Screwed (8 page)

One, two, three … “Grace, are you okay?” Biting her lip, Helen wondered if maybe Jacob was right, that she was a pathological busybody who needed a support group to teach her how to take twelve steps back instead of trying to solve everyone’s problems.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Teitelbaum,” Grace sniffed, trying to smile, but only managing to look like she had just returned from having dental surgery.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Helen looked up at the Warrens. She sensed that something very bad was happening, and she was suddenly afraid. On an episode of
The Oprah Winfrey Show
, some psychiatrist had once said it was very important to follow your instincts even if your brain said you were being silly, and Oprah was rarely wrong. Although she doubted that the Warrens were the types who would physically abuse their own child, Helen’s gut was telling her not to leave until she figured out what the fight was about. Sometimes these churchy types had weird ideas, and Helen would never forgive herself if a month later she heard on the news that Grace Warren had mysteriously disappeared or fallen down a flight of stairs.

“Not a thing, Mrs. Teitelbaum. You just caught us in the middle of a little family disagreement. Everything’s under control,” Brad called out from the porch, favoring Helen with a smile that belonged on a politician after a long night of campaigning — his lips turned up, but his eyes were gray ice. Now Helen was certain she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to send George over with the truck? He could cart away all this garbage for you. It wouldn’t be any trouble.” Once she explained to George her concern for Grace’s safety, and that she was following Oprah’s advice, he wouldn’t be too annoyed that she’d offered his assistance when he already had more than enough to do mowing
her
lawn and hauling
her
grass clippings.

“We’re fine, Mrs. Teitelbaum. Can we help you with something else?” Brad took a step forward and waited, arms crossed menacingly, not above bullying a woman nearly twice his age.

“No, I guess that’s all for now.” Helen turned to Grace. “If you need anything, I’m right across the street.” Slowly walking away, turning to look back every few seconds, hoping that Grace would speak up, Helen reluctantly reached the end of the Warrens’s driveway and crossed the street. She looked at her watch. In a few hours she would come up with an excuse to check on things at the Warren household.

“I didn’t think we were ever going to get rid of her,” Betsy said.

“Bets, in twenty years of practicing law I’ve lost two cases, and they weren’t my fault. I certainly think I can handle a demented old bat with too much time on her hands.” Turning to Grace, Brad said, “Think about what we’ve said. When you’ve come to your senses, you can come back and we’ll take care of this mess properly. Otherwise, you’re on your own. You’ve made your bed, as it were, and now you will lie in it. Betsy, inside.”

Although Betsy was not someone who was accustomed to taking orders, she knew that she had failed to hold up her end, and now Brad was in charge. Refusing to meet Grace’s pleading eyes, Betsy stepped over a garbage bag and followed her husband into the house.

The front door slammed, and Grace was alone. She started to call Jennifer but remembered that she had gone away for the long weekend with her family. They wouldn’t be back until Monday night. Leaving the bags on the porch, Grace walked around the side of the house, hoping that her parents were watching her through the windows and that any minute they would run outside and throw their arms around her, apologizing for their temporary insanity brought on by the shock of Grace’s news, and vowing to work through this together. But after a few minutes considering this scenario, Grace nearly laughed out loud. The odds were better that Nick would show up in the next five minutes with a bouquet of roses and a diamond ring. Not knowing what else to do, Grace dragged a chaise longue across the backyard and behind the garden shed. No matter how shaken up she was, she could always take a nap.

A couple of hours later, Grace opened her eyes to find Mrs. Teitelbaum perched at the end of the chaise, quietly filing her nails. “Did you have a good sleep?” she asked.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just checking on you. When I didn’t see you on the front porch, I knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so I walked around the back and there you were, sawing logs.”

“How long have I been asleep?” Grace sat up, her brain struggling to arrange the puzzle pieces of the morning. For a second or two, she wasn’t sure whether Dr. Ryder had been real or was just a figment of her hysterical imagination.

