by Judy Duarte
Obviously, her father had come to a clear conclusion about Brad’s ranking.
“Which positions are those?” she asked.
“Clerkships with judges for one. Prestigious firms are another. In fact, when I was in law school, the district attorney’s office only interviewed people who were in the top ten percent.”
“You were in that group, weren’t you?”
Her dad smiled and nodded. “I was number three.”
“But you didn’t want a position with the DA’s office because you earn more as a defense attorney.”
He was silent for a moment, introspective. Then he cleared his throat. “Your grandfather advised me to take a position with a criminal defense firm, and so did your mother.”
“But that wasn’t your first choice?”
“No.” He seemed to ponder his answer, and she stole another sidelong glance at him. He wore a frown and held the steering wheel as though he was afraid he’d eject from the sunroof if he didn’t. “To be honest, I would have rather worked for the DA’s office.”
His admission took her aback, and she struggled with the perception she’d always had of him—the champion of the underdog and the downtrodden.
“You mean you actually considered being a prosecutor?” she asked.
He shrugged, then his stoic expression morphed into a wistful grin. “I watched too many John Wayne movies growing up.”
She’d never realized that he might have a few regrets of his own. That he’d been urged and guided to make the right choices, choices that might not have been in his best interest.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “you’ve always been one of the good guys to me.”
“Thanks, honey.” He reached across the seat and patted the top of her knee. “How many men have their own private cheerleader?”
Shana risked another peek at her father’s profile and studied him in a way she’d never done before.
He’d always been a handsome man, but in the past year his hair had grayed more at the temples and the laugh lines had deepened around his eyes.
But now, on the drive home, she couldn’t help noting how his thoughts had created a V-shaped line that marred his brow.
“Are you sorry?” she asked.
“About what?”
“Not working for the DA.”
“Hey.” He tore his gaze from the road and tossed her a smile. “It’s no big deal. Years ago, I made a decision that was best for the family.”
“So you’re not bogged down in regret?”
He glanced back out the windshield, and she wasn’t sure if it was for safety reasons or to wait a beat before answering.
Finally, he said, “It’s only natural to look back and wonder what life would have been like if you’d chosen another road, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you regret the one you took.”
Shana had done a lot of that, imagining what her life would have been like if she’d stood up to her mother years ago. If she hadn’t taken the easy way out each time she’d been presented with a dilemma.
She supposed that, over the course of her college years, she’d imagined every possible alternate scenario in her mind, and not too many of them had ended up with her being happy, so it wouldn’t have really mattered if she’d chosen another option or not. She’d come to learn that life wasn’t an Etch A Sketch; one couldn’t shake things up and start over.
As her father turned on the blinker, signaling his intent to exit the freeway, she had second thoughts about going straight home, about facing her mother and talking about the wedding details and the guest list.
Or her decision to come home.
“Would you mind dropping me off at Kristy’s? I need to talk to her about a few things. She’s not working today, so she’ll be home.”
“Your mother will be disappointed that you didn’t stop to see her first.”
“I’ll make it up to her somehow.”
Minutes later, the Mercedes pulled along the curb in front of Kristy’s house.
“Thanks for picking me up. I’ll see you at the house this evening.” She tossed him a love-you-Daddy smile, then grabbed her purse, shut the passenger door, and strode up the walk.
Before she even reached the door, Kristy stepped out on the porch and greeted her with a warm hug. “It’s good to have you back, Shana.”
“I’m glad to be home.”
Okay, that wasn’t completely true. But there were things even her best friend didn’t know, things Shana didn’t want to share. Things that, even though she’d tamped them down so far and so deep, she still feared would rise to the surface if she wasn’t careful.
“Come on inside,” Kristy said, leading her into the living room of the old Victorian that had always felt more loving, more welcoming than Shana’s own house.
As she scanned the worn interior, she was actually glad to see that nothing had changed while she’d been gone.
“Where’s Jason?” she asked.
“He’s playing at Tommy’s house and will be home shortly.”
The two friends chatted for a while, playing catch-up, until Kristy said, “Ramon came by Paddy’s Pub the other day and asked about you.”
Shana’s heart nearly imploded at the news, yet she scurried to appear only slightly curious. “What did he say?”
“Just that he was surprised to hear you were marrying Brad, that he thought you could do better.”
Could she?
She had her doubts.
But as her thoughts were prone to do whenever they went unchecked, they drifted to Ramon, the boy she’d once loved with all her heart.
The relationship had been short-lived and star-crossed from day one.
When her mother had learned that Shana had been seeing Ramon on the sly, she’d been shocked.
“What are you thinking?” she’d asked. “He’s an immigrant, the son of a groundskeeper. You can—and you will—do better than that.”
But had she?
Shana shook off the memory and managed a smile. “I haven’t seen Ramon since high school graduation. How’s he doing?”
“Good. Great, actually. He’s started his own business and it seems to be taking off nicely.”
“I’d heard he’d started up a mobile lawn-mowing business.”
