“Don't be so sure. I'd had my eye on you for a while. I just couldn't figure out why you hated me so much.”
“I didn't hate you. I was scared of you. That's different.” They both smiled, remembering the days when they had met and fallen in love. Things hadn't changed at all since, they were more in love than ever.
And when they came back from dinner that night, Grace started talking about her idea again. She talked about it for weeks, and finally Charles couldn't stand it.
“Okay, okay … I understand. You want to help. Now where do we start? Let's do something about it.”
In the end, he talked to a few friends, and some of his partners at the law firm, some of their wives were interested, and others had useful references and suggestions. At the end of two months, Grace had a wealth of research and material, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She had talked to a psychologist she had met, and the head of the children's school, and she decided that she had what she needed. She even tracked down Sister Eugene from St. Andrew's, and she gave her some names of people who would be willing to work hands-on and wouldn't expect a lot of money for it. She needed volunteers, psychologists, teachers, some businessmen, women, and even victims. She was going to put together a team of people who were willing to go out into the community and tell people what they needed to know about abuse of all kinds against children.
She set up an organization and gave it a simple name. “Help Kids!” was what she called it, and at first she ran it out of her home, and after six months she rented an office on Lexington Avenue two blocks from their house. By then, she had a team of twenty-one people who were talking to schools, parents’ groups, teachers’ associations, people who ran extracurricular activities like ballet and baseball. She was amazed at how many bookings they got. And she shook like a leaf the first time she gave a talk herself. She told a group of people she had never met how she had been abused as a child, how no one had seen it, and no one had wanted to, and how everyone had thought her father was the greatest guy in town. “Maybe he was,” she said, her voice shaking as she fought back tears, “but not to me, or my mother.” She didn't tell them that she had killed him to save herself. But what she did tell them moved them deeply. All of their speakers had stories like that, some of them firsthand, and some of them about students or patients. But the people she organized to speak were all powerful in their message. It was a message that came straight from the heart. Help kids! And they meant it.
The next thing she did was set up a hot line for people who knew about abusive friends or neighbors, or parents who wanted help, or kids in bad situations. She did everything she could to raise funds to place ads and buy billboards with the hot line number on it, and she managed to keep it manned twenty-four hours a day, which was no small feat. It was almost a relief when a year and a half later Abigail went to kindergarten, because it gave her more time for “Help Kids!” although she missed having her at home at eleven-thirty. She managed to keep all her work down to a dull roar so that she could spend her afternoons with her children. But “Help Kids!” had grown to a full-scale office by then, and it was funded by five foundations. And they were currently in the process of raising money and free creative help for commercials. She wanted to organize a TV campaign to reach even deeper into the community. Again and again she tried to touch the kids who were being abused, and the people who knew it. She was less interested in reaching the abusive parents. Most of them were too sick even to want help, and it was rare that they themselves would step forward and ask for it. It was easier to get the point across to observers.
It was hard to judge what kind of results they were getting, except that their hot line was jammed night and day with desperate callers. They were usually neighbors, friends, teachers who weren't sure whether or not to come forward, and more and more lately they had been getting calls from kids telling horrifying stories. Grace and Charles answered phones themselves for two long shifts a week, and more often than not, Charles came home and ached over the things he heard. It was impossible not to care about those children. The only people who didn't were their parents.
Grace was so busy she hardly noticed the days fly by anymore, and she was happier than ever. She was particularly surprised when she got a letter, praising what she'd done, from the First Lady. She said that people like Grace made a real difference in the world, like Mother Teresa.
“Is she kidding?” Grace laughed in embarrassment as she showed the letter to Charles when it arrived. It was embarrassing, but exciting. What meant more than anything to her was helping those kids, but it was nice to be recognized for it too. And Charles was generous with his praise. He was pleased for her, and genuinely excited when they got invited to the White House for dinner. It had been declared the Year of the Child, and they wanted to give Grace an award for her contribution with “Help Kids!”
“I can't accept that,” she said uncomfortably, “think of all the people it took to put ‘Help Kids!’ together, think of all the people who work with us now in one capacity or another.” Almost none of them was paid, and all of them gave of their hearts and souls, some gave generously from their pockets. “Why should I get all the recognition?” It didn't seem right to her, and she didn't want to go to the dinner. She thought the award should be given to “Help Kids!” as an organization, not to her as an individual person.
“Think of who started it,” Charles said, smiling at her. She had no idea what a difference she was making in the world, and he loved that about her. She had turned a lifetime of pain into a blessing for so many. And every moment of happiness he could give her was a joy to him. Charles had never been happier, and he loved her deeply. She was a good wife, a good woman, and someone he respected deeply. “I think we should go to Washington. I, for one, would certainly enjoy it. Tell you what, I'll collect the award and tell them it was all my idea to start ‘Help Kids!’ “He was teasing her and she laughed about it. She argued with him for two weeks, but he had already accepted the invitation on her behalf, and finally, grumbling, they hired a sitter they knew to help their housekeeper, and flew to Washington on a snowy afternoon in December. She swore it was an omen of doom, but as soon as they reached Pennsylvania Avenue, she knew that she had been foolish. The White House Christmas tree sparkled cheerily in front of them and the entire scene looked like a Norman Rockwell painting.