“It’s been a couple of hours since I dropped off that letter.” Helen cleared her throat. “I don’t want to pry, but might I ask what’s going on between you and your parents?” Remembering Jacob’s words, Helen added, “Of course, if you don’t want to talk about it ….”

“I did something very bad, and my parents are angry with me.” Telling this prim, angelic looking woman that she was having a baby would be like telling the pope that she was pregnant.

Helen’s eyes widened at the vague but ominous explanation. “So what’s in the bags?”

“All my clothes.”

“I’m getting on in years, so I may be a little slow, but why are your belongings in garbage bags on your front porch?” Slowly, patiently, Helen tried to ask the questions that would get her to the heart of the Warren family feud.

“I’m going to have a baby,” Grace whispered and started to cry, her shoulders shaking, all the tears saved up from the morning now flowing freely.

“Sweetheart,” Helen said reaching over and wrapping her birdlike arms around Grace’s quivering body, “it’s not the end of the world.

“Y-y-yes, it is,” Grace stammered. “They don’t love me anymore.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. It’s not like you just told them that you were a serial killer,” Helen said, knowing that this was no time for humor, but hoping she could stop, or at least slow, the torrent of tears.

“I’m not allowed to come home unless I have an abortion.” Unconsciously, Grace placed her hand protectively over her stomach.

Sure she must have misheard, or that Grace was so distraught she had confused the facts, Helen said, “But there was a picture on the front page of the paper of your parents at a pro-life rally last month.”

“Apparently there’s an exception to the rule when it’s your own daughter.”

Helen stifled a chuckle. Her sixth sense had been right. The Warrens were too good to be true.

“So, at least for the moment, you have nowhere to go?” Helen asked, still not letting go of Grace.

“No. My best friend, Jennifer, is away for the weekend.” Grace sniffled, and Helen handed her a tissue that had been tucked in her sleeve. “But I’m sure they’ll let me back in before it gets dark. They’re just trying to make a point.”

Not so sure that Grace’s eviction was just a gesture, Helen stood up and said, “Well, until your parents come to their senses, you’re coming home with me.”

Taking Grace’s hand, Helen led her around to the front of the house. “I’ll send George over to get your clothes.”

The front door flew open, and Brad stepped out onto the porch. He and Betsy had been watching through the windows, speculating on how long it would take Grace to fold, but now the elf in pink cashmere was back, seemingly determined to screw things up.

“Grace, where do you think you’re going?” At the sound of Brad’s harsh voice, Grace’s shoulders tensed and her heart started to pound.

“Mr. Warren, I’m taking Grace back to my house until you come to your senses.”

“You’re not taking my daughter anywhere,” Brad shouted. Betsy stood next to her husband, hands on her hips, saying nothing.

“It seems to me, Mr. Warren, that if you’ve thrown your daughter out of your home, out of your life, then it is really none of
your
business
where
I take her.” Helen mirrored Betsy’s hands-on-hips posture and glared back. At five feet tall and barely a hundred pounds, Helen Teitelbaum was surprisingly fierce.

“Well, it
is
our business as you are trespassing on our property, and I’m one minute away from calling the police,” Brad said in his best lawyer voice.

Threatening people was one of his favorite activities. A former fatty who had never recovered from the merciless teasing he suffered at the hands of the kids who didn’t have to wear Huskies and never chose him for their team in kickball, he spent most of his adult life tormenting others, not so unconsciously trying to compensate for a childhood spent crouched against the chain link fence in the corner of the playground with a transistor radio and his best friend, Mr. Goodbar.

“You can’t intimidate me, Brad Warren. I survived the Nazis. My parents and my sister died in the camps. Family is precious, and there are many worse tragedies in this world than an unplanned pregnancy.” Not wanting to look at Betsy or Brad in case her bravado was more superficial than she hoped, Helen looked at Grace and nodded. When her mother had woken her at four o’clock that morning, Grace had imagined many scenarios, but this was not one of them. “Grace, come with me. ”

“This is really none of your business, Mrs. Teitelbaum. You need to go home. Our family issues are not your concern.” Betsy was furious and exhausted, once again being forced to defend her privacy, not quite able to believe what a day she was having.
Since when did raising one’s children become a group effort?
she wondered, silently cursing Hillary Clinton and her “it takes a village” crap. If Mrs. Teitelbaum had stayed out of it, Betsy was sure Grace would have backed down before dinnertime and come crawling back into the house, begging for forgiveness. She would have had the abortion, and all would be right with the world. But now Betsy didn’t know what was going to happen. She had never seen any grandchildren with Mrs. Teitelbaum, so the old cow was probably desperate to get her hands on a baby, by whatever means.