“That might be how it started out,” Kristy said. “But next time you go to Mulberry Park, check out the flower garden he created and maintains. The city took proposals and then chose his plan over quite a few others.”
“He always did have an eye for color.” Shana’s thoughts again drifted to the boy she’d once loved, to what they’d had, to what might have been.
It’s only natural to look back and wonder what life would have been like if you’d chosen another road, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you regret the one you took, her father had said earlier.
Maybe not, but the sadness that had begun to darken her mood, the heaviness she’d managed to shake on the drive to Sugar Plum Lane, came back in full force.
On Monday afternoon, Renee sat in the waiting room at the free clinic, where she thumbed through a shabby issue of Better Homes and Gardens while waiting for her name to be called.
She paused when she spotted an article about decorating the home on a shoestring budget by shopping at garage sales, studying each photo, all of which were unique and interesting. It was amazing what a person could do with junk no one else wanted.
A smile pulled at her lips as she thought about the boys who kept bringing her things for the tree house—stuff that could be found at yard and garage sales. If they kept it up, she would have to build a second floor to extend her space.
Of course, now that she was working and earning money rather than just spending it, things had begun to look up. In a few weeks, she hoped to be able to rent a room from someone who wouldn’t mind having a baby in the house.
Mary Ellen certainly hadn’t been okay with it.
Renee glanced at the backpack that sat next to her. The zipper
was partially open, and a little stuffed teddy bear that had been made by someone who knew how to knit or crochet poked its head out, its pink string mouth stitched into a grin.
“This is for the baby,” Danny had said yesterday when he’d given it to her. “A lady at the soup kitchen gave these to us kids when my mom took us there to eat once.”
Renee assumed Dawn Randolph was the woman who’d given it to him since she was the one who made those little stuffed animals and passed them out to the kids.
Dawn really liked children; it was obvious. She reminded Renee of Mrs. Wolfe, her first grade teacher.
Mrs. Wolfe had been super nice, too. She used to keep a hair brush and comb in her desk drawer, along with ribbons and barrettes. And she would call Renee in each morning before school started and fix her hair. Back then, Renee always thought it was because Mrs. Wolfe didn’t have kids of her own and kind of liked fussing over a girl’s hair.
Looking back, though, Renee suspected she’d done it because she’d felt sorry for the only girl in class who hadn’t had anyone to help her get ready for school in the mornings.
Mrs. Wolfe also used to keep snacks and goodies in her desk drawer, like granola bars. So when it was snack time, Renee always had something to eat, like the other kids.
At the soup kitchen, Dawn was concerned about Renee having plenty to eat, too, and always sent extra food home with her.
Yesterday, while they were fixing lunch, Dawn mentioned that she and Joe would like to adopt a baby since they couldn’t have kids. The comment had kind of come out of the blue, since Renee hadn’t been expecting it. And for a moment—a very brief one—Renee had thought that Dawn would make a better mother for the baby than she would.
But then the baby started kicking, reminding Renee that there was a real kid inside her stomach who had rights and feelings that shouldn’t be ignored. So she’d let the idea pass as quickly as it had come to her.
There was no way she would ditch her baby, the way her mom had ditched her. Not even if the baby went to someone like Dawn.
“Renee Delaney?”
“Yes?” She spotted a woman holding a medical chart while waiting in the open doorway. So she put the magazine on the table in front of her, stood, grabbed her backpack—taking care not to jostle the little bear loose—and headed toward the door that led to the exam rooms.
“How are you doing?” the nurse asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
First stop was the scale. After getting Renee’s weight, the nurse took her to a room, where she laid out one of those open-in-back gowns and a sheet on the small exam table. “If you’ll get undressed, I’ll be back to check your blood pressure.”
Renee nodded, then waited for her to shut the door before putting on the gown and climbing onto the table. Before long, the nurse returned to check her blood pressure, as well as her pulse.
“Dr. Purvis will be in shortly,” she said.
Ten minutes later, a stocky, gray-haired man who was wearing a white lab coat and half-lens reading glasses that rode low on his nose, entered the room and introduced himself as the doctor. He wasn’t happy that Renee had waited so long to come in to see him.
She had a hundred excuses she could have made, but they would only make her sound young and dumb and in dire straits, so she kept quiet.
He didn’t continue to give her a hard time about it, so that was good. He asked her quite a few questions, and she answered them the best she could.
“The chart says you’re twenty-one,” he said.
Did her real age matter? Doctors were supposed to turn people in who abused kids. She knew that for a fact because one of her foster moms, Darlene Griffin, got mad once and twisted Renee’s arm until it snapped. The doctor at the ER reported Darlene to child protective services, and they removed Renee and another foster kid from the home.
There was no way Renee would ever hurt her child, but what if Dr. Purvis thought she wouldn’t take good care of it? Or what if he thought the baby would be better off with someone older? Someone who had a house or a yard?
“Yes,” she said, hoping a breezy smile would put his concerns to rest. “I’m twenty-one. But don’t worry. I’ve got an ID if you want to check it.”
