The Choice (18 page)

“I've done that,” Sandy said. “Adoption is best for everyone.”

“All right.” Mrs. Longwell stood up. “Call me soon.”

In the parking lot, Sandy slid behind the wheel of her car. Instead of starting the VW's engine, she picked up the folder that had contained the photo of the woman in the yellow blouse and opened it. The woman had been married for eight years. She was unable to have children following an unidentified surgery. She lived in South Carolina with her husband, who was an airline pilot. Sandy's heart sank. Pilots would be away from home more than salesmen. But Sandy kept reading anyway. The woman had a part-time job at a flower shop. As part of a brief personal statement each prospective parent was allowed to include in the packet, the woman wrote, “I believe Jesus will send us the child he wants us to love as he loves us.”

Sandy looked out the windshield. The pilot father was a negative, but Sandy couldn't dismiss the woman's words. At lot of prospective parents mentioned praying for a baby. The woman's bold statement was different. It wasn't the way Sandy talked, but she liked the confidence it expressed. She thought again about the photograph. A shiver ran down Sandy's spine. She placed the folder on the passenger seat of the car and started the engine.

The following week Sandy phoned Mrs. Longwell and told her the South Carolina couple was her first choice.

“What happens next?” Sandy asked.

“I'll notify both couples that a baby may be available for them around the end of March or first of April.”

“But you'll not mention the possibility of twins.”

“I don't think keeping that a secret is wise,” the caseworker said slowly. “What if several years down the road one of the children has a medical need, which can only be met by a sibling? It would be especially critical if the babies are identical twins, but it could still be potentially lifesaving information even if they aren't.”

Sandy wanted to say she was saving the babies by keeping them apart but knew that explanation wasn't an option. She tried a different approach.

“Mrs. Longwell, have I been difficult to work with?”

“Uh, no. You're smart and mature for your age.”

“Then please, let me do what I think is best. I've trusted you and the agency to find wonderful parents where my baby or babies will be loved and taken care of whether they know about a sibling or not. Don't fight me on this.”

Sandy heard the caseworker chuckle.

“Sandy, I want you to call me in twenty years and let me know what you're doing with your life. You're a remarkable young woman and very persuasive in a disarming sort of way. Have you ever thought about becoming a lawyer?”

“A little.”

“You should consider it. And even though I don't agree with you about separating twins, your request doesn't violate our guidelines. The records here will contain the information about siblings, and you can release your restriction on communication to appropriate parties in the future if you change your mind.”

As the pregnancy progressed, Sandy started slowing down physically. She was fit, but the increasing baby load began affecting everything from her balance to her ability to breathe. There were other pregnant girls at the school at various stages of gestation, but by early March, Sandy was the most pregnant of the pregnant females. Her swollen abdomen attracted astonished stares. In her suffering she ignored them. She had to buy new shoes to accommodate her swollen feet and purchased a few maternity dresses that had as much style as the tents her father and brothers used when camping. Driving home for the weekends to Rutland was no longer possible, so her mother started coming to see her at Linda's house. One Friday in mid-March her mother drove to Atlanta so she could go with Sandy to her doctor's appointment. They sat together in the waiting area.

“It's nice having you with me,” Sandy said, her legs stretched out in front of her. “Usually I'm all by myself. Some women come in alone, but others have their moms or husbands with them.”

Sandy's mother managed a tight-lipped smile.

A few moments later, a nurse called Sandy's name and told her to stand on a scale. The nurse shook her head as she wrote down the number. Another nurse led Sandy and her mother to an examination room. After a short wait, Dr. Berman came into the room.

“This is my mother, Julie Lincoln,” Sandy said.

“I can see the family resemblance,” Dr. Berman said. “Your daughter has done an excellent job with this pregnancy. You should be proud of her.”

The doctor helped Sandy onto the examining table.

“Are you having any contractions?” the doctor asked.

“Should I be?” Sandy asked in surprise. “It's almost a month to my due date.”

“Even though it's your first pregnancy, I doubt you're going to make it that far. In fact, you could go into labor any day.” Dr. Berman turned to Sandy's mother. “It's looking more and more like this might be a multiple birth.”

Her mother's mouth dropped open.

“You mean twins?” she managed.

“Possibly. Or triplets. I've suspected the possibility of multiples for several weeks.”

“Sandy, why didn't you tell us?”

“I guess I should have,” Sandy said sheepishly.

“It wouldn't have changed anything,” Dr. Berman said with a wave of her hand. “The main impact is on the due date. Twins usually arrive early; around thirty-seven or thirty-eight weeks is perfect. Sandy is almost ready for delivery now. Her blood pressure is stable, and my hope is that everything kicks in at the right time so we don't have to induce labor or deliver by caesarean section.”

“I don't want an operation and scar,” Sandy said quickly.

“And I'm not a doctor who does a caesarean at the drop of a hat. We'll keep close tabs on you to protect your health and the health of your baby or babies. I'll see you next week, if not sooner.”

As soon as they were out of the doctor's office, Sandy's mother started firing questions at her.

“Yes,” Sandy said. “Mrs. Longwell at the adoption agency is aware of the possibility of a multiple birth. I've selected two families in case I have twins.”

“What about triplets?” her mother asked shrilly.

“There are plenty of wonderful people who want to adopt babies.”

