by Brandi Rarus
Still she always tried to do the right thing. Once, when she had been drinking at a party, instead of driving home, she got a lift and asked a friend of hers to drive her car home for her. She waited nervously for the sound of her car engine in the driveway. After twenty minutes had passed, she called her friend, who informed her that she had gotten into a car accident; she had dropped a cigarette while driving and decided to search for it. “You got what? You did what?” Jess screamed into the phone. At 2:00 AM, she had had to wake up her father, who was asleep on the couch; he was very angry, and Jess was really scared this time.
They went to the crash site only to discover that her friend had rolled the car—it had hit the curb, rolling over twice, and had landed in a ditch; it was totaled. Fortunately, no one was hurt. The police gave Jess a Breathalyzer test, probably because it was her car that had been wrecked. Her father stood there watching. She blew a .01, which wasn’t above the legal limit for driving, but she got a ticket for being a minor drinking underage. Her father made her pay for both the ticket and the month-long chemical awareness program she had to take, and the incident also cost Jess her spot on the school softball team. This really upset her because she just loved cracking that ball. She’d started playing softball when she was eleven, usually playing second base, and she was an outstanding batter.
On July 4th, after giving her father the phony friend’s name, she turned off her cell phone, and with two six-packs in her trunk, hit the road with a friend. Three hours later, at 7:00 PM, they arrived in Algona and met BJ and one of his friends in the parking lot of the tournament field. BJ was in his uniform, all grubby and sweaty from playing six hours of baseball, but looking as cute as ever. The parking lot was packed with cars and people who were just hanging around and having a good time while waiting for the fireworks to begin.
They chatted for a while, and then Jess and her friend accompanied BJ back to his house and waited for him to take a shower. Soon after, BJ’s friend arrived, and the four of them piled into BJ’s truck, along with Jess’s beer. She was really excited, very attracted to BJ, and loving the idea of being with an older guy. The four of them drove around for a while, laughing, drinking beer, having a great time, and then headed for a cabin in the woods that belonged to the parents of one of BJ’s friends. When they reached the cabin, they’d already polished off the two six-packs, so they drank some vodka that they’d found there. Well, one thing led to another and before Jess knew it, she was very drunk and in bed having sex with BJ.
Driving home the following morning, Jess felt pretty awful about the whole thing, and the five voicemails waiting for her from her father didn’t help. “Where the hell are you, girl?” he shouted, each time louder than the time before. Five weeks later, after missing her period, Jess took two home pregnancy tests that both turned out positive. (She carefully threw the sticks and wrappers away, so that her father wouldn’t find them.) Yet, even though she had been terrified for weeks that she was pregnant, she thought for sure the tests were false positives. Still, just to be sure, she asked her friend Ashley to go with her to Planned Parenthood, which was located about an hour away in Mankato.
At 10:00 AM, the following morning, they pulled into the parking lot of a yellow, three-story building and went inside. Nervously, Jess told the receptionist why she was there, and then sat down and filled out the forms that the woman had given her. Ten minutes later, an overweight nurse with a big smile on her face greeted her and took her to the lab to draw blood. After that, Jess sat in the waiting room until the nurse returned fifteen minutes later with her test results.
“Jess,” she said, this time with a tentative smile. Jess looked up at her, shaking.
“I’m so sorry, hon, but your blood test came back positive. You’re pregnant and . . .”
The rest of what she said faded out completely, until Jess heard the words, “due date” and “March 26,” when her heart stopped and her stomach fell while the words reverberated in her head. She felt as though there was nothing to grab onto and no floor beneath her feet. She burst into tears—the reality of the situation killing her inside. Her first thought was that her father was going to kill her; rebel that she was, Jess still couldn’t stand disappointing him like this.
After giving her a moment to recover, the nurse continued, “I know that it’s a shock, but it’s going to be all right. Do you have any family or friends who can help you to decide what you want to do?”