Paternal eyes swept over her, almost like he’d learned how to tell a person’s real age by looking, but he didn’t challenge her. Instead, he asked her to lie down. When she did, resting her head on the pillow, he proceeded to poke and push on her stomach.
Then, after he called the nurse back into the room, he did a pelvic exam. When he was finished, he asked the nurse to set up for an ultrasound.
“What’s that?” Renee asked.
“It’s a scan that will show us what’s going on inside your uterus,” Dr. Purvis said. “It’s routine at this point. I want to make sure everything is proceeding and developing the way it’s supposed to.”
That made sense.
“In your case,” he said, “I’ll be watching you closely since you’re a high-risk pregnancy.”
“Why?” she asked, wondering if he’d found something wrong.
“Your age for one thing.”
She wouldn’t cop to lying about it unless he started yelling at her. But he didn’t.
“I want you to start on prenatal vitamins right away,” he added. “And we’ll need you to have blood drawn before you leave the office. I also want a urine sample. If I find anything we need to be concerned about, I’ll give you a call.”
“Would it be okay if I called you? I don’t have a phone.”
His glasses slid to the tip of his nose, and he looked at her over the top of them. “Okay.”
For some reason, she felt busted again.
The nurse wheeled in a machine, and as she set it up, the doctor smeared a cold gel on Renee’s belly. Moments later, she was instructed to look at the screen. Her first thought was that it had bad reception like a TV on the blink.
“There’s your baby,” Dr. Purvis said.
“Where?” Renee studied the black and gray images on the screen, trying to spot something baby-like swimming around.
Dr. Purvis pointed out the head and the spine, which he said looked good. He also showed her the arms and hands, as well as the legs and feet.
A fist went up and seemed to disappear into the baby’s head.
“See that?” Dr. Purvis asked. “The baby’s sucking its thumb.”
“Really?” Renee’s lips parted, and her eyes widened, as she looked at the doctor to see if he was messing with her. But he didn’t seem to be.
He fiddled with a couple of buttons and typed in some numbers, then he made the screen freeze. “You’re about twenty-two weeks along. Do you want to know if you’re having a girl or a boy?”
“No kidding? Can you really tell?” Renee tore her gaze away from the screen long enough to check out the doctor’s face.
Again, his expression was serious. “If the baby will cooperate, I can tell.”
“Then, yes. Absolutely. I want to know what it’s going to be.”
He went back to work, pushing the camera-thingy against her belly. “Aw, there we go. I’ve got a clear view. And … it’s a little girl.”
Renee hadn’t given the baby’s sex any thought until Jesse had said it would be a girl. And from that day on, she’d begun to imagine herself with a daughter.
Weird that Jesse would know that.
She bit down on her bottom lip, then asked, “Can you tell if she has dark curly hair?”
Dr. Purvis chuckled. “I’m afraid our technology isn’t that good yet.”
Her head sunk back on the pillow. “It doesn’t really matter. I was just wondering, that’s all.”
Jesse had probably been blowing smoke when he’d made his prediction, which really wasn’t that big of a stretch. There’d been a fifty-fifty chance that he would guess right.
But none of that really mattered.
The baby had become real today, and for the very first time, Renee was looking forward t
o holding her daughter in her arms.
Shana had stayed at Kristy’s until six last night, catching up with her friend and getting a chance to play with Jason and visit with Mrs. Smith.
It had been sad seeing the once warm and vibrant woman bedridden and so clearly miserable. As a child and a teen, Shana had gravitated toward Kristy’s grandma, a woman who hadn’t minded when the girls made cookies in her spic-and-span kitchen or stayed up all night yakking and giggling. And she’d never fussed about social pretenses, something her own grandmother always did.
So, when it neared the dinner hour, Kristy had asked a neighbor to sit with her grandma and had driven Shana home.
Upon entering the house for the first time in months, Shana had found her mother in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. She greeted her with a hug, and they went through the usual I-missed-you motions.
“I’ll have dinner on the table shortly,” her mother said.
“I’m really sorry, but I’m going to pass. I’m exhausted after that flight. All I want to do is sleep.”
Her mother had undoubtedly gone above and beyond by fixing all of her favorite food, but she put on a good-little-soldier smile. “I understand.”
Shana had then gone to her bedroom, sequestering herself inside, where nothing had changed while she’d been gone. The bed was still covered with that blue comforter with white trim, the walls bore the same matching wallpaper. Even her Fairbrook High pom-poms and megaphone remained in the corner where she’d left them, a memorial to a carefree teenage girl who’d ceased to exist.
Today she’d let her mom talk her into going to San Diego to shop for wedding dresses, but she’d tried on so many white gowns that her head was spinning and she couldn’t make a decision.
At least, that’s the excuse she’d used when her mom had asked which one she liked best.
Now, after ending the shopping trip, she and her mother pulled into the driveway.
“I’ll have dinner on the table in less than an hour,” her mom said.
“Please don’t rush for me. I’m going to Mulberry Park to run, and I won’t be back for at least that long.”
