Screwed. Part 13

"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.

CHAPTER 18.

"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 compet.i.tion 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 a.n.a.lyze 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 pa.s.sed 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.

CHAPTER 19.

Evidence of her cardinal sin was straining against her sweatshirt. Thirty-four weeks into her pregnancy, Grace felt like a planet with stretch marks and swollen ankles. Dirty looks and snide insults uttered in hushed tones had been replaced with outright rubbernecking and really loud cheap shots: "Nice abs, Warren!" and "Beep! Beep! Beep!" like the sound of a truck backing up. n.o.body thought it was bullying because getting pregnant wasn't like having a stutter or a lazy eye - getting knocked up had been Grace's own fault. She had gotten herself into this fix, and now she had to stand there and take it. When she walked down the hall, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, everyone wanting to get a good look but no one wanting to touch her, like they thought that pregnancy was contagious.

Knocking frantically on Mrs. Evans's office door, Grace tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Her heart was racing after navigating the hallway of condemnation. Not that the taunting had been any different yesterday or the week before, but the straw had broken the camel's back, and she couldn't take it for another minute.

Mrs. Evans flung open her office door. "Grace, what's the matter? Did something happen?" Eyes shiny with tears, face bright red, Grace looked like she was going into labor.

"I can't stay here anymore. It's too hard."

"You're okay? The baby's okay?" Unequipped to handle emergencies beyond the hysteria students experienced when they were rejected by their first-choice college, Mrs. Evans reached for the phone. Her first aid skills were definitely a little rusty. She knew you were supposed to boil water when someone was having a baby, but she couldn't remember why.

"The baby's fine. I'm fine." Grace's voice was hoa.r.s.e with pain, but not the kind that came from contractions.

Mrs. Evans collapsed into her chair with a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. Then come in and sit down." She handed Grace a bottle of water and said, "Have a drink, and tell me what happened."

"Everyone stares at me and laughs all day long, and I can't concentrate on school. I feel like I have three heads or something. I don't think I can deal with being a circus freak for the next six weeks." Tears coursed silently down Grace's cheeks. Spending most of her lunch hour every day crying in a bathroom stall, Grace had perfected the art of bawling without making a sound.

"Oh, Grace, I'm so sorry. I wish I could slap each and every one of those brats and tell them to tuck their eyeb.a.l.l.s back into their heads, but I'm afraid I can't do anything about it. You'll just have to muscle through, or ...."

"Or what? I can't muscle through. I really tried, and I thought I could do it, but I can't." Even though she was in the final act of her nine-month pregnancy play, the days seemed to be getting longer, and Grace was beginning to question her sanity.

"I get it. Kids can be incredibly mean. You could do independent study at home. With your grades, it probably wouldn't be a problem to get approval. Other girls in your situation have gone to a night program in Chester, but they don't offer any AP courses, so that wouldn't work." Most girls in Grace's position were headed to beauty school or a cashier job at the local Walmart. None of the unfortunate girls Mrs. Evans had counseled over the years had been taking five AP cla.s.ses and applying to Princeton.

"I promise I won't let my grades drop. With the Internet, I'll be able to send in all my papers and keep up with the a.s.signments. Please, Mrs. Evans, don't make me go back out there." Grace sat on the edge of her chair, leaning towards her counselor's desk, beseeching Mrs. Evans with her body as well as her words.

Knowing she couldn't abandon this poor girl who was clearly at the end of her rope, Mrs. Evans said, "Fine. Let's try it. I'll send a memo to your teachers. I doubt they'll mind. I've heard whispers in the faculty room that your, um, condition is a little distracting to the other students, so I'm sure everyone will make a sincere effort to make your homeschooling work."

"Thank you so much. I knew school would be bad, but I didn't think it would be this awful."

"I think that because you are who you are, your pregnancy is more - how do I say this - interesting to your fellow students than if you were just any girl. You do realize you're probably the last person anyone would expect to turn up pregnant," Mrs. Evans said.

"I was the last person I would expect to get pregnant, but that doesn't make it any less horrible to deal with," said Grace.

"Teenagers are cruel, there's no doubt about that, and when a girl who is otherwise perfect - smart, beautiful, nice - stumbles, you're going to get a lot of attention and a certain amount of schadenfreude. It's not fair, but it is human nature."

"Schadenfreude? You really think me being pregnant is making other people happy because I'm me?" Grace was dumbfounded. "I'm getting worse treatment because I was the teachers' pet? I just thought they were being cruel because that's how kids are."

"Unfortunately, on some level I think that your accomplishments, your specialness, have made you a compelling target."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Grace said. Kids she didn't even know were teasing her, pointing and laughing as she struggled down the hallway, belly sticking out in front, backpack behind.

"Jealousy is a pretty basic emotion, and although I doubt you were ever aware of it, a lot of people were jealous of you."

"Jealous of me? That's impossible. Who would be jealous of a misfit like me?"

"You may see yourself that way, but that's not how your cla.s.smates see you. Take my word. As a guidance counselor, I hear everything. For some reason, kids think they can say anything to me. It's like this office is a confessional."

