“Yup,” Silas said, “and that’s why we want to keep her here. No one gets into this compound without permission. She has plenty of activities to entertain her, good food,” he held up a head of romaine lettuce and two large tomatoes, “fresh air…”
“And fantastic company,” Grace said, completing the often-heard soliloquy on how she needed to stay put.
“Plus your dear old dad has been seeing you more now than when you were living at home! Come here and give your old man a hug,” Hal said, arms opened wide as he walked toward her.
“Are you really okay?” he whispered in her ear.
She pulled out of the embrace and nodded. “If I get the urge to go shopping or talk to someone new, all I have to do is think of her coming at me, her shrill voice belittling me, or telling me how worthless my friends are.”
“So, she did hit you then?” Hal asked.
Grace took a deep breath and looked at Chuck, then Papa Doc. She was done protecting her. She nodded and felt the tears come. She blinked them back. She’d never let her mother make her cry again.
“No need for details,” Hal said. “I’m sure I’ll find a way out of our marriage.”
Silas started chuckling despite the somberness of the conversation.
“What’s so funny, Silas,” Hal asked crossly. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you were the one who had to see her face every morning!”
“No, you’re right there. I just remembered hearing Robert Van der Cleft tell about the masseuse his wife had come make house calls. Evidently, our dear Robert has video cameras set up all over the house. Zelda knows about most of them because they’re hidden just enough so she can find them and turn them off. He set her up with André the Giant.”
“The wrestler? He’s a masseuse?” Chuck asked.
“Not the same guy. This one is called the giant because of his monster sausage. If you’d like, I can get his number. You just figure out which room or rooms sweet little Victoria is most likely to want a personal massage in, and we can send him right over.” Silas shifted in his shirt, slightly uncomfortable with the proposition. “On second thought, we – or I – might have to have one of her lady friends set up first. Without the camera, of course. If the idea comes from one of her confidants, she’s more likely to take the bait.”
“What? Are you André’s pimp or something?” Chuck asked with a nervous chuckle.
“Nope,” Silas said with a wide smirk. “I’m just one of the three who claim your little angel. I want Grace protected. One way to help is to get that Mad Medusa out of her life so she doesn’t have to live under house arrest.”
“Yeah, well, even if it is the most magnificent place on earth to be incarcerated, I still can’t come and go at will. What do you say, Dad? Is it time to finally get your freedom?” Grace asked, suddenly happier than she’d been in weeks.
“Oh, yeah… Silas, let’s make a plan.”
***
August 1991
“There’s a mobile ultrasound unit in DC, but we can’t bring it here. We’re going to have to sneak you out in disguise, give you an assumed name, and hope that Jimmy or one of his boys isn’t watching,” Papa Doc said.
“No,” Grace said, then rolled back over in bed, pulling the sheet over her head.
“But honey, we need to see if there’s something going on in there.”
She rolled her head and shoulders back just enough to look him in the eye. “Chuck and I discussed what might be going on. He doesn’t suspect anything tragic. There would be a tragedy, though, if she found out where I was and my condition. I only have six more months of this and then the pregnancy is over. Whether I’m having one or two babies, the health care stays the same: eat right, drink plenty of fluids, and get lots of rest. It’s just the curiosity factor that will be satisfied. I won’t risk it.”
“But don’t you want to know?”
“Of course I want to know, but I don’t want my mother in my face gloating. She’d find a way to claim credit for me being so fertile…” Grace paused, then groaned in defeat. “She already claimed credit. As soon as she found out I had sex, she said I was pregnant; that women in her family were ultra-fertile or something like that. Great. I can’t even claim or blame being pregnant without her interference.”
“How’s my girl doing?” Chuck asked, joining the conversation when he heard Grace’s refusal to get an ultrasound.
“Still pregnant,” she said, then reached for the trash can. She coughed up the little bit of lunch she had managed to eat, then set the can back down. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” Chuck said. He pulled out the plastic trash can liner, added it to the sealed trash receptacle in the closet, then relined her barf bucket. “And still pregnant is a good thing. Don’t worry about getting an ultrasound. You’re right: nothing’s going to change on the number of babies. Women have been having twins for eons without tests. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to hear one heartbeat or two. I am concerned, though, about your nausea. I did a little research on traditional remedies for morning sickness.”
“You mean you asked some of the ladies who come in to see you at the clinic?” Papa Doc suggested.
“Research, local consultants, kaffeeklatsch group: same thing. It seems the best remedy is not legal yet but very prevalent and effective. Now, I know you don’t care for smoking, but until you can get your tummy settled down enough to eat some Alice P. Toklas brownies, you’ll have to take a puff or two.” Chuck pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket. “Courtesy of some of Plymouth’s finest.”
“You mean, smoke it in here?” Grace asked, elbowing her way up to a seated position, getting a burst of energy at the prospect of finding a cure for her nausea.
“Sure, why not? Who’s going to bust you? Dad?”
“Nope, not me,” Papa Doc said. “Oh, and it’s B. Toklas, not P. Toklas.”
The window halfway lifted open, Chuck stopped and looked back. “Dad?”
