Screwed (19 page)

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I’ve been too busy writing essays and keeping up with my schoolwork.”

Her father sighed histrionically and said, “Well that’s not too bright, is it? Did you assume your mother and I were going to pay for it?”

Grace shrugged. Feeling her father’s eyes burning into her belly, she crossed her arms protectively and looked pleadingly at her mother, who remained catatonic and surgically attached to the cart.

“Robert Louis Stevenson said something about everyone eventually having to sit down to a banquet of consequences. Grace, I think your table is ready. Bon appétit.” Brad had read that quote in a book on financial planning the week before, and he smiled to himself at his own cleverness. “Betsy, I’ll meet you at the car. I need to stop at the drugstore.”

Without a backward glance, he sauntered away, as if he had just run into his accountant, rather than his estranged and very pregnant daughter to whom he had just spoken for the first time in months. To Brad, this ability to move through life without being burdened by sentimentality was a gift. It would be many years before he realized how much he had missed.

Not knowing what else to do after having been so mightily dissed, Grace bent down and retrieved the runaway lemons. At least she knew where she stood now. Based on her father’s reaction, Grace understood that this feud could outlast all of them.

“Bye, Mom.” Grace briefly placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder and then walked quickly away, leaving Betsy in front of a huge bin of walnuts, a single tear rolling down her otherwise expressionless face.

Trembling from head to toe and unsure whether she could safely drive home, Grace had sat for a few minutes, trying to slow her breathing and her hammering heart. Looking down, she realized she had walked out without paying for the lemons, but she was too upset to go back. A second encounter with her stone-faced mother would surely do her in.

Grace sat back in her chair. Repeating the story was enough to get her adrenaline pumping. “So I don’t think they’re planning on helping me.”

“That’s such a sad story. You poor little thing. Well, based on that,” said Mrs. Evans, “I think your only shot is to go the emancipation route. It’s unlikely you’re going to find two hundred thousand dollars in change between the couch cushions.”

“I’ll think about it over Christmas vacation. Thank you for listening, Mrs. Evans.”

“No problem, Grace. Try to have a merry Christmas.” Giving Grace a hug, Mrs. Evans doubted that was possible.

Talking to her counselor about that day at the market was a relief, because Grace had never told Helen about the lemon encounter. It would only make her hostess and savior more sorry, more worried, more determined to compensate for Betsy and Brad’s shortcomings. Although Grace hadn’t intended on telling Charlie either, that proved impossible as Charlie took one look at her face when she returned home and forced her to spill the beans, which she did only after she made him swear he wouldn’t tell anyone, especially Helen.

After dinner on what would have been Christmas Eve at Grace’s house, but was just a regular winter evening in the Teitelbaum home, Helen and Grace sat in the solarium, drinking herbal tea and listening to the rain pounding on the glass ceiling. “Grace, darling, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, Mrs. T. Is everything okay?” Grace asked, suddenly worried that she’d done something wrong and ruined this wonderful friendship.

“Everything’s fine. I just want to talk to you about next year. You know that Abe and I were never blessed with children, and the closest I have to a grandchild is Charlie. It would be my honor to help you in whatever way I can, which includes sending you to college.”

Charlie’s promise to Grace not to divulge her run-in with her parents had been a hollow one, and he had told Helen everything, including the bit about divorcing Betsy and Brad. It made Helen sad that Grace hadn’t felt comfortable sharing her burden, but she understood Grace’s reluctance was not a result of a secretive personality, but rather that she didn’t want to look like she was asking for money. The hardest part was going to be getting Grace to agree to let Helen help her.

“How did you know about ….”

Grace could hardly believe her ears. She was seriously considering the emancipation option, especially after her father had made it clear where he stood. And if that didn’t work out, she could always get a job and go to community college. Lots of people managed to get an education that way. At this point, Grace knew she needed to be flexible. Her old dreams about ivy-covered buildings and classes with Nobel Prize–winning professors might be destined to remain dreams, and that was okay. Life was playing out differently than she had thought, but she was learning to take each day as it came. Having to take a detour didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get there — it just might take a little longer, and the road might not be as scenic as she had hoped.

