“She doesn’t speak Spanish. Take her back to the office and tell her to meet with Mrs. Matute.”
Once they were in the hallway, Angelica started peppering Sandy with questions. Sandy had to ask her to slow down. They reached the office and found Mrs. Matute.
“How is she going to attend classes if she can’t speak English?” Sandy asked the administrator.
“I speak English,” Angelica said, to Sandy’s surprise. “Talk slow.”
“We have to give her a chance,” Mrs. Matute said with a bored expression on her face. “Her transcript indicates she was in accelerated classes on the college prep track at a private school in Monterrey.”
“Why is she here?” Sandy asked.
“Baby,” Angelica answered, pointing to her stomach.
“Oh,” Sandy said. “Me too.”
Angelica’s eyes lit up again, and she gave Sandy a hug.
“Here’s your schedule,” Mrs. Matute said to Angelica in Spanish. “Sandy, what courses are you taking?”
Sandy rattled off her classes. Mrs. Matute made a few pencil marks.
“Angelica is in four of your six classes, including chemistry, algebra II, civics, and”—Mrs. Matute looked up and gave a wry smile—“Spanish II.”
Sandy and Angelica entered chemistry class together. The female teacher was already lecturing. She directed Sandy and Angelica to a table for two.
“We’re on page ninety-six,” the teacher said.
The teacher wrote a formula on the chalkboard.
“Can anybody complete the formula?”
Angelica looked at Sandy, who whispered the question. Angelica immediately raised her hand.
“Come to the board and finish it,” the teacher said.
Sandy nudged Angelica, who walked to the front of the room. The teacher handed her a piece of chalk, and Angelica rapidly wrote the additional steps on the board.
“Correct,” the teacher said and nodded approvingly. “Return to your seat.”
Sandy spent the rest of the class taking notes and watching Angelica flip through the textbook until she reached the last fifty pages. When the bell rang, the teacher asked Sandy and Angelica to stay after class for a minute.
“I’m Mrs. Welshofer,” the teacher said to the girls.
Sandy introduced herself and Angelica.
“Where did you go to school?” the teacher asked Angelica.
“Monterrey, Mexico.”
“And you?” she asked Sandy.
“Rutland High.”
Angelica spoke in a quick burst of Spanish.
“She says she likes chemistry,” Sandy said. “It’s her favorite subject.”
“If her work today is any indication, she won’t have a problem with this class,” Mrs. Welshofer replied. “Sandy, can you translate quietly if she has a question?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then do so. I’ll trust you to keep to the material.”
The two girls were separated during the next period. Sandy went to a European history class that contained eight students. Two of the girls in the class were wearing wedding rings. When she reconnected with Angelica in algebra II, the Hispanic girl gave her another hug and an even bigger smile. Angelica’s command of algebra paralleled her abilities in chemistry.
At lunchtime, Sandy and Angelica went to the cafeteria together. As they pushed their trays down the line, Sandy saw that Angelica was wearing multiple rings, but her ring finger was bare. As they carried their trays to a table for two against the wall, a large young man stepped in front of them.
“Hey, dolls,” he said. “Some of my friends and I would like to get to know you.”
He pointed at a long table where four boys and two girls were sitting. The girls arched their necks and eyed Sandy. The group didn’t look rough, but Sandy wanted to be cautious.
“Not today,” she replied. “I need to help Angelica with her English.”
The boy, who had an unshaven face with thick black stubble, looked down at the Hispanic girl.
“Qué pasa?” he said to Angelica, who rattled off a response that drew a blank stare.
Sandy had to stifle a laugh. Angelica had told the boy that she wouldn’t go out with a fat pig who had bristles on his face.
“Right, check you later,” the boy said.
When they reached the table, Sandy asked Angelica what she would have done if the boy had understood Spanish. Angelica smiled and shrugged.
“His accent was terrible. And he didn’t scare me.”
The rest of the school day Sandy and Angelica stuck together. In civics class, Sandy spoke to the teacher, an older woman named Mrs. Borden, and received permission to help Angelica navigate the complexities of American government and culture. In Spanish II, the teacher, a young woman from South Carolina, called Angelica to the front of the small class to read a poem by a Spanish poet.
“I’m so glad Angelica has joined us,” said the teacher when Angelica finished. “Her accent and pronunciation are so much better than mine. It’s what you’d hear from a well-educated Spanish-speaking person.”
After sixth period, Sandy asked Angelica if she could give her a ride home. The girl shook her head and pointed to her stomach.
“The father, he come for me.”
They walked outside the building together. Parked next to the curb was a shiny blue Buick. A good-looking Hispanic man in his midtwenties and wearing a dark suit got out and called out sharply to Angelica. She gave Sandy a final hug and walked quickly over to the car. The man spoke in a harsh voice, but Sandy couldn’t make out what he said. Angelica got in the car and left. Sandy had a sinking feeling that behind Angelica’s infectious smile there might be a mountain of sorrow.
After supper, Sandy called home to report on her first day. Angelica’s presence had totally changed her attitude toward the school.
“You almost sound excited,” her mother said when Sandy paused.