“You didn’t know I had baking skills, did you, son? How do you think I got through three rounds of chemo? After you take a puff - maybe two - Grace, let me have that doobie. I don’t want you to get plastered. If you’ve never smoked, it might knock you on your butt.”
“I’m already knocked on my butt,” Grace said. “Would you start this, Papa Doc. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, then pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “I was hoping you’d figure this out by yourself, Chuck. I’ve been wanting to suggest it for weeks but didn’t know if her doctor would approve.”
“Well, as her doctor,” Chuck said, “I did both field and medical research. She’s in more danger by not smoking and becoming dehydrated and malnourished than inhaling a little smoke with cannabinoids. Plus, when I asked one of the mothers if she got morning sickness with her children, she said, ‘Every time.’ She said smoking a little weed to start the day settled her tummy plus made managing her crew of eight a lot easier.”
“Eight? Oh, no way am I going through this again. And I’m not even halfway through the pregnancy!”
“Hold it like this,” Chuck said, then lit the end of the marijuana cigarette, and inhaled. “Wow! It’s been a long time…” he said while holding his breath, then exhaled and handed it to her.
Grace took a novice-sized puff but swallowed the smoke rather than inhaled it. “That wasn’t too bad.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t pull it into your lungs,” Papa Doc said. “Here, watch me.”
He demonstrated, then looked up and saw Silas in the doorway. His eyes widened but he didn’t lose breath control. He turned and blew the smoke toward the window. “Hey, Silas.”
“You guys gonna turn her into a pothead?” he asked with a frown and a glower.
“If that’s what it takes to keep food and fluids in her,” Chuck said.
“Hmm. Well, then I’m all for it. Do you think that stuff will cure my rheumatism?”
“Maybe,” Papa Doc said. “But one of us bett
er stay straight in case we have to drive somewhere.”
“Good plan,” Silas said. “Next time, you’re the designated driver.”
“Are you gonna hang onto that thing all day or let me see if I can find the ultimate cure to morning sickness?” Grace said sternly, then started giggling. “Maybe I did get some of it the first time. At least, I don’t feel like I’m going to puke. Still, let’s make sure.”
Grace pinched the reefer with her fingers, pinkie extended, while Chuck lit it. “Watch it,” he said. “I think I’d better get you a pipe. I don’t want you getting burned.”
“I’ll let her use my bong,” Papa Doc said. “It makes the smoke smoother. It’s less harsh when it runs through water.”
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” Silas said. “And here I thought I had you all figured out.”
“Let’s hope you never figure out all my secrets, Silas. Come on. Help me fix supper. I have a feeling there will be four at the dinner table tonight.”
***
October 1991
“Anybody home?” Hal sang out.
“Shoot! Busted!” Grace said, then rushed to hide the bong in the closet.
Papa Doc hollered, “Be right out,” then opened the window the rest of the way and clicked on the fan.
Grace picked up an aerosol can and spritzed a wide swath of rose scent. “Just a sec,” she said, then giggled as she realized that both she and Papa Doc were calling from her bedroom, asking for a little more time.
Hal didn’t say a word when the two walked into the living room, stifling guilty grins. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Ah, the skunk’s back in the rose garden. As long as both of them can eat again, who cares what settles their stomachs or gives them an appetite?
“We’re here. What’s up, Dad?”
“I have some news for you,” he said, then looked around. “Where is everyone?”
“Right here,” Papa Doc said, then started laughing for no apparent reason.
“You know, Doc,” Hal said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know what you two do in there. I mean, I wasn’t born yesterday and I did do two tours in Vietnam.”
“Huh?” Grace asked.
“He means he recognizes the smell of marijuana,” Doc said. “So, is it good news? And do you want a toke to celebrate? Or is it bad news, and you want a toke to chill?”
“Neither on the smoking. Victoria can smell a fart before it comes out a gnat’s ass. I don’t dare even walk past the perfume counter at Nordstrom’s for fear she’ll accuse me of having a girlfriend who wears Chanel No. 5.”
“Yup, that’s Mother! So, good or bad – great or horrid – on the news?”
“It’s fantastically great news! Silas worked his magic. Turns out that Victoria was so turned on by the idea of a guy coming over to give her a little personal relief that she didn’t even look for a camera in the spa room. I have two angles of her getting the thousand-dollar treatment by this guy.” Hal took a deep breath and stifled a blush. “Excuse me, but he really does deserve the name André the Giant.”
“When are you going to file for divorce?” Grace asked.
“I’m not in any hurry now. I’ve got a comfortable routine. My office crew doesn’t need me breathing down their necks to do a good job. Plus, coming out here a couple times a week might not be so easy if I’m loaded up with lawyers’ appointments.”
“Don’t you want a life, Dad?”
“I do, but on my terms. But, do you want to know the real reason I’m willing to wait? Or at least a major one?”
Papa Doc and Grace nodded, then started giggling again from being high.