“Charlie told me. Don’t be mad at him. He’s so fond of you, and he rightly felt I should know what was going on with you.”

“But just because I’m staying with you doesn’t mean that you have to solve all of my problems,” Grace said.

“Listen to me. I have lots and lots of money, and I can’t take it with me. Using it to help people while I’m still alive makes me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy, Grace?” Helen’s eyes were bright in the light of the candles scattered about the room.

“But you’ve already done so much for me. I can’t accept any more.” Mrs. Teitelbaum’s generosity was boundless, and Grace vowed she would try to be as giving as this extraordinary woman, with whatever she had to give. “My guidance counselor said I can go to court and get emancipated from my parents, and then I’ll probably get financial aid from whatever college I get into, assuming I get in anywhere.” Although Grace definitely had the grades, she was suffering a global crisis of confidence, and it wouldn’t surprise her if, like her parents, every college in the country rejected her.

“You don’t need to do that. Someday your parents will come to their senses. I promise you they will. It may take a long time, but they will come around. And in the meantime, we can help each other,” Helen said.

“How could I ever help you?” At this point, Grace felt her only contribution to the world was to make other people feel better about their own lives, but from what Grace had seen so far, Mrs. T. had a pretty fabulous life, except for World War II and the loss of her family, and what could Grace do about that?

“You’ve helped me more than you know, my dove. You are a very special person. Trust me — I know about these things. And think of it like this. I was going to give that money away anyway. Better I should write a check to help some strangers? I can’t imagine a more worthwhile way to spend my money … and even if I end up putting you through medical school, there will still be plenty left. It’s not like I’m going to be eating dog food anytime soon.” Helen wrinkled her nose. “My dear, Abe left me in a
very
comfortable position. College tuition will not break the bank.”

More tears, of joy and relief this time, rushed down Grace’s cheeks, mingling with Helen’s as the two hugged and kissed. “Thank you, Mrs. T. Thank you for everything.”

“You’re so welcome. There is one thing you could do for me, though.”

“Anything.”

“Please stop calling me Mrs. T. I’m Aunt Helen, or just Helen. Okay?”

“Okay … Aunt Helen,” Grace sniffled.

“I’ll call Sidney in the morning, just to make sure. He’ll tell us what to do, and then he’ll take care of everything.” Helen jotted down a few words on the pad of paper she always kept in her pocket. “All we’ll have to do is wait for the acceptance letters, so he knows where to send the check.”

“Sidney?”

“Sidney Schneidman, of Schneidman, Schwartz, and Smith. He’s my lawyer and accountant. I haven’t bothered him in a while. Let him earn his retainer.” This was exciting. Writing large checks to charities to benefit thousands of anonymous people all over the world felt good, but looking directly into the eyes of someone who needed a helping hand and telling her that everything was going to work out, at least financially — the sensation was beyond satisfying. Granted, Grace wasn’t underprivileged in the traditional way, but in Helen’s mind she was no less needy than the starving urchin dressed in rags and running barefoot through the streets of Calcutta.

“Today you’re going to meet four of the couples you picked out of the book. Remember, you don’t have to decide on the spot, and if you don’t like any of these people, we can keep looking,” Janet explained, hoping to alleviate some of the nerves that were visible in Grace’s hunched shoulders and uneven breathing.

“But how will I know if they’re the ones? On paper, they’re all pretty perfect.”

There was no greater responsibility than choosing the two people who would be raising her child. What if she failed to notice that the would-be dad was an alcoholic, or the mom wasn’t just organized, but had obsessive-compulsive disorder? What if someday the couple she chose had a biological child? Would they love this baby less because she wasn’t their flesh and blood? Desperate to find a way to think of all the potential pitfalls so she could protect the bean forever, Grace was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack.

“You’ll know. Every girl wonders how she’ll be able to choose the right parents, but it’s just a feeling you’ll have. I’m not sure how to explain it, but I’ve seen it happen over and over.”

