The Choice (5 page)

Ben and Jack sailed through the evening, oblivious to the dark cloud that hung over the family. Sandy could hear them working on a model ship while they were supposed to be doing their homework. Normally, she would have stepped in to straighten them out, but tonight she didn't feel like correcting anybody's wrongs. She tried to study for a chemistry quiz, but the letters and symbols on the page ran together. She watched the clock; time dragged by. Closing her chemistry book, she laid out several outfits on her bed before selecting a modest skirt and a yellow sweater. Stepping into the hall, she met Jack returning from the bathroom where he'd brushed his teeth.

“Are you getting dressed up so you can sneak out later and meet up with Brad?” he asked.

“No.”

“What's going on?”

Sandy tried to come up with a quick answer that wasn't a total lie.

“Can't I play dress-up if I want to?”

“Yeah, but it's kind of weird.”

Downstairs, Sandy found her mother in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee. A plate of light hors d'oeuvres rested on the counter.

“You're serving snacks?” Sandy blurted out.

“I hope this is going to be a civilized meeting,” her mother replied evenly. “Get your great-aunt's silver coffee service from the cupboard in the dining room and six cups with saucers of the fine china.”

On her way to the dining room, Sandy realized her mother was right. It would be hard to start shouting while holding a delicate Wedgwood cup between two fingers. When she returned from the cupboard, her father was in the kitchen. He'd taken off his tie before supper but now had it freshly knotted around his neck.

“Satisfied?” he asked Sandy's mother.

“Yes.”

By 9:25 p.m., everything was neatly laid out on the coffee table in the living room. Sandy occasionally drank coffee while trying to stay warm at cold football games. Tonight she might shiver, but it wouldn't be from the cold. The doorbell chimed.

“Stay here,” her mother ordered. “Let your daddy answer the door.”

Sandy's father opened the door. Any greetings he exchanged with the Donnelly family in the foyer were muffled. Sandy's heart started pounding. Brad and his parents came into the living room. Brad was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the name of his old high school in Houston printed across the front. He gave her a grim look. Kim Donnelly, a tall woman with brownish-red hair, didn't look at her. Carl Donnelly, also wearing a tie, looked around the room as if making sure there wasn't someone hiding out of sight.

“Before we sit down,” Sandy's mother said in a tense voice, “would anyone like a cup of coffee?”

Everyone except Brad and Sandy clustered around the coffee service. Sandy watched Brad, who seemed to be studying a piece of carpet. Sandy wanted to say something to him but didn't. After everyone's coffee cup was full, Sandy's mother directed them where to sit. Sandy and her parents sat on the sofa with Sandy in the middle. She put her hands beneath her legs. Brad's mother and father were close together on a love seat opposite the sofa, with Brad next to them in an upholstered chair. Sandy's father took a long sip of coffee and cleared his throat.

“Thanks for coming over on such short notice,” he began. “Sandy went to Dr. Braselton yesterday, and he confirmed that she's pregnant. Brad, do you have any doubt that you're the father of the baby?”

Brad touched his cheek where Sandy had slapped him. She held her breath.

“Not if Sandy says so,” he replied.

Everyone looked at Sandy, who blushed.

“Brad is the daddy,” Sandy said in a soft voice. “We were only together one time.”

She saw Brad grimace. Carl Donnelly rolled his eyes.

“She's eight weeks along,” Sandy's father said. “But a lot of decisions are going to have to be made, especially—”

“Eight weeks?” Brad's mother interrupted in her high-pitched voice. “Is that all? There's only one decision that needs to be made. Sandy should have an abortion. And the sooner the better!”

FOUR

S
andy had studied the recent U.S. Supreme Court decision in
Roe v. Wade
and memorized enough facts about the case to answer a question on a quiz before forgetting about it. “There are several new women's health clinics in Atlanta that provide excellent care,” Kim Donnelly continued. “I called two of them this afternoon. Sandy can get an appointment next week and get this taken care of quickly. That way our kids can put this behind them and get on with their lives.”

“We'll pay for it,” Carl added. “As Brad's parents, we don't want to dodge our responsibility. Sandy is a fine young woman, and no one will need to know what's happened. We want to protect her reputation.”

Sandy was shocked. The possibility of terminating the pregnancy hadn't crossed her mind.

“That's something we haven't had a chance to discuss,” her father said.

“And won't,” her mother added emphatically.

“Hold on, Julie,” her father said. “We've asked the Donnellys to come over here so we can discuss options. This is one of them.”

“One option you can forget is forcing the children to get married,” Kim said firmly. “They still may have shotgun weddings around here, but we're not going to let Brad ruin his life by getting married, dropping out of school, and living in a trailer park.”

“I left my shotgun locked up in the garage,” Sandy's father replied grimly. “And there's no need to start tossing around accusations. My wife is entitled to her opinion.”

Sandy had always thought Brad's father was the dominant partner in the Donnelly marriage. Now she wasn't so sure. Kim Donnelly's face grew red, and her voice climbed even higher.

“We may be newcomers to Rutland, but when it comes to our son, we're not going to be bullied or dictated to by you or—”

Sandy felt the human volcano sitting beside her on the couch about to erupt. She tensed.

“You'd better shut your mouth if you want to stay another minute in this house!” her father roared.

In a flash, Kim Donnelly was heading to the front door. Carl followed. Before he could take three steps, the front door slammed as his wife left the house. He spun around and pointed his finger at Sandy's father.