“But if Grace is no longer living here, what difference does it make to you where she goes?” Helen asked.

Brad pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it over his head like a teenager at a rock concert. “Trespassing is a misdemeanor, Mrs. Teitelbaum.”

Helen wrinkled her nose and sniffed, as if she smelled something unpleasant, having trouble believing that these people could discard their own child as if she were yesterday’s trash. “I rode in a cattle car. I was at Auschwitz. You think you can frighten me by threatening to call the Silver Lake police department?” She turned away from Brad. “Grace, you look pale. Have you eaten anything today?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Right now you need a good meal and a place to lie down.”

Grace realized that she hadn’t had a morsel of food since the night before and was in fact starving. As if the mention of a meal had triggered a ravenous appetite, Grace suddenly felt that if she didn’t eat something in the next five minutes, she would faint. “Thank you, Mrs. Teitelbaum.” Without looking at either of her parents, Grace took Mrs. Teitelbaum’s outstretched hand, and the unlikely pair walked down the driveway and disappeared behind the black iron gates across the street.

Betsy and Brad stood, speechless, surrounded by a sea of black plastic. That was not how it was supposed to go.

“How did that happen? I’ve a mind to ….” Brad firmly believed that Grace needed to learn a lesson, and there was no way she was going to do that if the meddlesome neighbor, who lived in a multimillion-dollar home with a guest house and swimming pool, swooped in to rescue her before she had experienced a moment of discomfort. As Brad understood it, unless Grace faced the logical consequences of her actions, how would she ever grow up? Drinking iced tea while relaxing by a pool was not conducive to introspection and thoughts of remorse.

“To do what, Brad? We kicked Grace out. We have no control over where she goes.” Betsy, her shoulders sagging, was beginning to regret their power play.

They would just have to wait it out. What could they possibly say if they marched over there now? They would only look weak and inconsistent, and the first rule of parenting was to look like you were in charge and knew what you were doing, even when you didn’t … and always, always stick to your guns.

Brad stepped over a bag and opened the front door. “I just hope that houseman picks up these bags this afternoon.” Relieved that the drama was over, at least for now, Brad kicked at a bag, sending it tumbling down the front steps, and returned to the comparative peace of his study. Although he had stayed home from work to support Betsy, he had been too distracted to put together a coherent sentence in the brief he was working on. Now his mind was clear. “Let that do-gooder Teitelbaum deal with Grace’s mess if she wants to,” he muttered to himself.

With loads of time and money and no one to spend it on, Mrs. Teitelbaum was the perfect person to step into the breach. He definitely wasn’t up to the task. Part of him realized that this was not a shining moment in his career as a father, but the thought of Grace doing wicked things with some boy made him hate her. She was his baby, and now she was ruined, and he couldn’t imagine ever getting over it. Although he realized on some level that he might be overreacting — Grace was nearly eighteen, and he couldn’t expect her to remain a child her whole life, as much as he’d like her to — his need to separate himself from the source of his uncontrollable, irrational fury trumped any sense of parental attachment he might have.

