Screwed. Part 18

The Truth squad had broken up and all the girls had gone home, hopefully in a better state than they had been in when they came. After the fireside chat, Tara found her voice, no longer letting the other girls walk all over her. She actually told Kat to f.u.c.k off when Kat made fun of the way she talked. And just as Truth had predicted, the other girls had their epiphanies, or at least pretended to. The mountain had worked its magic on the girls, and if they remembered half of what they learned at No Boundaries, they would be well on their way. Right before Kat stepped onto the van, Truth handed her the p.e.n.i.s pipe, although she had filled the cavity with some kind of glue so Kat couldn't smoke through it anymore. It was the perfect souvenir.

Now it was Grace's turn. To complete the program, she was required to spend three days alone on the mountain, reflecting on all that she had gone through and demonstrating mastery of her survival skills. Looking down at her sinewy arms and legs - definitely no baby weight hanging around - Grace hardly recognized herself. She'd always been thin, but she'd never been strong. Her skin had turned bronze, not just from the sun, but also from a thin layer of grime that seemed to be embedded in the top layer. After more than seven weeks without a proper shower or a decent meal, Grace was nearly wiped out. It was time to go home. At night she dreamt about taking long, hot baths in Helen's clawfoot tub and eating an entire chocolate cake.

As she waved goodbye to Truth, Dirk, and the others, Grace had to marvel at how far she'd come. Marching off into the wilderness alone, and her heart wasn't even racing. In fact, she was looking forward to it, mostly because the sooner she finished her individual reflection time, the sooner she could take a shower and put on clean clothes. Her whole body itched, and she'd been wearing the same underwear for nearly a week. Grace took one last look at the No Boundaries crew, and set off on her three days of solitude.

That first night, sitting in front of the campfire she had built, next to the tent she had pitched herself, Grace gnawed on a piece of beef jerky and stared out into the darkness. She was supposed to catch and cook her dinner - jerky was only for emergencies - but even though she had seen half a dozen rabbits that afternoon, Grace had read too many Beatrix Potter books to make a meal out of Flopsy Bunny.

To her dismay, Grace discovered that time slowed down when you were all alone in the middle of nowhere. Three days threatened to feel like three weeks. The worst thing about reflection time was the silence. The crickets and the birds were plenty loud, but the absence of human sounds made Grace lonesome. So she sang. She sang all the Beatles songs she knew from the White Alb.u.m and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. And she talked to herself. Long rambling conversations with the trees about the last eleven months - all her feelings about Nick and Charlie and her parents - and what she was going to do when she got home.

When Grace woke up the next morning, it had started to snow. She s.h.i.+vered and burrowed down inside her sleeping bag, thinking she should probably just stay there until it was time to go back. No one would know if she'd really climbed all the way to the top, and besides, no one was expecting a snowstorm in June, so she couldn't be faulted for not sticking to the original plan. Grace zipped the bag over her head and went back to sleep.

Dreaming there were mountain lions howling outside her tent, licking their chops while they waited to devour her, Grace woke up in a cold sweat. But it was just the wind. Peeking out through the tent flap, Grace saw that there was nearly a foot of snow outside and it was still coming down. Not equipped for winter hiking, she tried to remember what she'd been taught about avoiding hypothermia and frostbite. She dug in her bag and put on every piece of clothing she had with her. There was nothing else to do but wait for it to stop snowing, so she could hike back down the mountain. But what if it didn't stop? What if she froze to death in the middle of June halfway up a stupid mountain two thousand miles from home? After talking herself out of a full-on panic attack, Grace decided that it wasn't so much the dying part that she feared, but the thought that she would leave so much unfinished business behind, so many things that she had wanted to tell people but had been too much of a coward to say. Taking a pad of paper and a pen from her backpack, Grace decided to finish her business.

Dear Aunt Helen, There aren't enough words in the world to express my grat.i.tude. I feel blessed to have gotten to know you, and I love you with all my heart.

Grace Although her letter to Helen was way too short, Grace really felt there was nothing she could say to adequately thank her rescuer and protector. Better to keep it simple. Besides, Helen already knew how much Grace loved her.

Dear Charlie, This is one of those letters you write when you think you might not get to tell someone everything you wanted to say in person. I'm sitting in a tent about to be blown off the side of a mountain in the middle of a freak June blizzard. This is supposed to be my moment, the culmination of everything I've learned here - how to dig deep inside myself and find a wellspring of strength to carry me out of harm's way - at least that's what it says in the handbook, which I'm ready to burn if it'll warm up my fingers. But in spite of the fact that I can start a fire with a single twig and survive for a week on one granola bar, I'm not so sure I'm going to make it out, and if I don't, I just want to tell you everything that I didn't have the guts to tell you before I left.

