The Choice (4 page)

“We don't have a basement,” she said.

Brad raised his head and looked at Sandy as if she were crazy.

“I've been to your house. I know that.”

“I was just—” Sandy stopped. “So, are you going to tell your mom when you get home?”

“Yeah, but she's not going to want your parents coming around. Your mother has looked down on her since we started dating, and your father is a nut.”

Sandy wanted to defend her folks, but there was a grain of truth in Brad's words. She felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Jessica.

“Hey, Brad,” Jessica said with a fake smile plastered on her face. “Is it okay if I steal Sandy away for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Brad replied. “We're done.”

THREE

J
essica took Sandy by the arm and guided her around the corner so they were standing between two long rows of bookshelves. She peeked through the shelves toward the table where Sandy had been sitting with Brad.

“He's going back to the table where the other football players are sitting,” Jessica said. “I saw you slap him.”

Sandy winced. “It happened so fast I didn't know what I was doing. Where were you?”

“Right here.” Jessica pointed down at her feet. “I could see Brad's face but not yours. I thought you heard me gasp when you hit him. Then Mr. Phillips came over to the table, and I got scared, but Phillips is pretty dense. What did Brad tell him?”

“That I patted his cheek.”

“How lame. Why did you hit him?”

“Because of what he said. And please, don't ask me to repeat it.”

“Then tell me what's going on. Are you pregnant?”

Sandy looked at her friend and nodded. Tears once again stung her eyes. Jessica leaned over and wrapped her arms around her. The two girls held each other.

“I knew it,” Jessica said when they parted. She took a tissue from her purse and handed it to Sandy. “And not just since chemistry class. You've been feeling lousy for weeks and walking around like you had something on your mind. Then when you left school yesterday to go to the doctor with your mother, I couldn't get the idea out of my head that you were getting a pregnancy test. I mean, I didn't want to believe something bad about you, not that it's horrible to have a baby, but in a way it's a huge disaster.”

“Yeah, I've felt all those things.”

“Did Brad know something was going on?”

“He had no idea, and my daddy said I had to tell him today.”

“How far along are you?”

“Eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks! How did you keep your mouth shut?”

“I was scared.”

“What did your parents say?”

Sandy summarized the events of the past twenty-four hours. “I was going to tell you next, but I owed it to Brad to let him know.”

“Then he acts like a total jerk.” Jessica's eyes flashed. “This is ninety-nine percent his fault. You wouldn't have done this if he hadn't put tons of pressure on you. He's used to having his way with girls at a big-city school. You're not like that. I've been worried about you ever since you started going steady with him. I've prayed about it every night before going to bed.”

“Girls,” a male voice interrupted them. “This is a study hall, not a social hour.”

It was Mr. Phillips. He raised a long index finger to his lips.

“Yes, sir,” Jessica replied sweetly.

Sandy and Jessica moved to a table on the opposite side of the library from Brad and the football players. They passed notes back and forth. When the bell rang ending the school day, Sandy hung back until she was sure Brad was gone.

“Please don't let anyone see those notes,” Sandy said to Jessica.

“I'll tie them up in a plastic bag and put it in the trash can. Call me later and let me know how things go.”

“Are you going to say anything to your mom?”

“Not if you don't want me to. I mean, eventually she'll find out.”

“I know.” Sandy sighed. “But I can't stand the thought of her being disappointed in me.”

“She'll freak out, but I won't breathe a word until you say so.” Jessica ran her fingers across her lips. “These are sealed.”

On her way out of the building, Sandy stopped by Mrs. Winters's classroom. The brown-haired math teacher in her midthirties was Sandy's favorite instructor and coach of the cheerleading squad. Sandy stood in the door of the classroom until the teacher looked up.

“I won't be at practice again today,” Sandy said. “I'm still feeling sick.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Sandy edged away. “I'm sure I'll be fine by Friday night, but don't practice any stunts that include me getting tossed in the air.”

As she fled down the hall, Sandy thought she heard Mrs. Winters calling after her. She didn't slow down.

Sandy's mother left a note on the refrigerator that she was taking the boys to the barbershop. Emotionally and physically exhausted, Sandy dragged herself upstairs and fell into bed. She'd not taken a nap since fourth grade. She closed her eyes and didn't wake up until she heard a knock on her door. It was her father.

“Hey, Daddy,” she said, blinking her eyes. “I was tired so I decided to lie down for a few minutes.”

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and realized she'd been asleep for more than an hour.

“Are Mama and the boys here?”

“Not yet. They were going to stop by the grocery store after finishing at the barbershop. Did you talk to Brad?”

“Yes.”

“Is he going to tell his parents?”

“I think so.”

“You're not sure?”

Sandy sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“I told him during study hall this afternoon. He doesn't think we should get together tonight to talk.”

“He's worried about what I'm going to say to him?”

“Yeah.”

“He should be.”

“Daddy, please don't make things harder than they already are,” Sandy pleaded.

“I'm going to say what needs to be said. What's happened to you affects all of us.”

“Can we practice-talk? You know, like in a play at school.”

Her father gave her a puzzled look. The front door opened as Sandy's mother and brothers returned.

