The Choice (21 page)

It was over an hour before Dr. Berman came to the room. Sandy's mother and Linda were watching a cooking show on TV. Dr. Berman examined Sandy.

“You look good, but I wouldn't have expected anything else. Your vital signs are stable, and I wish every one of my patients had blood pressure as rock-solid as yours.” She made a notation in the chart. “Of course, it helps to be eighteen years old and in great physical condition.”

“Can I get out of bed?” Sandy asked.

“Yes, but not until the nurse removes the catheter. There's no use dragging that around with you if you can make it to the bathroom on your own. I want to keep you on the IV for the rest of the day. If you have a good day and night, I'll discharge you tomorrow.”

“I'm going to see the babies,” Sandy said.

Dr. Berman raised her eyebrows.

“Having second thoughts about the adoption?”

Sandy glanced at her mother. “I'm trying not to, but I have to see them, even if it's only to say good-bye.”

“You've got to weigh the risks,” the doctor said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “When you were in labor and delivery, I told you to trust your instincts. Now you should listen more to your head than your heart. Your instincts will drive you down a path I'm not sure you're ready to follow.”

It was the most direct Dr. Berman had been about the adoption process.

“I know,” Sandy said. “Mrs. Longwell came by earlier. I told her to come back tomorrow so I can sign the release papers. My mind is made up.”

“Do you want me to begin the medicine that will stop your milk production?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Sandy repeated.

“Okay, I'll send in a nurse. See you in the morning.”

Dr. Berman left.

“Does the adoption agency cover her charges?” Sandy's mother asked. “Your father didn't mention anything about paying a deductible.”

“I don't know,” Sandy said. “Mrs. Longwell took care of that stuff.”

“Don't you think she has a conflict of interest?” Sandy's mother turned to Linda.

“Careful, Julie,” Linda replied. “What the doctor told Sandy about following her head and not her heart applies to you too.”

Sandy remembered Mrs. Longwell's comment that paternal grandmothers sometimes tried to step in and short-circuit an adoption. Undoubtedly, the same thing happened with maternal grandmothers. A nurse removed the catheter, then stayed until Sandy demonstrated her ability to walk to the bathroom.

“It's harder to move my legs than I thought,” Sandy said as she slowly returned to the bed. “Maybe I should use a wheelchair to go to the nursery.”

“I'll find one,” her mother said, quickly leaving the room.

After she left, Sandy and Linda looked at each other.

“I don't think she was prepared for how she would feel when the babies arrived,” Linda said. “She called your father in the middle of the night, and they were on the phone for a long time.”

“Did you hear her side of the conversation?”

“No, she asked me to leave so they could talk in private.”

“I can't imagine what they said. At first, Daddy wanted me to get an abortion. Since then he's been okay with the idea of adoption. I think he's just been waiting for this to end so our lives can get back to normal. There's no way he wants to take on the responsibility of two infants.”

“Your father is bullheaded, but your mother knows how to get what she wants.”

“Yes, but this isn't her decision. It's mine.”

Sandy's mother returned with the wheelchair and rolled it to the side of the bed.

“The nursery is just around the corner,” she said brightly.

Sandy eased out of bed and into the wheelchair. Her mother flipped down the footrests and put on her slippers.

“We're off,” her mother said. “Linda, are you coming with us?”

“Yes, I think I should supervise this visit.”

FIFTEEN

T
he first person they encountered was a woman with an infant in her arms being wheeled back to her room. The woman, a beautiful smile on her face, was nuzzling the baby and talking softly to it. Sandy swallowed. They went around a corner into a different hallway. On the left was a row of patient rooms. To the right, there was a long window that extended from the floor to the ceiling. Through the window, Sandy could see several rows of clear plastic bassinets. Workers wearing masks were moving about. On the front of each bassinet was either a blue or a pink card that recorded the baby's last name, gender, date and time of birth, birth weight, mother's name and room number, and the baby's pediatrician. There were at least thirty babies in the nursery.