I'll never forget the moment you opened the door to my room the day I moved into Aunt Helen's house. You were wearing a s.h.i.+rt that was exactly the same color as your eyes, and I think I fell in love with you right then. It wasn't how you looked - it was how you looked at me. With a single glance, you seemed to know who I was, to understand me better than anyone I'd ever met, and you liked me in spite of the stupid, self-destructive thing I had done. But I was so afraid that you could never love me because of it. I squandered something precious that I should have saved for someone special, and I'm not sure anyone will ever be able to love me the way I want to be loved, especially not someone as extraordinary as you.

Through all those awful months, when I was wis.h.i.+ng I could just disappear into the ground, you held my hand. I'll never be able to repay you for that. And then I screwed it up right at the end, as usual. When you visited me in the hospital after Molly was born I behaved badly, and I am so sorry. I didn't want to tell you where I was accepted for two reasons. First, I didn't want you to feel obligated to go wherever I went so you could take care of me ... I know, that's incredibly narcissistic. Secondly, I was testing you ... I know, even more idiotic. I wanted you to stand up to me, to love me enough to bare your soul, even as I was pus.h.i.+ng you away. Does that make any sense at all? Did you love me then? I hope a little bit. Anyway, if you're reading this, I'm somewhere at the bottom of a ravine so it doesn't matter, but just know that I would have followed you to the ends of the earth.

That night in the attic when you kissed me, you healed my heart. And then, in my bedroom ... I feel warmer just remembering how your lips felt on mine. How I wished those had been my very first kisses, because they are the only ones that ever mattered, that ever will matter. You have made me feel special, cherished, and most of all, worthy of love.

I love you, Charlie Gla.s.s.

Grace Hopefully Charlie would never have to read it, and she could tell him everything in person.

Now Grace needed to write to her parents. Even if she survived the snowstorm in one piece, she knew she wouldn't be able to face them head on when she got home and say all the things that needed to be said. Smelling her mother's perfume, watching her father inspect her for some lasting remnant of her public shame - she would be sobbing within seconds and nothing would be resolved. But what to say? Jennifer's speech the night before Grace had left for Colorado had given Grace much food for thought. It was no different from her speech the previous summer when she so accurately predicted how Betsy and Brad would react to the baby news, but since Grace had become a mother herself, albeit for barely a nanosecond, she was privy to an emotion she had never before understood, and she now knew that Jennifer had been right all along. The love of a parent for a child was, or was supposed to be, fundamental. It was irrefutable, like gravity and breathing, and the fact that s.h.i.+t happens and nothing ever stays the same shouldn't destroy a love that powerful.

Dear Mom and Dad, First I want to say how sorry I am that I disappointed you. I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally, because you are my parents and I have always tried to be the best person I could be, and I almost was. But n.o.body's perfect, not even your daughter. I still don't have a decent explanation for what happened to me on July second last year, an explanation that would satisfy you. Maybe you can't remember what it's like to be young and confused and staring into the perfect face of a seemingly perfect boy who says that you're perfect too. It's still not a justification for what I did, but I'm hoping that you can appreciate at least a little bit of what I was going through.

Second, as disappointed as you are in my behavior, I am just as disappointed in yours. I know I did a stupid thing, but no matter what I did, I'm still your daughter, not some stranger you can blow off at the first sign of trouble. You chose to have a child, and when you did that, you took on a major responsibility - to take care of me and love me, no matter what. My heart aches knowing that you don't love me without reservation, that you could love me only as long as I played the role of model child to model parents.

I want us to be a family again. I turned eighteen yesterday, and I will always be your daughter, but I am no longer your child. This is me trying to make it right between us. Now it's your turn.

Your daughter, Grace Rereading what she'd written, Grace wondered if she would ever have the courage to send this letter to her parents if she actually survived the snowstorm. She had become a totally new person in the last year - the old Grace would never have been able to say those things. In fact, the old Grace would never even have thought those things. But it was all true, and if she and her parents were ever going to salvage some sort of a relations.h.i.+p, they were going to have to hear it.

CHAPTER 26.