In all the years Janet had been doing this, only one young woman found it impossible to select adoptive parents for her baby — each couple was almost, but not quite, right. Ultimately she ended up keeping the child, which was no surprise. In her heart, the girl had never made the decision to give the baby up in the first place. As long as the birth mother was certain about the adoption process, it worked out.

“As long as
you’re
sure, I guess I’ll get there,” Grace said, still unconvinced.

“That’s my girl. Ah, there they are, the Perez family.”

“I feel like I’m on some bizarre game show, and Molly’s the grand prize, but I already know I’ve lost,” Grace mumbled, wondering if this was the couple who would be taking her place.

Once pleasantries had been exchanged, the three adults and one-and-a-half children sat at Janet’s conference table, awkwardly trying to get to know each other. “So, Grace, please feel free to ask Carlos and Margaret whatever you want,” Janet said, trying to get the ball rolling.

Sometimes things just clicked, but more often both sides were struck dumb, afraid of saying the wrong thing. For the potential parents, this meeting was like the ultimate job interview. Teenagers were touchy creatures: a single word taken the wrong way, and they would be out on the street, still desperate, still childless.

“Well, all I really want to know is if you’ll love her with all your heart, and if you ever have a child naturally, will you still love her as much?” Grace had decided that was all that really mattered. Whether they were church regulars or agnostics, Democrats or Republicans, meat-eaters or vegans — none of that made any difference. The only question was whether they would love Molly completely and without reservation, no matter what.

“Of course,” Margaret and Carlos said simultaneously. “We’ve been trying to have a baby for a long time, but it looks like it’s not going to happen the old-fashioned way, so here we are,” Margaret said.

This kid was really pretty, and according to Janet, a brilliant student as well. Wondering about the competition in this race for a baby, Margaret was desperate to say whatever it was this girl needed to hear to seal the deal.

Two hours later, Janet peered at Grace. “Are you sure you’re up to one more? I can easily reschedule. The Millers are in town until tomorrow.”

“No, I’m fine. Making small talk, trying to analyze every word, figure out who’s the right one — it’s really hard, and tiring, but I just want to finish.”

“So, any vibes? Do you think you’ve met the parents of your baby?”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet.”

“My grandmother always said a good night’s sleep makes everything clearer. You need time to sift through everything you’ve heard,” said Janet. “Here they are. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” said Grace, knowing full well she wasn’t ready for most of what had happened to her since July second.

Awkwardly making her way to a standing position — Mrs. Olson’s chairs were comfortable, but deep and low — Grace looked up into the faces of the two people she suddenly knew were going to be Molly’s parents. It was like the first time she’d laid eyes on Charlie — a feeling of recognition. Something about them struck her as familiar and comfortable. Was this the sensation that Mrs. Olson had been describing?

“Grace, thank you so much for meeting with us. We saw your picture, and we felt like we knew you. It was so strange.” Rebecca Miller took Grace’s hands in hers and gazed warmly at her, knowing that empty chatter wasn’t necessary. There was no uneasiness to compensate for.

Not expecting such a powerful connection, such a sudden certainty, and worried that her palms must be sticky and sweaty, Grace answered, “Me, too.”

“Shall we all sit down and get to know each other?” Janet hadn’t missed the electricity that had passed between Grace and Rebecca. There would be no need to keep searching. Bringing people together for adoption was in a way not that much different from running a dating service. What attracted people to one another went beyond the physical or the intellectual; some intangible bond that defied reason seemed to apply to adoption as well as marriage.

Not really needing to ask any questions, Grace felt she owed it to Mrs. Olson to go through the motions. “Do you think you’ll keep trying to have a biological child after you adopt a baby?”

“We found out last year that we can’t make a baby,” Michael said, taking his wife’s hand and smiling sadly.

“I’m really sorry,” Grace said, now knowing for sure that the Millers were the ones. Inside her, Molly kicked — the decision was unanimous.