“Where were the twins when you came to see them in the night?” Sandy's mother asked Linda.

“One was at the far end, and the other one was in the middle.”

Sandy's mother pushed the wheelchair down the hall. As she did, Sandy let her eyes scan the crowd of infants.

“Stop!” she said. “There's one of them. In the back row.”

Her mother stopped the wheelchair.

“She's right,” Linda said. “It's Baby Smith.”

Sandy stood up and put her face close to the glass. In the third row was a baby boy smaller than those surrounding him.

“Can you see the card?” her mother asked. “I left my glasses in the room.”

Linda read the information on the card, which listed a fictitious name and room number for the mother. All the other data was correct. The pediatrician was listed as Dr. Fletchall. The baby was wrapped tightly in a white blanket and lying on his side. His eyes were closed.

Sandy drank in every detail.

There was a hint of blondish fuzz on the baby's head. He had a perfectly shaped nose and lips that were slightly pouty. His left cheek had a healthy rose color. As she watched, a female worker came over and patted him on the back while she talked to another woman. Seeing the worker have physical contact with the baby made Sandy's heart climb into her throat.

“Try to get the nurse's attention,” her mother said. “She can bring him up to the glass for a closer look.”

“Mama,” Sandy said, “this is killing me. Let him sleep.”

“I want to see him.”

“Julie.” Linda put her hand on her sister's shoulder. “Please don't push Sandy on this. It's not fair.”

Sandy's mother turned to Linda, her eyes flashing.

“You've never been a mother!”

“And you're the grandmother,” Linda answered testily. “Sandy is the mother.”

Sandy's mother tapped on the glass. The woman patting the baby didn't hear and turned away before responding. Sandy started rolling the wheelchair forward.

“You're being ridiculous,” Sandy's mother said to Linda.

“No, you're out of line,” her sister shot back.

Sandy spun the wheelchair around.

“If you don't stop, I'm going to scream!” she said with as much force as she could muster. “We're going to see them from the hallway. That's it. Why are you trying to ruin this for me?”

Tight-lipped, her mother didn't answer. Linda looked into the nursery.

“There he is,” Linda said. “Just ahead in the second row. They had him there last night.”

Sandy repositioned the wheelchair, rolled forward a few feet, and stood up. Baby Jones was closer to the window. He was wrapped snuggly in a white blanket as well and lying on his side. Sandy sucked in her breath.

“He's a redhead,” she gasped. “Just like Brad.”

There was no mistaking the color of the hair on the baby's head. He, too, was smaller than the babies beside him, but his features were perfectly proportioned. His mouth was slightly open. While they watched, he screwed up his face for a second, then relaxed.

“Did you see that?” Sandy whispered.

The worker who had been patting the back of Baby Smith noticed the three women on the other side of the glass and started walking toward them. She pointed at Baby Jones's bassinet and made a hand signal asking if they wanted her to bring him closer. Sandy quickly shook her head from side to side, then glanced at her mother, who was staring stoically in front of her. The attendant gave them a puzzled look and turned away. Sandy continued to stare at the baby, whose similarity to Brad didn't make her love him less. When her brain couldn't absorb another detail, she sat down in the wheelchair.

“I'm done,” she said.

Sandy turned the wheelchair around and started going in the opposite direction. Her mother and Linda silently followed. When she was level with Baby Smith, Sandy suddenly stopped and turned the wheelchair toward the window. She'd not given him as much attention as his brother. She stood in front of the glass and created an internal photo album of every detail she could record. While she watched, the baby didn't move a millimeter. He was a sound sleeper. She turned to her mother.

“I'm going back to my room. You can stay if you like, and even ask one of the nurses to bring the babies closer. I won't mind. But for me, that would be more than I can handle.”

“I'll stay by myself,” her mother said.

“And I'll go with Sandy,” Linda replied.