Standing on the Warrens's front porch, Charlie had no idea what he was going to say, but at this point he had nothing to lose, and his natural sense of order made him want to put Grace's life back together, even if she was two thousand miles away and hadn't texted him a single word in more than seven weeks, and probably wouldn't appreciate him b.u.t.ting into her family business, especially since he was just a friend. Maybe he simply missed her, and talking to her parents was the next best thing to being with her. Helen thought it was a lousy idea.

"You really shouldn't meddle, darling. Grace will deal with her folks when she's good and ready," Helen gently scolded.

"Aunt Helen, really? You're always sticking your nose in other people's business, trying to fix things. Remember the green couple?" Of all people, Charlie had thought Helen would understand what he was trying to do and support him.

"I know, Charlie, the pot calling the kettle black and all that, but I'm trying to control those urges myself, and I don't want you to spend your life trying to solve other people's problems when you have plenty of your own issues to work on."

"But I am working on mine. If Grace makes up with her parents, she'll be able to focus on her relations.h.i.+p with me ... maybe." Needing Helen to put her seal of approval on his idea, Charlie argued his case. "Anyway, doing nothing is making me antsy."

"I don't know about that. But if you do decide to go over there, keep your guard up. Those people are nutty as fruitcakes." Feeling responsible for her nephew as long as he was living under her roof, Helen worried that Grace's parents were truly unstable people, capable of real violence, no matter how many charity auctions they partic.i.p.ated in.

Now Charlie tried to peek through the gap between the drawn curtains. It didn't look like anyone was at home. Suddenly a rush of footsteps getting louder, and a man threw open the front door. Helen was right - this guy was a lunatic, his hair standing on end, his s.h.i.+rt half-untucked.

"Yes?" Brad instantly regretted opening the door without looking through the peephole. "Whatever you're selling, young man, I'm not interested."

Before Brad could slam the door, Charlie stepped forward to block it. "I'm not selling anything, Mr. Warren."

"Do I know you?" Wondering if this kid was a process server, even though he didn't look old enough and he wasn't holding a manila envelope, Brad stared at Charlie. Brad had gotten back late the night before from DC, and he was too wiped out to think clearly. Spending the last two months in trial and settlement negotiations, he hadn't had a conversation that wasn't work-related since early March. "What do you want?" Not in the mood to waste his precious time playing guessing games with a kid who looked like the photo on the cover of the J. Crew catalog that was sitting on top of the stack of mail, right down to the barefoot loafer look, Brad took a deep breath and waited. This kid had five seconds to state his case.

"I'm a friend of Grace's. I live across the street. I'm Helen Teitelbaum's nephew, Charlie Gla.s.s." Wanting to impress this man, whom he imagined he would one day ask for permission to marry his daughter - a.s.suming Grace ever spoke to them again, and a.s.suming he could somehow figure out how to make her fall in love with him - Charlie held out his hand.

Brad just stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides. The fatigue was overwhelming; his brain was struggling to understand what this kid was talking about. "Is she okay? Did something happen?"

So lost in his own little world, and so determined to block out his daughter's inappropriate behavior, he hadn't been keeping track of the calendar. Why wasn't Betsy here to help him with this? The day before he'd left for Was.h.i.+ngton, Betsy had gone to Chicago to stay with her old college roommate who was recovering from a double knee replacement. She had called the real estate firm she worked for and said she was taking a leave of absence, and that was it. A year ago at this time they were the ideal family, and now they were broken and dysfunctional and scattered, and he had no idea how to fix things.

"She's gone, sir," Charlie answered.

Before Charlie realized that the word gone could be interpreted in multiple ways, Brad was on his hands and knees, gasping for air, tears dripping on the wide plank wood floor. "No, Mr. Warren. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ... Grace is fine. She's not dead. She just went away after the baby was born."

"What, she's alive? Young man, you really should be more precise in your language. I nearly had a heart attack." Only when Brad believed he might have lost his precious daughter did he realize how much he loved her. It was hard to imagine how he had gotten to this wretched place where the only information he had about his only child was being provided by a total stranger. "Is the baby healthy?" Brad lay back on the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to slow his galloping heart, letting the blood return to his swirling brain.

"Grace is well. She had a little girl. A couple from Philadelphia adopted her, and Grace went to Colorado, to some survival course. She said she needed to get away from here for a while." Surprised and relieved that not only hadn't Mr. Warren done anything that could be considered insane, but that he seemed truly interested in and concerned about Grace, Charlie waited for the information to sink into Mr. Warren's clearly shocked system.

"Colorado? Survival school?" The one time they had gone camping, Grace had gotten lost, and now she was learning survival skills in the mountains. Clearly he didn't know his daughter very well. Perhaps it was time to get reacquainted. "What about finis.h.i.+ng high school? How will she graduate if she's climbing mountains?"