“We can't talk about that now,” her father said.

Sandy went into the bathroom, brushed her tousled hair, and went downstairs. Her mother was unloading the grocery bags in the kitchen.

“How was school?”

It was a reflex question her mother had asked thousands of times since Sandy had gone to Miss Mary Lou's kindergarten with her hair in pigtails.

“I guess that's not what I need to ask you today, is it?” her mother said before Sandy could respond. “Help me put away the groceries.”

Ben and Jack appeared at the kitchen door demanding a drink and a snack.

“We'll have supper in an hour and a half,” Sandy's mother responded. “You can have a glass of juice but no snacks. Go outside and burn off some energy. You acted like hoodlums at the grocery store.”

The boys each gulped down a large glass of apple juice and ran out to the backyard to throw a Frisbee. Sandy's father came into the kitchen.

“Tell your mother about your conversation with Brad,” he said.

Sandy knew her mother would want details. She provided a toned-down version that left out everything immediately before and after the slap.

“That's it?” her mother asked.

“Most of it.”

Her mother put a fresh roll of paper towels on the holder above the sink.

“Of all days, I saw Kim Donnelly at the grocery store,” she said.

“Did you talk to her?”

“About the price of bananas and the ski trip she and Carl are planning to Colorado during the holidays. Nothing about you and Brad.”

“He's getting home from football practice about now,” Sandy said.

Her parents exchanged a long look.

“If we don't hear from Kim Donnelly in an hour, I'm going to make the call,” her father said.

Sandy's mother nodded. After her father left the kitchen, Sandy stayed to help prepare supper. It was something she rarely did because of cheerleading practice. She chopped onions for a meat loaf and cut several pieces of day-old bread into tiny squares. Her mother spooned the mixed ingredients into a loaf pan and put it in the oven. When she closed the oven door, the phone rang. Sandy jumped. Her mother picked up the receiver. Sandy held her breath and waited.

“Hello, Kim,” her mother said, raising her eyebrows at Sandy.

Sandy wanted to slide into a hole in the ground and never come out. Her mother listened for a moment.

“It was a shock to us too.”

Kim Donnelly continued to talk. Sandy's mother glanced at the floor, then the kitchen clock.

“If Carl will be home by eight o'clock, what time would you want us to come over?”

After a brief response, her mother nodded her head.

“All right, we'll see you at nine-thirty at our house. The boys will be in bed by then.”

She hung up the phone.

“Kim called Brad's father with the news, and he's driving in from Savannah. She agrees we should get together as soon as possible, and we're going to do it here. You'll need to straighten up the living room after supper.”

“Okay. I'm glad we're not going to the Donnellys' house.”

The living room at the Lincoln home was immaculate, but Sandy didn't argue. Her mother never had to worry about unexpected guests finding the house a mess. While the meat loaf was cooking, Sandy went upstairs to her bedroom. On her thirteenth birthday, her parents installed a telephone extension in her room, and Sandy picked out a pink princess phone that was now a joke rather than a prized possession. She called Jessica.

“It's better that they're coming over here,” Sandy said to her friend. “Brad's house is kind of creepy.”

“It's because of all the drinking that goes on over there. And who knows how his parents treat each other when no one is around.”

Jessica's parents didn't allow alcohol of any kind in the house. Sandy's father would drink a cold beer while watching a football game on Saturday or after cutting the grass on a hot day. Brad never told Sandy if his folks argued a lot, but his father regularly yelled at the referees during football games.

“What are you going to say?” Jessica asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“Keep your mouth shut. Let your daddy take up for you.”

“What if he starts in on Brad? It could ruin everything.”

“Maybe it will make him realize what he's done to you.”

“And then dump me?”

“Sandy, I'm just telling you how I feel. We've been best friends since we were three years old. I'm worried to death about you. I couldn't concentrate during majorette practice and dropped the baton more than I have since ninth grade. When I got home I went straight to my room and haven't come out, because I know my mom will figure out that I'm upset and start grilling me.”

“Do you want to tell her?”

“Yes, but not so she'll know the latest gossip before anyone else. If I ask them, my folks will pray during your meeting with the Donnellys.”

Sandy knew she needed all the help she could get, especially if her daddy and Brad's father got heated up.

“Okay, I guess you can tell her.” Sandy paused. “I feel like dirt on the bottom of a shoe.”

“That's not what I think.”

“I know, and thanks for not judging me.”

“And I'll take up for you at school. All the girls who've been jealous of how cute and popular you are will be totally catty about it, but I promise to do what I can to protect you.”

“Love ya,” Sandy replied gratefully. “If I make it through tonight, I'll see you tomorrow.”

Sandy was surprisingly hungry and went back for a second helping of meat loaf and green beans. After the meal, she dutifully vacuumed the spotless living room, dusted the dust-free furniture, and pretended to straighten the pictures and knickknacks that were already in perfect position. On one wall of the living room were large portrait pictures of Sandy and her brothers, taken three years earlier and retouched by an artist to make them look like real paintings. She paused to look in the eyes of the fourteen-year-old girl who stared back without any hint of how radically her life would change in such a short time.