“I know,” Sandy replied. “It’s like I’ve found something I’m supposed to do.”
“You mean become a translator? I know you’re good in Spanish, but I thought you wanted to study interior decorating.”
“I’m not thinking that far ahead. I meant here at the school. I can help Angelica until her English improves. She’s very smart.”
Sandy’s father was attending an executive board meeting for the Rotary Club and wasn’t at home.
“Tell Daddy I kept to myself at school, except for Angelica, and nobody bothered me. It helped a bunch having someone to sit with in the cafeteria.”
“How was the food today?”
“Yucky, but I’m eating healthy with Linda. She read a book about nutrition for expectant mothers and bought some extra groceries.”
“Is she cooking?” her mother asked in surprise.
“We do it together. She says I need to learn how to live on my own.”
“Okay, obey her without arguing,” her mother said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
After the phone call ended, Sandy went into the study. Linda handed Sandy a stack of papers.
“This is a copy of the Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade. Read sections one through four. It’s background stuff. Don’t take notes. I’m going to ask you questions about it tomorrow afternoon when I get home from work.”
“If you’re going to ask questions, why can’t I take notes?”
“Because I want you to remember what you read without a crutch.”
“May I read it more than once?”
“Absolutely.”
That night Sandy propped up in bed and read the first four sections of the case. Justice Blackmun went into great detail about whether a married woman who wasn’t pregnant and a doctor who wanted to perform abortions should be parties to the lawsuit. While Sandy was hacking her way through the dense verbiage, Lillo came into the room meowing. Sandy put the cat in the bed and stroked her soft fur. The abortion case originated in Dallas. When she saw the word Texas, Sandy thought abo
ut Brad and wondered if the father of the pregnant woman in the lawsuit was the reason the plaintiff wanted the abortion. After the third reading, Sandy felt she was beginning to get a fairly good grasp of the material. It made her wonder if she had what it took to become a lawyer. She yawned and carried Lillo into the laundry room. Peaches was already curled up in the cat bed.
The following day Angelica didn’t show up in homeroom. When the minute hand crept up to the time for first period, Sandy started getting worried. Although she’d only seen him for a few seconds, Angelica’s boyfriend didn’t look like a good guy. Sandy went to chemistry class but had trouble concentrating on Mrs. Welshofer’s lecture. Halfway through the class, the door opened and Angelica, her head down, slipped into the room.
“Angelica, do you have a tardy note from the office?” Mrs. Welshofer asked.
Angelica looked at Sandy, who quickly translated the question. Angelica handed a piece of paper to the teacher, then joined Sandy at the table they shared.
“Why were you late?” Sandy asked in Spanish.
“I had a fight with Ricardo, the baby’s father.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Girls, pay attention,” Mrs. Welshofer said.
When class ended, Sandy herded Angelica into the restroom. Another girl was washing her hands. As soon as she left, Sandy put her hands on Angelica’s shoulders and repeated her question. Tears came to Angelica’s eyes. She started to cry and talk, which made it impossible for Sandy to understand what she was saying. The bell rang, and they had to separate. It wasn’t until lunchtime that the two girls were able to talk. The same table where they’d sat the day before was empty, and Sandy headed directly toward it.
Angelica told Sandy her story. Angelica’s father owned an import/export business that shipped expensive Mexican furnishings and artwork into the United States, and Ricardo worked for him as a salesman. Atlanta was the East Coast headquarters of the company and the location of a warehouse and sales office. Toward the end of the summer, Angelica came to Atlanta with her father for a visit and met Ricardo. A romantic attraction in a new place led to the pregnancy. Her father and mother decided it would be better for Angelica to remain in the United States until the baby was born rather than return to Mexico. No one in Monterrey except her immediate family knew she was pregnant. Her mother was telling her friends that Angelica was going to an exclusive school in the United States and wouldn’t be back until late spring.
Angelica was sharing an apartment with a woman employee of her father’s company. Ricardo had to drive her around and pay her expenses to keep from losing his job. If he got fired, Ricardo would be forced to leave the States. The previous evening he’d gotten mad at Angelica and hit her. Capitola, the woman she lived with, promised to keep the assault secret, but Angelica wasn’t sure she would. Up close, Sandy could see a red splotch on Angelica’s cheek.
“What are you going to do with your baby?” Sandy asked in Spanish.
“My mother wants me to leave it here with a family who wants a child.”
“Adoption?” Sandy used the English word and explained its meaning in Spanish.
“Yes,” Angelica said. “But Ricardo and I want to get married and keep the baby.”
When Sandy pulled into the driveway that afternoon, Linda came out the front door.
“Don’t get out of the car,” Linda said. “I called the adoption agency this morning and scheduled an appointment with your caseworker. We have to get going or we’ll be late.”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Make it quick.”
Sandy returned and backed the car out of the driveway.
“Why am I driving?” she asked.
“Because I want you to know how to get there on your own. I won’t be able to go every time.”
Sandy tried to concentrate on the route; however, Linda began asking her questions about the Roe v. Wade decision.
“Not bad,” Linda said. “Turn right at the next light.”
They reached the adoption agency. It was in a modern business complex of ten or twelve identical three-story brick buildings, each surrounded by parking spaces.