"She already took the GED. She's very responsible." Maybe not totally true, since she had gotten pregnant, but except for that single misstep, Grace was the most together girl Charlie had ever met. "Your daughter is an amazing person, Mr. Warren, but you already know that."

Brad grunted. Of course Grace was amazing - she was his daughter. Suddenly it occurred to him that this boy might be more than just a friend. Had Grace sent her new boyfriend over to see which way the wind was blowing? Noting the ten-thousand-dollar diver's watch and the Cole Haan loafers, Brad had to admit this guy seemed far more capable of taking care of her than the teenage Casanova who had talked her out of her virginity in the back of his truck and then disappeared like Houdini.

"Does Grace know you're here - Charlie, did you say your name was?"

"No, sir, she would be furious with me if she knew I was here, but I just thought you would want to know how she was doing. I know this whole situation has been really hard on her, and I imagine it's been the same for you."

Trying to be diplomatic, trying to win this man's trust, Charlie didn't give a s.h.i.+t about Mr. Warren's emotional state. Anybody who could kick his daughter out of the house, and not only not go after her but continue to reject her for the better part of a year, had to be some kind of a sociopath.

Not knowing how to respond to that, Brad said, "Mrs. Warren is out of town. I don't know when she'll be back."

As soon as this boy left, Brad was going to call Betsy. It was time to implement Plan C or D or maybe Plan Z, something to right their capsized s.h.i.+p of a family. Being subtly scolded by a painfully precocious adolescent whom he knew was a hundred percent right was more than he could bear on his own. Today he would call Betsy and tell her to come home. Things were out of hand, and she needed to get back here and get this family back on track.

"Grace is supposed to come home some time in the next couple of weeks." That would give Grace's parents plenty of time to work out a plan to mend the mile-wide rift between them. Mr. Warren's tears spoke volumes, as long as he could hang onto that emotion now that he knew Grace was neither dead nor in danger.

"Her mother will certainly be home by then. By the way," Brad said as he got to his feet, "where did Grace decide to go to college?" How odd it felt to be so uninformed about such an important decision. From the time Grace was old enough to attend her first Yale reunion with him, the two of them had plotted and planned her future. Would she be a Yale bulldog, or a Princeton tiger, or a Cornell bear?

"I don't know. She didn't tell me," Charlie said.

Definitely not the boyfriend, Brad thought. Grace wouldn't keep that information a secret if she loved this guy. "Oh, I see. Well, thank you for stopping by. Is there a way to get in touch with Grace?"

When Betsy got home, maybe they would compose a letter to Grace, explaining their position, proposing a settlement of their differences. He was a lawyer, even as a father, and stating his position in a business letter was the most natural thing for him to do, even if the person he was communicating with was his only child.

"I don't think so. The program is called No Boundaries, and the website says that the partic.i.p.ants aren't allowed to send or receive messages." Charlie couldn't believe he'd actually built a bridge with a single conversation.

"Makes sense." Brad opened the front door. "It was nice to meet you, Charlie. Send my regards to your aunt for me."

"Nice to have met you, sir. I'll tell Aunt Helen you said h.e.l.lo." Charlie could barely keep a straight face until he was down the driveway. Sending his regards to the woman he had threatened to charge with trespa.s.sing? This guy definitely had a few screws loose, but he seemed pretty harmless, and he sounded like he was ready to repair his broken family. Maybe there could be a happy ending to Grace's story, and to his.

CHAPTER 27.

It felt like she'd been gone for a year, but it had only been a little over two months. Sixty-three days, to be exact. When Grace walked around the back of Helen's house, she could hear splas.h.i.+ng in the pool. As she stood at one end, waiting for Charlie to reach her, she thought about what she was going to say. Spending weeks wandering around in the mountains, filthy and hungry, had given her plenty of time to think, but now that the moment was at hand, her mind went blank. The love letter she'd tucked in her sleeping bag to be delivered if she froze to death or fell off the side of the mountain was now in her back pocket. She supposed she could use that as a crib sheet, but she didn't want her declaration of love to turn into the delivery of a telegram. After everything she'd put Charlie through, he deserved to hear her whole heart, without notes.

Grabbing the side of the pool, Charlie did a double take, rubbing the water out of his eyes. "Grace, you're back."