Although Grace had said hello to Mrs. Teitelbaum nearly every day since the latter had moved into the giant stone house across the street, Grace knew practically nothing about her, other than that she looked like an apple doll in an endless array of pastel cashmere cardigans. Beyond diminutive, Mrs. Teitelbaum favored crisp white blouses and pearls; a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses always hung from a chain around her neck. Based on the way she dressed, Grace had assumed Mrs. T. was a retired spinster librarian, although a slight accent, vaguely European, suggested more exotic origins, and of course her house was not what you would expect a librarian to live in. It was massive, surrounded by an acre of lush gardens, a huge black wrought iron fence, eight-foot hedges, and even a small fruit orchard. Grace figured her neighbor must have an unusual back-story, but nothing about her manner had suggested that Mrs. Teitelbaum had spent part of her childhood in a World War II concentration camp.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Even as she said it, Helen realized this was a stupid question. How could the poor child be okay? Opening the oversized mahogany front door, Helen called out, “George, where are you? Could you come here for a minute?”

A tall, slender older man in rumpled chinos and a blue work shirt appeared, carrying a toolbox. “I’m right here, Mrs. T. I was just going to fix the squeak in that door upstairs. Do you need me to do something else first?”

“Yes, George, if you could. This is Grace Warren, from across the street. She and her parents have had a, um, falling out … and she’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

George dipped his head slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grace.”

“You too,” Grace said. She wasn’t sure whether she should shake hands, so she just nodded in return.

“Anyway, George, could you run across the street and get Grace’s things? You’ll find them on the front porch in black plastic garbage bags. I think there are six of them; you should probably take the golf cart so you can get everything in one trip.”

“Garbage bags?” George asked, and Helen nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll be back in a flash. Where should I put them?”

George was curious about this girl’s sudden appearance as well as her unusual luggage, but it didn’t seem like the right moment to ask questions, and it would all come out in good time. His employer was always bringing home strays, although they usually had four legs.

“Let’s see, how about the blue bedroom. It’s close to mine, in case you need something in the night, and it has a lovely view of the back garden.” Helen’s eyes sparkled. She got such a natural high when she rescued someone from a bad situation, and she did feel so sorry for this poor little thing. She decided to wait a while before she told Jacob about her latest project. “Come upstairs, sweetheart. I’m going to run you a hot bath and bring you something to eat. There’s nothing quite so relaxing as soaking in a warm tub, drinking tea, and eating tiny sandwiches and scones. How does that sound?” One arm around Grace’s waist, Helen escorted her new charge up the wide, winding staircase.

“It sounds perfect. Thank you. You really don’t have to go to so much trouble for me.” A few minutes ago she was a homeless, pregnant teenager, and now she was headed up to a warm bath and a cup of hot tea in a house that could hold three of her own.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Helen insisted, worried that she was enjoying herself too much when this child had just been abandoned by her parents and was facing the most difficult time of her very short life.

“My mom and dad are just really angry. I’m sorry they were so rude to you. They’re not usually like that.” Apologizing for her mother for the second time that day, Grace was embarrassed at her parents’ outburst in front of a virtual stranger, and as hurt as she was, she didn’t want this woman to think terrible things about them. No matter what they said or what they did, they were still her parents and she loved them.

Helen was stunned. This precious girl was trying to protect her vicious parents’ reputation? Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. As vile as Helen thought they were, she didn’t want Grace to worry. “I’m sure that’s true, Grace. When people are frustrated, they can behave in unfortunate ways. You shouldn’t give it a second thought.”

Clean and fed and rested, Grace curled up in an easy chair in the corner of her new bedroom. The blue room was wallpapered and upholstered entirely in blue toile. It was like a room in one of the museum houses at Colonial Williamsburg Grace had visited two summers ago, right down to the mahogany four-poster bed. After lunch in the enormous clawfoot bathtub, Grace had taken a long nap, and now she was waiting for Vera, Mrs. T.’s cook as well as George’s wife, to ring the bell signaling that dinner was ready. While she was sleeping someone had unpacked for her, and all her clothes were now neatly stowed away in a massive dresser or hung neatly in the cavernous walk-in closet. The bathroom was stocked with every imaginable shampoo, soap, and cream, along with a brand new toothbrush and piles of fluffy white towels. Everything smelled like lavender. It was as if Grace had checked into an incredibly fancy bed and breakfast. She dialed her cell phone. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Where the hell
are
you?” Jennifer had been convinced that something horrible had happened when Grace failed to respond to texts, phone calls, Facebook messages. “I thought you’d gone and done something stupid.” Even though Jennifer couldn’t believe that Grace would actually kill herself, desperation could make people crazy enough to do the unthinkable. When Grace had said she wished she would drown in the lake, maybe she hadn’t been kidding.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called, but it’s been a weird day.” Grace didn’t know where to begin, and she wasn’t looking forward to hearing Jennifer’s inevitable “I told you so.”