“Park there,” Linda said. “The doctor’s office is on the first floor; the agency is on the third floor.”
“Are they going to ask me to sign papers today?” Sandy said as they got out of the car. “I’d like Daddy to read anything before I sign it.”
“Based on your insight into Justice Blackmun’s reasoning, I think you already have a better legal mind than your father.”
They went inside the building.
“Up the stairs,” Linda said, steering Sandy away from the elevator. “You’re young, and I need the exercise.”
They climbed to the third floor. The entrance for the adoption agency was on the left. Sandy’s heart began to beat faster. She followed Linda into a small, plainly decorated reception area. An obviously pregnant woman was sitting in a plastic chair reading a magazine. A middle-aged woman sat behind a glass opening. Linda introduced herself to the receptionist.
“We’re here for an appointment with Mrs. Longwell.”
“I’ll let her know,” the woman replied.
Sandy and Linda sat next to each other across from the pregnant woman, who ignored them. Sandy studied the woman and wondered about the path she’d taken to get there. Her clothes were plain, and she was wearing slightly dirty tennis shoes. She was chewing bubble gum. While Sandy watched, she blew an enormous bubble. Sandy’s eyes widened as she waited for the bubble to explode across the woman’s face. At the last instant, the woman sucked the gum back into her mouth. She looked up and caught Sandy staring at her.
“First time?” the woman said with an accent that revealed she wasn’t from the South.
“Yes.” Sandy nodded.
“Number three for me,” the woman replied, rubbing her hand across her stomach. “My second baby at this agency. It’s a lot better than the outfit I went to in New Jersey.”
A door near the receptionist’s window opened. A man stuck his head in the room.
“Tia, I’m ready for you.”
The woman left. A few minutes later, the door opened again. This time a tall, middle-aged woman with brown hair came into the room. She shook Linda’s hand and introduced herself to Sandy.
“I’m Stephanie Longwell. Let’s go to my office and talk.”
They went down a hallway lined with adoption-themed posters: “Babies Deserve a Loving Home” and “Every Child Is a Wanted Child.” They entered a small office with three chairs in front of a wooden desk and sat down.
“Sandy, before we start, you need to know that I’m not going to ask you to commit to anything today. As I told your aunt, our goal is to treat you as gently as we would a newborn baby. I’m glad you’re considering adoption, especially with the changes in the law over the past year, but no one at this agency is going to pressure you to do anything.”
Mrs. Longwell had compassionate eyes and a calm voice that put Sandy at ease. She could understand why Linda had selected her. The caseworker asked Sandy a series of background questions. While Sandy spoke, Mrs. Longwell took notes.
“That’s all the preliminary questions,” Mrs. Longwell said. “Let me ask you an open-ended one. Why are you here?”
Sandy pointed at Linda. “She talked with my mother about adoption. At first, I wasn’t sure, but now I think it’s the best way to go.”
“Can you tell me more about how you reached that conclusion?”
Sandy gave her a fairly lengthy version of the past few weeks’ events. Of course, she left out the encounter with the old woman at the convenience store.
“Thanks for sharing,” Mrs. Longwell said when Sandy finished. “It helps me to hear from you. Now let me tell you what we can offer you and your baby.”
The caseworker handed Sandy a brochure that explained the basics of adoption and went through the information with her. Sandy stopped her when she started talking about open and cl
osed adoptions.
“Sometimes the adoptive parents stay in contact with the real mother after the adoption?” she asked.
“We prefer the term birth mother. When I first started working in this field, most adoptions were closed, with no contact or knowledge about the identities of the birth parents and the adoptive parents. The court would seal the records and rarely open them. That’s been changing over the past few years, and various levels of contact between the parties are now more common.”
Sandy turned to Linda. “I didn’t talk about that with Mama or Daddy. What do you think?”
“I think it should be up to the child later in life to decide whether to initiate contact with the birth parents. It’s my understanding you can leave your personal information with the agency in case the child is curious at a later time.”
“That’s one option,” Mrs. Longwell said. “We maintain a database that can be updated if you move or get married and have a new name. You can also decide to delete your information at any time if you want to.”
“What if I wanted to find the child?” Sandy asked.
“That’s okay if the adoptive parents agree.”
There were a lot more decisions to be made than Sandy had imagined.
“I need to think about that.”
Because Sandy was covered by her father’s health insurance policy, her prenatal care and the hospital charges for delivery of the baby would not have to be paid by an adoptive couple.
“Which expands the pool of prospective parents for you to review,” Mrs. Longwell said.
“You mean I’ll have a say about who adopts the baby?” Sandy asked in surprise.
“Yes, except for their names and specific address, we’ll give you a lot of information about the families.”
Sandy’s head was spinning.
“How can I know—”
“You’ll do the best you can,” Mrs. Longwell answered with a smile. “We administer a battery of tests to you and the prospective parents that will help us make recommendations. The tests aren’t perfect, but they increase the odds of a good match. There are thousands and thousands of couples in this country who would love to adopt your baby. We have scores of them in our files. I’m sure there will be several excellent candidates in that group.”
The Choice Page 8