Although her note had promised she would come home, Charlie hadn't been sure. He'd been wrong about Grace before. Quickly climbing out of the pool, Charlie wrapped a towel around his waist, but not before Grace gave him a quick up-and-down. It had been a long sixty-three days, and she had forgotten how handsome he was.

"I'm going to Dartmouth," Grace blurted. "And I should have told you before, but I didn't want you to choose, or not choose, a school because of me. And I know that's conceited to think that you would base the most important decision of your life on some stupid pregnant girl your aunt took in like a stray mutt, but I would have followed you to the top of Mount Everest, and you seemed like you liked me a lot, at least for a little while, but I know I was wrong about that, and I'm sorry I acted like an idiot. I understand now that you were just being nice, trying to get me through a really rough patch, and it worked, and I'm grateful. I never would have made it to the end without you. But I behaved like a fool after Molly was born. Maybe it was the hormones, or maybe I was just confused, but now I've got it all straightened out, and I hope we can at least be friends."

If not for the fact that she had run out of air, Grace would probably have kept talking, trying to apologize and make Charlie understand that even if he didn't want her for anything more than a friend, that would be enough, because after more than two months without him, she realized that she couldn't imagine not having him in her life. All the stuff about loving him that had flowed so easily from her pen when she thought she was about to cash in her chips was too scary to say out loud when he was standing two inches away and her heart was in her throat. Maybe she would find her backbone when he put some clothes on.

"Are you done yet?" Charlie asked, placing his cool, wet hand on Grace's warm face, her cheeks tan and her nose freckled from so much time spent outdoors. He wanted to save this moment like a snapshot in the photo alb.u.m of his mind - the moment Grace came back to him.

Grace nodded.

"Okay, then. I'm going to Dartmouth, too." Torn between Princeton and Dartmouth, Helen had tipped the scale. "I had a dream that you were in New Hamps.h.i.+re, and you were happy. Take it for what it's worth," Helen had said, winking. He wondered if Grace had told her what she had decided, or if Helen had a source in the admissions office. But she swore she knew nothing. It was just another one of her feelings.

"Really?" Maybe, just maybe ....

"Really, and there's something else, something I should have said before you left, but you were acting weird, which you were totally ent.i.tled to do considering what you'd just been through, and I was being pigheaded and stupid. I wasn't just being nice to you all those months. I love you. I think I fell in love with you the day that I met you." Having sixty-three days to think about what he was going to say if and when Grace came back to him, Charlie decided that he loved Grace enough to risk everything, including his self-respect.

Grace's face turned pink under her tan, but she said nothing. Charlie's words hovered in the air between them. For a long minute, they stood, avoiding each other's eyes, Charlie's wet hair dripping on Grace's sneakers.

"Don't you have anything to say about that?" Charlie finally asked. It was so liberating to finally get the words out, even if Grace had fallen for some square-jawed mountain climber while she was away and wasn't interested in the preppy Jewish boy. Whatever happened next, he needed to know how she really felt. "Did you ever feel that way about me, even for a little while?"

Grace nodded, her eyes gla.s.sy with tears.

"And now? How do you feel about me right now?" Charlie asked. Before she could answer, he cradled her face in his hands, forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. "Tell me," he whispered. His mouth was inches from hers, and before he could find her lips, Grace reached up and kissed him. Her tears were warm on his cheek, and he could feel her pulse quickening under his hands. Pulling away from her reluctantly, he said, "Does that mean you still ...."

"I love you, too. I always have, but I didn't want to ruin your perfect life. I didn't want you to love me because you knew my parents didn't love me anymore and I was all alone, or that I was some lost lamb who couldn't fend for herself." Grace sat down on the gra.s.s and Charlie knelt in front of her.

"That's not why I love you, Grace. I know you don't need me to take care of you, but I want to. There's a huge difference."

"But I do need you. You make me feel like me, like the person I want to be, and when I was away, it just wasn't the same," Grace said. "I don't want to be away from you anymore."

"So don't leave again." Pus.h.i.+ng her back into the soft gra.s.s, Charlie stretched out next to Grace and kissed her forehead, her nose, both cheeks, her chin, and finally her lips. "It's so short," he said, running his fingers through her close-cropped hair.

"I chopped it off myself. Low maintenance."

"I like it," Charlie whispered into Grace's ear. "I didn't think you were coming back to me, but Helen said I just had to be patient."

"Your aunt is the smartest woman I've ever met." Grace suddenly sat up. "I should tell her I'm back. We have to tell her about Dartmouth. She'll be so excited."

"I have a feeling she already knows." Charlie laughed and kissed Grace again.

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