At first, Jess didn’t respond and then shook her head no. The nurse opened a folder she had and gave her some booklets and brochures to read.
“Let’s talk about your options, which are to have an abortion or to raise the baby,” she continued, mentioning nothing about adoption. Years later, Jess remembered that conversation, thinking how ridiculous it was that at Planned Parenthood, of all places, she wasn’t told about adoption. She herself would later stand before a class of high school students, telling them all about Zoe and about her positive experience with choosing to place her for adoption. However, at the time, she didn’t even notice the omission, not knowing anything about the process herself.
“Do you know what you want to do?” the nurse went on. Jess shook her head no. For a split second, she’d considered having an abortion, but quickly dismissed it because abortion went against her strict Lutheran upbringing.
She stumbled out of the clinic and called her mother, who immediately uttered, “Oh my God. Maybe you’ll have a miscarriage.” A woman of forty-six, her heart ached as she felt her daughter’s shock, devastation, and turmoil. She remembered Jess telling her just a few weeks before, almost desperately, that she had started taking the pill, and realized that when Jess had told her that, she must have already known that she was pregnant and was hoping that taking it would make her “unpregnant” or knock the baby out, or something—which was exactly what Jess was hoping. When her mother first heard Jess talk about BJ, she had been very troubled by the fact that he was older than Jess, thinking about all of the liquor he could buy, and how Jess, at seventeen, was at such a different stage of life than the twenty-two-year-old young man.
Working in human services determining welfare eligibility for single mothers, Jess’s mother, Sonia, saw what those young women went through, during their pregnancies and afterward, and she had always prayed that Jess would never find herself in that situation. However, quickly putting her thoughts and feelings aside and finding her center, she assured Jess that together they would figure out what the best thing was for her to do.
After talking with her mother, Jess and Ashley drove to Ashley’s grandmother’s house, where Ashley was living. She got lost, knowing which direction she needed to go but not the exact roads. On the way there, she anxiously smoked a half a pack of cigarettes, the last cigarettes that she smoked throughout her entire pregnancy.
Eventually they arrived, and Ashley’s grandmother, at sixty-four, was very understanding of Jess’s situation and was warm and compassionate. However, she insisted that Jess call her father to tell him what had happened. Sitting at the woman’s kitchen table, Jess dialed her father’s phone number, bracing herself. When he answered the phone, she paused for a second then said, “Dad, hi.”
Silence.
“Dad, are you there? I have to tell you something.”
“Where are you?” he fumed, upset because she had told him she would be home by now.
“I’m at Ashley’s grandma’s house. I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. He didn’t hear what she said and asked her to repeat it.
“I got pregnant,” she said again, starting to cry.
“What? You idiot. How could you be so stupid?” he shouted. “Your life is ruined. All my hopes and dreams for you are gone.”
Except for dying, Jess’s father thought that becoming pregnant was the worst fate that could ever happen to an unmarried female child. “You’d better not come home tonight,” he continued.
At that point, Jess threw her cell phone down on the floor, sobbing, an
d Ashley’s grandmother picked it up and started talking to Jess’s father, trying to console him. When Jess got home the following morning, he did allow her into the house but didn’t talk to her the whole day.
A few days later, while driving on his truck route (he delivered parts for an electrical company), he pulled over and called Jess, giving her an ultimatum. “Jess, you cannot lie to me anymore,” he said. “The lies are done. From now on, you have to be 100 percent honest with me. Do you hear what I am saying?”
“Okay, Dad,” she said, his words going in one ear and out the other, as always.
But that evening, Jess had an epiphany.
Her father, who had often turned to God when he was in a spiritual quandary, had asked their pastor to come over to give them his support. The pastor arrived at 7:00 PM, and as the three of them walked into the living room, he smiled at Jess and then thanked them both for inviting him to come over. Although Jess didn’t know the pastor personally, she had always been drawn to him at church because of his respectful, kind, and nonjudgmental manner and his thoughtful sermons. He had always put her at ease.