They were led inside by Marines, and Grace almost felt her knees shake as she shook hands with the President and then the First Lady. There were several people at the reception Charles knew, and he kept Grace's hand tucked into his arm to give her courage, and introduced her to a number of attorneys and some congressmen who were old friends. An old friend from New York teased Charles about when he was going to get brave and get into the political waters himself. He had once been a partner in Charles's law firm.
“I don't think that's for me. I'm too busy taking kids to school and answering phones for Grace,” Charles said with a smile, but he had a good time, and even chatted for a few moments with the President, who said he was familiar with Charles's law firm, and complimented him on his handling of a difficult matter the year before that involved some government contracts.
After dinner, they danced, and there was a wonderful children's chorus to sing carols. They were the cutest kids Grace had ever seen, and for a minute they made her homesick for their children.
The congressman sought Charles out again before they left and told him to think about it again. “The political arena needs you, Charles. I'd be happy to talk to you about it anytime you like.” But Charles was insistent that he was happy at his law firm. “It's a big world out there, a lot bigger than Park Avenue and Wall Street. One forgets that in one's ivory tower at times. You could do a lot of good, there are some important issues at hand. I'll call you,” he said, and moved on, and Charles and Grace went back to the Willard at midnight. It had been a wonderful evening, and she'd been given a handsome plaque to commend her for her unselfish gifts to children.
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“I'll have to show this to the kids the next time they tell me how mean I am,” she smiled, and set it down on a table in their hotel suite. She was glad they had come after all. She had really enjoyed it, and then as they lay in bed, talking about the people they'd met, and how impressive it was to be in the company of the President and the First Lady, she asked Charles about his congressman friend.
“Roger?” he asked casually. “He used to be a partner in the firm. He's a good man, I always liked him.”
“What about what he said?” She was curious about Charles's reaction.
“About going into politics?” He looked amused. “I don't think so.”
“Why not? You'd be great at it.”
“Maybe I'll run for president one day. You'd make a beautiful first lady,” he teased, and then he turned to her with love on his mind, and kissed her hungrily, and as always she was quick to return his passion.
They were back in New York by two o'clock the next afternoon. Charles was in a festive mood, and decided not to go back to his office. He went home with Grace instead, and the children were delighted to see them. They jumped all over them and wanted to know what their parents had brought them from the trip.
“Absolutely nothing,” Charles lied with a blank stare, and they squealed in disbelief. Their children knew them better. They had bought some toys and souvenirs for them at the airport. Whenever Charles went away on business, which was rare, he never came back empty-handed. And Grace told them what the White House had been like, and about the children who sang there, and the Christmas tree all lit up on the White House lawn.
“What did they sing?” Andrew wanted to know, but like the little lady she was, Abigail wanted to know what they were wearing. The children were five and six then.
Christmas was the following week, and that weekend they put up the tree, and it looked beautiful when they finished it. She and Charles put the ornaments up high, and the children decorated everything within reach below that, and strung popcorn and cranberries, which was a tradition they loved.
Grace took them ice-skating at Rockefeller Plaza, and to see Santa Claus at Saks, and all the beautifully decorated windows on Fifth Avenue once school was out, and they even dropped in on Daddy at work, and took him out to lunch. They went to Serendipity on Sixtieth Street between Second and Third Avenues, and had huge hot dogs and giant ice-cream sodas. Grace ordered a banana split and Charles laughed, remembering the banana split he'd bought her the first time they went away for the weekend. This time she finished all of it, and he complimented her for being a member of the clean plate club.
“Are you making fun of me?” she grinned at him, with a spot of whipped cream on her nose. Abigail chuckled looking at her, and even Andrew loved it.
“Certainly not. I think it's wonderful that you didn't waste a bit of it” Charles smiled, feeling happy and young.
“Be nice, or I'll order another one.” But she was as thin as she'd ever been, until after the New Year, when she explained that she couldn't get into any of her clothes. She had been answering the hot line several times a week over the holidays, she knew what an important time it was for troubled families and helpless kids, and she wanted to do it herself as much as she could. And as they all did, while she was answering phones at all hours, she sat around and ate cookies and popcorn, particularly at Christmas.
“I feel huge,” she said miserably, zipping up her jeans to go for a walk in the park with him at the end of a lazy weekend.
“Most women would love to be as ‘huge’ as you are.” In spite of two children, and the fact that she had turned thirty that year, she still looked like a model. And he had just turned fifty and was as handsome as ever.
They were a good-looking couple as they strolled along. She was wearing a big cozy fox hat, and a fox jacket he had given her for Christmas. It was perfect for the frigid New York winter.
There was snow on the ground in the park, and they had left the kids at home with a sitter for a few hours because the housekeeper was away. They liked to go for long walks sometimes on Sundays, or take a cab down to SoHo and go to a coffeehouse, or have lunch and browse through galleries looking at paintings or sculpture.