Sandy let Linda roll her down the hall. They turned the corner. Numb, Sandy didn't notice anything or anybody. Linda held the wheelchair steady while she stood up. Sandy slowly eased herself into the bed and lay down, turning her head to the side to stare at the wall. Linda left the room. Sandy had shed unnumbered tears over the past eight months, but today the fountains were dry. It wasn't long until her mother returned and sat in the chair beside the bed.

“I had a long talk with your daddy last night,” she said.

Sandy waited, dreading what was coming next.

“I already knew one of the babies looked like you and the other favored Brad. I suspected as much in the delivery room, and Linda confirmed it last night when she came back from the nursery. Since you're determined to send the twins to separate homes, I thought we might consider taking the younger one.”

Her mother paused. Sandy found herself holding her breath.

“Your daddy and I could raise him and let you be involved as much as you wanted to. Years ago it wasn't unusual for grandparents to take a primary role in a child's life, especially when families lived close to one another. My mother spent a lot of time with her paternal grandmother. She went to her house every day after school and stayed until suppertime. It wouldn't be necessary for us to adopt the baby. He'd still be yours. After you graduate from college, we could see how things worked out. Of course, when you get married, you would create a home of your own for him.” Her mother turned toward Sandy, her eyes imploring. “I'd like to take both babies, but I know that's not practical. I made my choice based on appearance. It would be easier to incorporate a child into the family if he looked like you and Jack. We'd all have to sacrifice, but it would be worth it. What do you think?”

Sandy took a deep breath and exhaled before she spoke.

“I think you already love your grandsons, and it's going to hurt like crazy to let them go.”

“Will you consider it?” her mother pleaded.

Sandy had never heard her mother use that tone of voice when addressing her. She hesitated.

“What exactly did Daddy say?”

“Oh, he talked in circles. Remember, it was the middle of the night. But he'll come around eventually.”

The two women were silent for a moment.

“Are you willing to discuss whether this is a good idea with Mrs. Longwell?” Sandy asked.

“It's none of her business,” her mother said crisply. “She has an agenda.”

“Mama, she works for an adoption agency. It's her job to find homes for babies. And I went to her for help, not the other way around.”

“You'd still be letting her place one baby for adoption. Mrs. Longwell wasn't sure there would be two babies until last night.”

“I'm not sure it's a good idea.”

The door of the room opened and Linda walked in, then stopped in her tracks.

“Should I go for another walk outside?” she asked. “It's a gorgeous spring day.”

“No,” Sandy's mother said. “Whether you're here or not isn't going to make any difference.”

Tension hung in the air for the rest of the morning. Shortly after lunch, the door opened. Mrs. Longwell and Mrs. Baker returned.

“You're looking better already,” Mrs. Longwell said to Sandy.

“I'm weaker than I thought, but Dr. Berman said I should be able to go home tomorrow.”

“That's good news,” Mrs. Longwell said. “And I have some great news. I just confirmed that Brad signed the surrender papers around ten this morning. They are going to be sent by overnight mail to my office.”

Sandy glanced at the envelope Mrs. Longwell had brought by earlier in the day. It was in the same place Sandy had put it when the caseworker left.

“I haven't opened the envelope,” Sandy said. “I'm sure it's the same thing you went over with me at your office.”

“It is. Are you ready to move forward?”

Sandy looked at her mother, whose face appeared slightly flushed.

“My mother has a question,” Sandy said.

Mrs. Longwell shifted her gaze to Sandy's mother.

“I talked to my husband last night about keeping one of the babies,” Sandy's mother said slowly. “Sandy and I have discussed it but haven't reached a decision.”

While her mother spoke, Sandy watched Mrs. Longwell's face. The caseworker showed no sign of shock or disappointment.

“What do you think?” Sandy blurted out.

Mrs. Longwell put her hands together in front of her for a moment. It almost looked like she was praying.

“Whether there is one baby or two, the decision to surrender parental rights is very difficult, not just for the birth mother, but for every member of her family. I've been doing this for a long time, and questioning an adoption decision after a baby is born is perfectly understandable.”