“What’s up with your parents? When I couldn’t get you, I called your house. Your dad just said you’d left, and he didn’t know when you would be coming home. What the fuck does that mean?” Jennifer’s voice was shrill with concern.

“My mother took me to some clinic in Massachusetts today for an abortion.” Had that been just this morning? It seemed like a year since Grace had her feet in the stirrups, felt the cold steel of the speculum. Involuntarily she crossed her legs.

“What?! That’s impossible. Your parents? Baby killers?” This was a staggering development — not at all what Jennifer had expected from a couple who always sat in the first pew, right on the center aisle, probably so they could be closer to God. Recovering from the initial shock, Jennifer said, “Well, anyway, that’s probably good news overall. How was it? Did it hurt?”

“I couldn’t do it. I’ve decided to have the baby. When I thought about what I would feel for the rest of my life, wondering if I’d done the right thing, I couldn’t live with it. That’s when it really went to hell. My mother said that my being pregnant would ruin their reputation, and she and my dad couldn’t have me in their house anymore.” It was embarrassing to say that out loud, basically declaring that her mother and father didn’t love her enough, cared about their status more than they cared about her.

“So your parents dread being humiliated in front of their friends at the club more than they fear the wrath of God. Good to know.” Jennifer chuckled. “But they’re acting like assholes, stupid ones at that. Everyone in Silver Lake is going to know you’re preggers soon enough, whether or not you’re living under their roof. Wherever you keep your toothbrush, you’re still their daughter … where
are
you, anyway? Do you want me to come get you? We’re only an hour away, and spending the weekend with my parents and my sister — eight-year-olds are so annoying — isn’t exactly a vacation.”

“No, I’m fine. Mrs. Teitelbaum, the lady who lives across the street in that huge house, wandered into the middle of my eviction and rescued me. My father had packed all my stuff in garbage bags and put them on the front porch. Maybe he thought I’d take my stuff and leave town.” Grace had to smile at the mental image of herself standing next to a freeway on-ramp, surrounded by lawn and leaf bags, thumb out, puking her guts all over the place as she waited for a ride.

“Black garbage bags? He’s a classy guy, your dad.” Jennifer had never particularly liked Grace’s parents, had never trusted them — too self-important, too self-righteous. “I can’t believe they thought you’d just leave. More likely they thought you’d fold and do what they wanted, but they didn’t take into account your crazy neighbor.”

“Mrs. Teitelbaum’s not crazy. She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met in my life.” As Mrs. T. had championed her, Grace would defend her until the end of time.

“And the richest. It’s brilliant. Not only did you get rescued in your darkest hour, but you got rescued by a fucking heiress.” Jennifer clicked her tongue.

“Heiress?” It was obvious from Mrs. T.’s house that she was loaded, but an heiress?

“You’ve never heard of HAT Industries?” Jennifer was incredulous.

“Sure, but so what? I’ve also heard of Apple and GE and Wellington Industries.” Although Grace didn’t watch MSNBC, she wasn’t totally clueless.

“That’s your savior’s company, dummy. It’s like a billion-dollar corporation. They’re into precious metals and stuff, I think. Here, I’ll look it up on Google.”

“Billion? I had no idea,” Grace whispered into the phone. So much for the librarian theory.

“How could you miss that? When she moved in, there was a big article in the paper about the old lady and her move from Park Avenue up to the sticks.” Jennifer’s dad made her read the paper every day, so she wouldn’t be just another ignorant, self-absorbed teenager. Sometimes, not often, it came in handy.