They got in the car. Sandy could tell her mother's mind was churning. Sandy shifted uncomfortably back and forth in the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt out to its farthest point and around her.

“Aren't there families that would take both babies so they could be raised together?”

“Probably,” Sandy replied testily. “But that's not what I've decided to do.”

“Twins,” her mother repeated. “As far as I know, there's no history of twins in my family. Isn't it influenced by the maternal bloodline?”

Relieved that her mother had moved on in her thinking, Sandy nodded. “Yes, that's one part of the pregnancy Brad didn't have anything to do with.”

Going to school became an increasing challenge. It took all of Sandy's energy to drag herself from class to class. Unable to use a normal desk, she sat in a regular chair near the door and rested her textbooks on her stomach. Several days after her appointment with Dr. Berman, she received a note during homeroom to report to the principal's office. Sandy racked her brain to remember what she might have done wrong. Several times she'd had to leave class to go to the bathroom, but she couldn't think of anything else.

The head of the school was Dr. Walter Nichols, a former college basketball player. He came into the waiting area of the office as soon as the receptionist let him know that Sandy was there.

“Come into my office,” the administrator said.

Dr. Nichols was a tall, muscular black man who commanded the respect of the boys at the school. He had a no-nonsense approach to education and made it clear the school was the last chance of public education for the students who attended. Sandy sat down with a sigh. Dr. Nichols left the door of the office open.

“I'm not going to ask how you're feeling,” the principal said. “That wouldn't be a fair question.”

Sandy put her hands on the side of the chair to brace herself.

“I'm doing the best I can.”

“Which is obvious to all of your teachers and the staff. Watching the way you've handled yourself has been an inspiration. So many of our students don't want to be here that to see someone who takes her schoolwork seriously encourages all of us to keep doing what we do.”

“Thank you,” Sandy said softly.

“But we're concerned about your health. How close are you to your due date?”

“A few weeks, but I may not make it that far. There's a chance I'm carrying twins.”

Dr. Nichols raised his eyebrows. “What does your doctor recommend about continuing with school?”

“She told me to do what I could.”

“And we want you to do that without risking your health.” The principal rested his hands on his desk. “I have a proposal for you if you'd like to hear it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your teachers are willing to prepare assignments so you can study at home and still receive credit for your classes. Mrs. Borden has offered to take the assignments to your house. Are you still living with your aunt near Emory?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Borden's house is in the same area.”

“That's nice of her,” Sandy said. “But I'm not sure I can keep up—”

Dr. Nichols leaned forward. “Sandy, based on your academic performance, I would let you graduate right now if I could, but we need a way to satisfy the bureaucratic requirements for school attendance. A home-study program is one way to do that. Do the work you can, when you can. That will be more than enough.”

Sandy had several years of perfect attendance in elementary school, and going to class was ingrained in her character. However, the chance to stay in her pajamas and read while sitting in the comfortable chair in Linda's living room sounded like a much-needed break.

“That would be great,” she said.

“Good.” Dr. Nichols sat up straighter. “Everyone here wants you to excel. You're a bright young woman with a great future ahead of you. If we handed out awards to outstanding students at the end of the year, you'd get the top one.”

Sandy's eyes suddenly filled with tears. She'd been unaware that people at the school were watching her.

“Should I go to class today?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“If you feel like it. Mention to your teachers that we talked.”

It was an emotional day. Sandy was overwhelmed by the response from her teachers. Mr. Vance, the algebra instructor, earnestly thanked her for her hard work. All of the women cried and hugged her. Mrs. Milton, the Spanish teacher from South Carolina, soaked through two tissues. Mrs. Welshofer, the chemistry teacher, held Sandy's hand and talked about the first day Angelica came to class and how Sandy agreed to help the Hispanic girl. Mrs. Borden retrieved a paper Sandy had written about the role of women in colonial society. Placing it on her desk, she told Sandy it was one of the best pieces of student work she'd ever read.

When the final bell rang, Sandy was emotionally and physically spent. She sat in her little yellow car for a few moments and looked at the school. The overflow of love and encouragement from the faculty and the personal affirmation from Dr. Nichols touched her deeply. Ever since she'd fled in disgrace from Rutland High, she'd felt like a failure.

But Sandy wasn't a failure. She was an overcomer.

She'd done the best she could in a tough situation. And in God's mercy, she'd been surrounded by people who didn't judge her for her mistakes but encouraged her for the way she'd responded to them. She closed her eyes and let the words she'd heard during the day wash over her again and again. Over the past months, Linda, Dr. Berman, and the people in the run-down school building had lifted her out of the pit of self-condemnation. They'd helped save her life.

In the past, Sandy had dreamed of studying interior design like her mother. Since coming to Atlanta and meeting Angelica, she'd considered majoring in Spanish. Then Mrs. Longwell suggested she would be a good lawyer. Now Sandy wondered if teaching might be the best path for her.

Whatever she ultimately did in life, it would be profoundly influenced by what she'd learned at a school of last resort named Metro High in Atlanta, Georgia.

THIRTEEN

L
inda drove Sandy to her next appointment with Dr. Berman.

“No change,” the doctor announced after the examination.

“Should I be worried?” Sandy groaned. “I feel like I'm about to divide like an amoeba.”

“I've never heard anybody put it that way.” Dr. Berman smiled. “But every woman who has a child gives a part of herself to the baby. Trust your body and try not to worry. Anxiety has no positive side effects.”