That night she felt drawn to him more than ever before, as they sat in her father’s living room, he on the rocking chair, her father on the leather couch, and Jess on the loveseat, all cuddled up in a blanket.
“How are you doing, Jess?” he asked her, settling into the rocking chair.
“Oh, all right,” Jess said softly, wrapping the blanket around her more tightly.
“You may think that I’m here to tell you about ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs,’” he continued, leaning in toward her slightly, “however, I’m not. Your father has told me that you already feel bad enough.”
Jess closed her eyes.
“What’s done is done,” he continued. “It’s water under the bridge. Just remember, Jess, that whatever you do in this life, whether it is right or wrong, God is always with you.”
“I know,” Jess said, glancing over at her father.
Then the pastor said, “What is important now are the decisions that you make moving forward.”
As Jess listened to the pastor’s words and felt his calm, soothing voice and kind manner, her heart began opening. His acceptance of her made her trust him even more.
“At a difficult time like this,” he went on, “what will pull you through is finding the love that is inside your heart—the love that you have for your baby, your father and mother, and also for yourself.”
Jess’s father cleared his throat.
“Most importantly,” the pastor went on, “you need to be honest, Jess. Now, more than ever, you need to be honest with your father, and especially with yourself.”
That was the turning point.
Now the truth for Jess was no longer lurking somewhere below her conscious level but was as evident as if she were seeing it face-to-face on a summer’s day. Oh, my gosh. I need to be honest, she thought. I’m not going to get very far continuing to lie. Her heart had opened, just like that. The pastor had finally gotten through to her just like Father Tom had finally gotten through to me.
“Thank you,” Jess said to the pastor. “Thank you so much.” She smiled at her father, a huge weight lifting from her shoulders, as “Jess, the liar” dissolved into thin air and “Jess, the responsible mother and young woman” was born. She finally realized that it was not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength to share with others and reach out and ask for help—and that she needed her parents’ help then more than ever. She also realized that if she had respected herself more that night in the cabin with BJ, she wouldn’t have gotten drunk and gone to bed with him. But what the pastor had said was right: what’s done is done. She would have more self-respect from that moment on.
After that night, Jess was honest with her father about whom she was with and where she was going and always came home on time. It took a little while, but eventually their relationship began to heal, and they became a real team. Her father strongly believed that Jess should place her baby for adoption. He knew how much she wanted go to college, and if she raised the baby, it would dash those plans and cause her to go on welfare. He believed that adoption was the best thing for both Jess and her baby. But Jess wasn’t so sure; she didn’t know anything about adoption.
The pastor had recommended that she go to the Caring Pregnancy Center, a nonprofit organization in Fairmont where pregnant teenagers can go to get answers. She would go the following day. But first she called BJ, whom she hadn’t heard from since they’d spent the night together. He immediately wanted to come and see her, so they arranged to meet at Gomsrud Park, a student stomping ground where Jess often hung out. Too afraid to be alone with him because of her vulnerable state, she asked her friends to come with her.
* * *
WHEN BJ RECEIVED Jess’s call, the whistle was just about to blow at the construction site where he was working. At first he didn’t know what to say, thinking that the baby might not be his. But when Jess told him that she hadn’t been with anyone else, he believed her.
It was funny. He believed that the baby was his, but there was something more to it than that. While he felt like an idiot for getting Jess pregnant, he seemed almost proud that he was going to be a father. Even as a small boy, he believed that having a child was the most precious thing in life, the one thing that was completely yours and that nobody else could take away from you. He felt that nobody else’s opinion mattered when it came to having a child. When he heard that he was going to be a father, his paternal instincts awakened. He felt a rightness about the whole situation.
As soon as he heard that Jess was pregnant with his baby, he drove right up to see her, hoping to begin a real relationship with her. He wanted to start spending time with her, to take her out for dinner, and go for walks in the park. In fact, when he arrived at Gomsrud Park and saw that her friends were with her, his heart sank; he wanted to be alone with her, so that they could really talk.