“Don't ever speak to my wife like that again,” he said in a cold voice. “And keep your trampy daughter away from my son. Come on, Brad, let's get out of here.”

Sandy and her mother both grabbed Sandy's father as he started to launch himself off the sofa. Brad hurried after his father without looking back at Sandy. The front door opened and closed again. Sandy's father jerked loose and bolted toward the foyer.

“When I get my hands on him—”

“Bob!” Sandy's mother cried out. “Let them go. They're in the car by now.”

Sandy's father turned around. There was an expression of anguished rage on his face unlike anything Sandy had ever seen before. Panic rose up inside her as she realized her father might do something so violent that it would scar their family forever, perhaps even worse than the humiliation she was already bringing. He turned toward the door.

“Daddy, please! Stop!” Sandy cried out.

“Dad!” Ben called from the top of the stairs. “What's going on down there?”

Sandy's father paused and ran his right hand across the top of his head.

“Nothing!” he roared.

A few seconds later, Sandy's brother appeared in the doorway. He was wearing too-small pajamas that Sandy had given him the previous Christmas. He rubbed his eyes.

“I heard yelling, and the front door slammed. Are y'all having a fight?”

“No,” Sandy's mother answered. “We'll talk about it later.”

Ben stepped into the living room and saw the coffee table and plate of untouched hors d'oeuvres.

“Can I have a snack? I'm hungry.”

Sandy braced for another explosion from her father. He stared incredulously at Ben for a second, then waved his hand toward the food.

“Go ahead. Eat all you want.”

Sandy's father left the room and headed toward the master suite at the rear of the house. Ben began wolfing down the snacks. Sandy and her mother carried the coffee service, cups, and saucers into the kitchen.

“What now?” Sandy asked as she poured the steaming coffee down the drain.

“Another sleepless night,” her mother answered.

“I'm sorry,” Sandy said.

Sandy had already apologized, but there seemed to be no end to the opportunities to do so. As her mother bent to open the dishwasher, Sandy thought she saw lines on her face that hadn't been there before.

“This is one of those things a parent knows can happen but doesn't believe ever will,” her mother said. “It's going to be one day at a time for all of us, and I don't have anything left for this one.”

As she lay in bed that night, Sandy thought about her parents suffering in their bedroom. She knew the Donnelly house was also in an uproar. What Brad's parents said stung, but the coldness she felt from Brad hurt worse. She turned over and buried her face in her pillow.

The next day news of Sandy's pregnancy had become common knowledge at Rutland High by third period. Jessica swore she hadn't mentioned it to a soul, which meant Brad said something to one of his buddies, who then told a girl, any girl. That one spark of information triggered a firestorm of gossip that swept through the school faster than an atomic chain reaction. When Sandy walked down the hall toward her locker before fourth period, she felt every set of eyes she encountered staring at her. She stood in front of her locker for a few moments, then closed it without taking out her Spanish textbook. Instead, she walked directly to the school office. Mrs. Branson, the school secretary, saw her come in. She picked up the phone before Sandy spoke.

“Mr. Pickerel, Sandy Lincoln is here to see you.”

Sandy stood with her hands folded in front of her. The door behind the secretary opened, and the bald-headed principal came out.

“Hello, Sandy,” he said. “Come in.”

Sandy sat down in a chair in front of the principal's desk.

“I guess you heard,” she began. “I'm pregnant, and Brad Donnelly is the father.”

“Yes.”

Sandy looked down at the floor. “If it's okay, I'd like to go home.”

The principal picked up a slip of paper and scribbled something on it.

“Here's an excuse to leave campus for the day. Sandy, you're an outstanding student and I want to help in any way I can, but my hands are going to be tied by your circumstances. Ask your mother or father to call me as soon as possible.”

Sandy left the office, glad that the halls were now empty of students. She stopped by her locker to get some books and then walked toward the rear of the building. The parking lot for seniors was between the main classroom building and the football field. As she walked toward her car, a male figure emerged from the locker room beneath the home side of the football stadium and started walking toward her.

It was Brad.

Sandy stopped in her tracks. She didn't know whether to return to the classroom building or dash to her car and flee. Before she could make up her mind, Brad started jogging in her direction. There was no avenue of escape. He met her a few feet from her car.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.”

Brad took another step forward. Sandy flinched. Her arms were full of books, and she hoped he wasn't going to give her a hug.

“I'm sorry about last night,” he said. “My mom acted like a jerk.”

Sandy searched Brad's face. He seemed sincere.

“My daddy shouldn't have yelled at her,” she said and sighed. “The whole idea of getting together with our parents to talk things over was a disaster.”

“Yeah.” Brad looked past Sandy toward the school building. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I can't take the way people are staring at me.”

“Who? If anyone hassles you, I'll put a stop to it.”

“How did the word get out?” Sandy asked. “Did you tell someone?”

“Only Coach Cochran. I met with him before school started.”

“You didn't say anything to your friends?”

“No, but everyone knows.”

“It would have happened eventually.” Sandy shrugged. “What did Coach Cochran say?”

“The school board will have to decide if I get kicked off the team.”

Sandy started to get upset that Brad's thoughts went to football, then realized that's how her mother must have felt about cheerleading. That conversation now seemed a long time ago, when life's trivial activities still seemed important.

“Let me take your books,” Brad offered.

“No, I'm just going to my car.”

Sandy started forward. Brad kept pace with her.

“Why aren't you in English class?” he asked.

“How could I listen to old Mrs. Brooks talk about grammar and composition?”