But this afternoon, they were content to stroll, and eventually wound up at the Plaza Hotel. They decided to go in and have some hot chocolate in the Palm Court. And they walked into the elegant old hotel hand in hand, talking softly.
“The kids will never forgive us if they find out,” Grace said guiltily. They loved the Palm Court. But it was romantic being alone with him. She was talking about some plans she had for “Help Kids!” for the next year, to expand it further. She was always trying to broaden their outreach. And as she chatted with him, she devoured an entire plate of cookies and two hot chocolates with whipped cream. And as soon as she finished them, she felt sick, and was sorry she'd eaten.
“You're as bad as Andrew,” Charles laughed. He loved being with her, she was like a girl to him, and at the same time very much a woman.
When they left the Plaza, he hailed a hansom cab, and had it drive them home, as they snuggled in the back, kissing and whispering and giggling under heavy blankets, just like teenagers, or honeymooners. And when they got to the house, he ran in to get the kids, and let them pet the horse. And then the driver agreed to take them around the block for an additional fee, and the four of them rode around the block to the house again. And then they went inside, and the sitter left, and Grace made pasta for dinner.
She was busy for the next few weeks, with new plans, and keeping up with the children. But she was surprised to find that she was exhausted all the time, so much so that she even skipped two shifts on the hot line, which was rare for her. And when Charles noticed it, he was worried, and asked about it
“Are you all right?” He worried sometimes that her past life, and the beating outside St. Andrew's, would take a toll on her one day, and whenever she was sick, it really scared him.
“Of course I am,” she said, but the circles under her eyes, and her pallor, didn't convince him. She hardly ever suffered from asthma anymore, but she was starting to look the way she had when he first met her. A little too drawn and a little too serious, and not entirely healthy.
“I want you to go to the doctor,” he insisted.
“I'm fine,” she said stubbornly.
“I mean it,” he said sternly.
“Okay. Okay.” But she didn't do anything about it, and insisted that she was busy. Finally, he made an appointment himself and told her he'd take her there if she didn't go the following morning. It was a month after Christmas by then, and she was in the midst of a big fund drive for “Help Kids!” She had a thousand calls to make, and a million people to visit “For heaven's sake,” she said irritably when he reminded her again the next morning. “I'm just tired, that's all. It's no big deal. What are you so upset about?” she snapped at him, but he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Do you have any idea how important you are to me, and this family? I love you, Grace. Don't screw around with your health. I need you.’ *
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I'll go.” But she always hated going to the doctor. Doctors still reminded her of bad experiences, of being raped, and her mother dying, and the night she killed her father, and even when she'd been in Bellevue after the attack at St. Andrew's. To Grace, except for the babies she'd had, doctors never meant anything pleasant.
“Any idea what might be wrong? How do you feel?” their family doctor asked her pleasantly. He was a middle-aged man with an intelligent face and an easy disposition. He knew nothing of Grace's past, or her dislike for doctors.
“I feel fine. I'm just tired, and Charles is hysterical.” She smiled.
“He's right to be concerned. Anything else except fatigue?” She thought about it and shrugged.
“Nothing much. A little dizziness, some headaches.” She made light of it, but the truth was she had been very dizzy more than once lately, and se
veral times she had been sick to her stomach. She thought it was nervous tension over their fund drive. “I've been pretty busy.”
“Maybe you need some time off.” He smiled. He gave her some vitamins, checked her blood count and it was fine. He didn't want to run any serious tests. She was obviously young and healthy, and her blood pressure was low, which accounted for the dizziness and headaches. “Eat lots of red meat,” he advised, “and eat your spinach.” He said to say hello to Charles, and she called from the phone outside to tell Charles she was fine. And then feeling better than she had in a while, she walked home in the brisk January air. It was cold and crisp and sunny, and she felt wonderful and strong as she walked along, feeling stupid for even having gone to see the doctor. She smiled thinking of what good care Charles took of her and how lucky she was, as she turned the corner and walked toward their town house. She felt a little light-headed as she did, but it was no worse than it had been before, until she reached their front door, and she suddenly found she was so dizzy, she could hardly stand. She reached out to steady herself, and found herself clutching an elderly man who stared at her strangely. She looked at him as though she didn't see him at all, and then she took two steps toward her house, said something unintelligible, and collapsed, unconscious, to the sidewalk.
Chapter 14
When Grace came to on the street outside their house, there were three people standing over her, and two policemen. The old man she had almost pulled down with her had gone to a phone booth and dialed 911, but she was conscious again by the time they came, and she was sitting on the sidewalk. She was embarrassed more than hurt, and still too dizzy to get up.
“What happened here?” the first policeman asked amiably. He was a big friendly man, and he had keen eyes as he took in the situation. She wasn't drunk or on drugs, from what he could see, and she was very pretty and well dressed. “Would you like us to call an ambulance for you? Or your doctor?”
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