“I didn’t see it. She’s just a really nice person.” The fact that Mrs. T. was exceptionally wealthy didn’t really matter to Grace, although she had to admit the house was incredible, and she felt like less of a burden knowing that she wasn’t imposing on a little old lady on a fixed income.

Quickly scanning the article, Jennifer reported the highlights. “Here it is. HAT stands for Helen and Abraham Teitelbaum. Abraham was her husband. It says here he died three years ago and left his entire fortune to his wife, Helen. They have no children.”

“Stop snooping. It’s none of our business.” To Grace it felt like they were rifling through Mrs. T.’s desk drawer.

“I’m not snooping. This is all public information, available to everyone on the world wide web.” Jennifer laughed. “Maybe she’ll adopt you, and you and your love child — well, lust child — can live happily ever after on Easy Street.”

“You are
so
out of line, Jennifer. Just shut up.” Sometimes Jennifer could be so inappropriate. She thought she was being funny, no matter how many times Grace pointed out to her that she wasn’t.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, but you have to admit it’s bizarre. Right?”

It had been a surreal day, and it wasn’t over yet. “I guess so,” Grace answered.

“You guess so?” Jennifer squealed. “The God Squad pushing for an abortion. The rich old widow rescuing you out of the garbage. Tell me when the spaceship lands. I’ll rush right over — I could go for a probing.”

Grace was startled by a knock at the door. She whispered, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” In a normal voice, she called, “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing not Mrs. Teitelbaum, or George, or Vera, or the housekeeper, Ada, but a boy, a really cute boy, who looked about her age.
Was this the cabana boy?
she wondered. Or did Mrs. T. make it a habit of taking in troubled teens? Although nothing about this guy looked troubled. Straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalog, he had it all under control, right down to his cornflower blue polo shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. In spite of her vow never to look at a guy again, her heart skipped a beat.

“Hi, Grace? I’m Charlie Glass, Helen’s great-nephew.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Grace said as she slowly stood up, trying not to look as clumsy as she felt, and approached Charlie, who still waited in the doorway. “I didn’t know Mrs. T. had a nephew.” Jennifer’s Internet research had not mentioned the rest of the family.

“Yeah, my grandfather is Uncle Abe’s brother.” This girl was way too cute, and young, to be in the kind of trouble Helen had described. If he had to guess, he would have pegged her for thirteen at most. She looked like she should be standing outside the ShopRite selling Samoas and Thin Mints for her Girl Scout troop, not deciding whether to have an abortion or give up her child for adoption.

“Who?” Grace asked, feigning ignorance. She didn’t want to look like a busybody.

“Uncle Abe was Aunt Helen’s husband. He died three years ago, right before Aunt Helen moved here. She used to live in New York City, but after Uncle Abe passed away she said it was too sad to walk around Manhattan without him, so she moved up here.” His smile was at least as beautiful as Nick’s. Grace definitely had a thing for teeth. “Come on, why are we standing here? Let’s go outside, if you’re not too tired. It’s a beautiful evening, and after the day Aunt Helen said you had, I think you could use a little fresh air.”

Charlie led the way down the back staircase and into the kitchen. The aroma of roasting chicken and fresh rosemary flooded Grace’s nostrils, and her stomach growled. “Hi, Vera,” said Charlie. “Grace and I are going to go out back for a little while. Dinner smells incredible.”

“Hello, Grace, I’m Vera. I hope chicken’s okay. Let me know if there’s anything special you like to eat, or anything you can’t or won’t eat.” As friendly as her husband, Vera smiled as she whipped egg whites in a shiny copper bowl.

“It’s nice to meet you, and I like everything,” said Grace quietly.

Vera nodded. “Would you like a snack now? Dinner won’t be ready for a little while, and I remember when I was expecting, I was always starving.”

Grace nodded shyly, covering her stomach, as if she could hide the bean.
Expecting
. Cheeks reddening at the word, Grace looked at her feet. For the next seven months, everyone who looked at her would know she was one of those girls who had done the deed and gotten knocked up before she was even out of high school. It was going to be hard to face all those curious, judgmental stares. Vera had been nothing but kind, and Grace was still mortified.