for my neighbor, Mrs. Teitelbaum. My parents kicked me out when I wouldn’t get an abortion a few weeks ago at Dr. Ryder’s office.” Grace was able to say this without crying now, just barely.
Dr. Weston winced at hearing that this desperate girl’s parents could be so cruel. Now all the pieces fell into place. “I’m sorry about that. You’re lucky to have such a neighborly neighbor. What about the father? Is he in the picture? Does he support your decision?”
In Dr. Weston’s experience, adoption was a smart choice for most girls, but sometimes, rarely, the dad wanted to keep the baby when the young mother didn’t, usually because the boyfriend’s parents immediately felt like grandparents and couldn’t imagine giving that up. Some people found it impossible to imagine their flesh and blood being raised by other people, no matter what the circumstances of that flesh’s creation. Such conflicts were painful and could be legally complicated. Dr. Weston hoped that wasn’t the case here, as it sounded like Grace already had enough to worry about fighting with her parents — a court battle with the ex-boyfriend’s parents would send her over the edge.
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