In spite of the fact that Mrs. Evans's primary duty was to ferry students through high school in the context of college applications, most kids treated her like their own personal psychologist, seeking her advice about boy trouble, bullying, and birth control. No matter how many times she referred them to the school psychologist or the nurse's office, they would inevitably wander back in, only sometimes taking the trouble to ask her a question about the SAT before launching into the real reason for their visit.

"I wish I'd known that before," Grace muttered, mostly to herself. If she'd had more self-confidence, she likely wouldn't have gotten herself into this dreadful situation. If only she'd been less concerned with what other people thought about her, especially when she'd been totally wrong about what they'd

been thinking.

"One thing I've heard many times over the last few years is how kids look up to you, what you've achieved. Unfortunately, that also means they feel better about themselves when you fall." Trying to explain the mixed-up adolescent mind to a very mixed-up adolescent was like trying to explain the terrible twos to a toddler.

"Great. I tried to get a boyfriend so I would be less of a loser, when n.o.body actually thought I was a loser, but now, because I was totally clueless and insecure, I really am a loser," Grace said.

"Just because you made a mistake - and it was a doozy, don't get me wrong - it doesn't make you a loser. You have to believe that," Mrs. Evans said.

"But I can't see my feet anymore, and people make foghorn sounds when I walk down the hall."

"It's all just temporary. In not so many weeks, your life will start to get back to normal. Just be patient for a little longer."

"Each day feels like a year," Grace sighed.

"Look, you have my permission to hide out until this is over. I agree that your mental health is important, and I'm sure you can handle the workload on your own with no trouble. But I expect to see you back here in April ... afterwards."

"Okay. I really appreciate you backing me up, Mrs. Evans. I promise I'll work really hard," Grace answered, although at that moment she couldn't imagine ever going back.

"You'd better. Those AP exams in May are for real. If you mess those up, you could jeopardize your college acceptances."

"I know." Grace stood to leave, and Mrs. Evans came around from behind her desk, arms outstretched. Grace was one of the good ones, and she was sorry to see her go.

"Good luck, Grace. You're in the home stretch. Just hang on. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Bye."

Although Grace had gone to Mrs. Evans so that she could withdraw from school, now that she had done it, she felt sad and kind of scared. Grace hadn't discussed it with Helen beforehand, fearing she would talk her out of it, but now that it was done, Grace wondered if she'd taken the coward's way out. Now she had to go back to the house and break the news to Helen

and Charlie.

"Okay, if that's what you want to do," Helen said when Grace told her, clearly surprised, but as usual, not judging or scolding. "They're going to send your work home?"

"Everything is online, so as long as I have my computer, I can do all the work, and Mrs. Evans said the teachers will send me the tests. Since I've always been a good student, I don't think anyone's worried about me cheating."

Charlie was less receptive. "But you look fine, and who cares if a few morons act like a bunch of ten-year-olds? You shouldn't quit school just because of them." In truth, Charlie was going to miss driving back and forth with her every day.

"Thank you, but I look like the Goodyear blimp, and it's more than just a few. Every day feels like a public stoning, and I can't even focus on what the teachers are saying anymore. What's the point of going to school just so I can have a nervous breakdown in the cafeteria?"

"Grace is right, Charlie. No matter how sympathetic you are, you can't possibly imagine what she's going through. Besides, the decision has been made, and it's our job to support Grace in whatever she does. That means you can bring home her work from school and help Grace however you can," Helen instructed. When she put it that way, Charlie realized Grace's hermit period might not be so bad.

It had been a long day. Dropping out of school had been exhausting. "I think I'm going to turn in early. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my entire life."

"You do look like you could use a good night's sleep, dear. Everything will look brighter in the morning. I promise," said Helen, opening her arms for a hug. Dr. Needleman always said that nothing was more therapeutic than the touch of another human being, and Grace needed to feel that she was loved, even if it wasn't the loving embrace of her parents.

"Thank Vera for a delicious dinner. Night, Charlie." As Grace pa.s.sed his chair, she briefly rested her hand on his cheek and he tipped his head back, smiling sadly, wishing for the thousandth time that he could do something to take away Grace's pain.

"Goodnight, Grace. Sleep well."

He wanted to run upstairs and tuck her in, but he realized that might frighten her. Although he knew he needed to stow his emotions on a high shelf, Charlie was having trouble compartmentalizing. Every time he looked at Grace or heard her voice, he thought of their incredible kiss in the attic. It had been etched in his brain, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the feel of her, the taste of her, flashed through his mind. Knowing he was acting like a girl who couldn't get over her first kiss, Charlie wondered what it had meant to her. He watched Grace trudge up the stairs, desperate to know if she spent half as much time thinking about him as he spent thinking about her.

When she heard Grace's bedroom door shut, Helen said, "You like her, don't you?"

She wasn't at all sure whether or not she should even broach the subject. How many teenage boys would be willing to discuss their love lives with their old widowed aunts? The last thing she wanted to do was make her cherished nephew uncomfortable.

"Is it that obvious?" Charlie had thought he'd been hiding his emotions pretty well.