“This guy she’s screwing charges a fortune, but she keeps calling him over! We’ve had separate bank accounts for years, but she isn’t aware that I can watch where her money goes. I know she’s pilfered from your college trust and a few other funds over the years, but I’m watching and keeping track of everything for when I file for divorce. I know exactly how much she’s taken and from which accounts, and how much she has left in her personal one. And you know what? Her funds are finite. She has no way of embezzling another nickel now that I froze your accounts. I also cut off her allowance when she got mouthy beyond my tolerance. She’ll be single with no job or skills to get one. Broke and stuck with a lawyer-proof prenuptial agreement.
“Oh, and to add a little spice to the pizza, I let Sally go. I gave her the option of taking a two-month vacation with a bonus or I’d help her find a new job. I just wanted her away from the house so your mother’s trysts with André could continue. Not only is the upkeep of the house now your mother’s responsibility, but she’s almost broke. All I have to do is keep the VCRs loaded with blank tapes and multiple backups of the recorded ones in case of theft or fire. Speaking of that, I have one set of them on the porch right now.”
“Well, that sounds like good news to me. The impending divorce – not the homemade porn movies,” Papa Doc said. “Silas has a vault we can put them in. You might not ever need them, though. Just letting her know where the cameras are after the fact may be enough.”
“Ew, my mother a potential porn star,” Grace said, then giggled. “I don’t think anything I can do will top that one.”
“Let’s hope not,” Hal said. “I’m just sorry you’ve had such a miserable time. I certainly didn’t know she was so bad. I really did do the best I could.”
“You did and I knew it. Plus, you kept Sally in my life. Now all I have to do is get through this pregnancy.”
Papa Doc started laughing out loud. “So, you think that all your troubles are going to end with childbirth? Sweetheart, they’re just beginning.”
Grace stilled suddenly, her secret choking her. How am I going to give this child or children up for adoption with these men so eager to be grandpas? I have to get an advocate.
Chapter 9
The Secret
December 2, 1991
“I can’t take it any longer,” Grace groaned. “I can’t possibly get any bigger, either. Look at these stretch marks! Even with a pound a cocoa butter a day, my skin’s practically ripping apart! Not to mention my boobs look like hot water bottles on top of a medicine ball.”
Chuck brought out the blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around her upper arm, silently counting her rants and raves. Eighty-four today. Not even noon and she’s beat her personal best on complaints.
“We don’t use a pound of cocoa butter,” he said, squeezing the bulb to inflate the cuff.
“Ouch! Do you have to make it so tight?”
“Actually, yes, I do. If we can’t get your blood pressure down, you’re going to have to have an emergency C-section. That means going to the hospital and loss of your anonymity. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Grace said, quickly switching her rant to a pout.
“Still too high. How’s your appetite? Have you eaten anything today?”
“You know everything I eat and drink. You may not weigh it out, but that calculating mind of yours catalogs everything.”
Chuck bent forward and gave her a kiss on the top of the head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Now, do you want to try walking a little?”
Taking his outstretched arm, Grace sat up as straight as she could and swung her legs over the edge of the hospital bed he had brought in for her. “Look at my feet; they’re huge! I look like I have cankles, not ankles.”
“Cankles?”
“My leg goes from knee to foot, the calf and ankle the same size.”
“Well,” Chuck said, still trying to switch up her grumbling, “at least you have a matched pair.”
Grace’s face squeezed into an exaggerated pout that burst into a full laugh when she looked up and saw him waiting for her reaction. “How do you do that? I mean, I’m so emotionally pissed and physically miserable, and you can still make me laugh.”
“You’re worth it, Grace. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently. You are, and always will be, my best friend. You ha
ve to know that.”
“I do,” she said, then let him help her to a standing position. “So, does that mean I can share my inner fears and hopes and stupid ideas with you without being judged?”
“Yup. Now watch the threshold. We’re not going outside, but I want to see how well you can ride in a vehicle. Just in case.”
“There’s no way I’m going anywhere in that ground-hugging Ferrari of Papa Doc’s.”
Chuck swung the door open completely and let her take it in. “An ambulance? Where in the hell did that come from?”
“The ambulance stork delivered it last night,” he said drolly, grinning.
“Do you really want me to get in it?” she asked, suddenly fearful.
“No, I just wanted to let you know that if we can’t get you to calm down and stop being so angry at the world, this is what you’ll be riding in to the hospital. The babies will certainly be too small to survive on their own. They’ll be in incubators with tubes stuck down their throats, cotton pads over their eyes, little shunts in their veins…”
“Stop it!” Grace whispered harshly. “I get it. I mean, bringing an ambulance home is a little overkill, don’t you think?”
“How many times have I told you to take a chill pill? You said you didn’t want to smoke anymore because you wanted to embrace your rage. Let. It. Go! Life sucks sometimes. Other times, like this, what you see as a hardship is just a stretch of your life that it’s hard to get through. You have support, though. Between me and the three grandpas, that’s four people who’d do anything in the world for you. Do you know how rare that it?”
“But my babies don’t have a father…”
“I hear your words, but what I understand is that you’re saying you don’t have a husband. I’ve told you dozens of times, we can get married.”
The Set Up (Triplets: Three Aren't One Book 1) Page 9