What a weird encounter it must have been: a young father-to-be sitting on a park bench next to the mother of his child, whom four months earlier he hadn’t even known existed—and who now acted like she didn’t have the time of day for him. During the five hours that they were together, her friends were there practically the whole time. He could tell that she didn’t want to be alone with him, and somewhere inside he sort of understood, even if he felt bad about it. He had gone to bed with her and then hadn’t even called her.
But his heart was in the right place.
When they were finally alone, BJ sat down on a park bench next to Jess and asked her, “Do you know what you want to do about the baby?”
“No,” Jess responded. “But I’m thinking about adoption. My due date is March 26.”
BJ’s heart skipped a beat. “Wow. When you told me the news, I was kind of hoping that you would keep the baby and that we’d both raise it,” he said, trying to sound hopeful. “We don’t have to get married or anything,” he continued, “but maybe we can live near each other and raise the baby together.”
Jess smiled but didn’t respond. She looked very pretty to him in her white jeans, Doc Marten sandals, and dark blue Hollister shirt.
After a moment of awkward silence, BJ went on, “I’m glad that you don’t want to have an abortion. Personally, I’m neither for nor against them.” He continued, “If I were a woman, I wouldn’t choose to have an abortion, but I wouldn’t hold it against any woman who did.”
“I don’t really believe in abortion,” Jess responded. “It goes against my religion, although many of my friends would have one.” She stared at the sky for a few seconds and then said, “I either want to raise the baby or place it for adoption.”
“I don’t have anything against adoption,” BJ shot back. “My brother adopted a kid, and my little nephew is totally awesome.”
“I have a feeling that it’s going to be a girl,” Jess said, looking at her belly. “I can just tell.”
“Well, I’ll bet you’re right. Do you know wh
at you want to name her?” BJ asked, brushing a piece of lint off his shirt.
“Well, actually, I was kind of thinking about calling her Emma.”
“Emma’s a cool name,” said BJ. “I’ve always liked the name Grace.”
“Maybe we’ll call her Emma Grace,” Jess replied.
BJ liked the name Emma Grace, but what he liked even more was picking the name out with Jess. It was the first thing they did for their child together. He wanted involvement from the very start; he craved it. He wanted to go through Jess’s pregnancy with her, to watch his baby grow, and know how the baby and Jess were doing. He wanted to go to the obstetrician with Jess, be there during her ultrasounds, and help her make decisions. He knew that things wouldn’t be easy but was thinking that if they could work things out between them, they might eventually even get married.
Jess said that she had a headache and asked BJ if he would drive to Shopko with her to get some aspirin. They got into Jess’s car, a 1992 gray Cutlass Ciera with red interior, Jess behind the wheel and BJ in the passenger seat. Pictures of Jess and her friends were pinned to the lining of the roof and taped to the dashboard. BJ felt really awkward and nervous being in such close quarters with her. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. But acting in good faith, he took a chance and leaned over and tried to kiss her, thinking that it might be a good way to begin their relationship.
Jess immediately recoiled, and then BJ also retreated, back into the awkward silence.
After getting the aspirin, it was already quite late, and Jess said that she had to go home. They said good-bye, and BJ drove home confused, wondering when he would see her again. He didn’t know that his attempted kiss, something he hoped would bond the two of them together, would deprive him of the very thing for which he craved: to be involved in her pregnancy. Jess wouldn’t see him or return his phone calls for a long time.
BJ’s father, a warm-hearted police officer named Dale, was quite dismayed when BJ told him the news. It was Saturday morning. BJ had come downstairs to the kitchen. His father was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, and his mother, Joann, was at the stove cooking some omelets and bacon. The coffee was brewing. BJ walked over to the counter, poured himself a glass of orange juice, drank it, and then sat down at the kitchen table. “There’s something I have to tell you guys,” he said, slapping his thighs, immediately letting his parents know that something wasn’t right.
