The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, but I didn’t know why.” Sandy remembered the book of photos from her parents’ wedding. Linda, her blond hair cropped short and wearing dark-framed glasses, was her mother’s maid of honor. “You were smiling in the wedding pictures.”

  “Because I’d said my piece. I’ve been willing to move on, but your father has been stuck in the same spot for twenty years.”

  Sandy sighed. “I liked it better when I was a little girl who didn’t know what was going on.”

  “What’s really sad is that age doesn’t necessarily bring maturity.”

  Sandy kept trying to reach Angelica, but no one answered. Four phone calls, spaced about an hour apart, were fruitless. At 9:00 p.m., Sandy went to the study where Linda was working.

  “No one is answering the phone at Angelica’s apartment, and I’m getting worried. What if the bleeding came back worse than before?”

  Linda pushed the chair away from the typewriter and took off her glasses.

  “What do you want to do? Go over there?”

  “I don’t know. If someone was home, I’d think they would answer the phone. We could call the police, but what are we going to tell them? If Ricardo has done something else to her—” Sandy stopped, trying not to fear the worst.

  “Put on your jacket,” Linda said.

  They took Sandy’s car.

  “It’s a second-floor unit,” Sandy said as she turned into the apartment complex.

  Sandy didn’t see Ricardo’s blue car. She parked in front of the apartment building. No lights shone from the windows.

  “Nobody’s home,” Sandy said.

  “We’ve come this far,” Linda replied. “I’m going to knock on the door.”

  Sandy wrapped her arms around herself against the chill as they walked up the single flight of steps to a metal door painted forest green. Sandy put her ear to the door for a second and heard nothing. Linda rapped the door sharply. They waited. She knocked again. Nothing. Sandy raised her hand and pounded the door with the side of her fist. There was no response.

  “If someone is in there, they’re not going to answer,” Linda said. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call the manager of the complex and see if I can find out something. It may be a dead end.”

  Sandy didn’t like the sound of Linda’s last words.

  Before eating breakfast the following morning, Sandy called the apartment again. The phone rang and rang. Just as she was about to hang up, a female voice with a Spanish accent answered.

  “Capitola?” Sandy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Sandy Lincoln. Where is Angelica? I’ve been worried sick about her.”

  “On her way home to Monterrey. I took her to the airport last night and put her on a plane to Mexico City.”

  Sandy breathed a sigh of relief. Then the realization that Angelica was gone hit her.

  “Is she coming back? I’d hate for her to drop out of school. We’re near the end of the semester.”

  “No, her parents are going to send her to her old high school. After that she’ll probably go to the Tec de Monterrey. It’s one of the best universities in the country.”

  “She’s good in science,” Sandy said.

  “Yes, and she told me what you did for her while I was gone. Thank you for your courage in picking her up when she’d been abandoned. Her father knows about your kindness.”

  Sandy had seen a photo of Angelica’s father, an unsmiling man wearing a dark-blue business suit.

  “Is Ricardo gone?” she asked.

  “I haven’t seen or heard from him. He didn’t come to work and hasn’t answered the phone at his apartment.”

  “I was worried he might have caused more trouble.”

  “He’s a coward. Maybe someday Angelica can forget what happened here.”

  “Will you let her know I called and send me her address so I can write?”

  “Yes, you were like a sister to her.”

  Sandy didn’t trust herself to say anything else without crying. She hung up the phone as Linda came into the kitchen.

  “That’s a relief,” Linda said when Sandy told her about the conversation. “But I know you’ll miss her.”

  “Yeah, now I’m really going to have to learn how to be alone at school.”

  Several days later Sandy had an appointment with Dr. Berman, her ob-gyn. While sitting in the waiting room, she flipped through a magazine and found an article about a mother of twin boys. Sandy stared at the picture of the woman, a blonde like herself, who lived with her husband in Ohio. The boys were fraternal twins. As she read the story, Sandy rested her hand on her ever-growing abdomen. That morning at breakfast Linda had interrogated her about her food intake. Sandy defended herself.

  “You know the meals in the cafeteria at school are terrible, and I’m not snacking in the afternoon”—Sandy paused—“except for the bag of chocolate-chip cookies I keep in the bottom drawer of my dresser. But that bag has lasted four days and the one before it even longer.”

  “No need to hide anything; however, ask Dr. Berman about your weight. And I think you should probably drink milk with your cookies. Vitamin D is important.”

  Taking the magazine with her when she was called for her appointment, Sandy stepped onto a scale in a centrally located hallway. The nurse pushed the weights to the right, readjusted the one on the bottom lever, and tapped the one on top a few more times until it balanced. Sandy didn’t look at the result. After a nurse checked her vital signs, Sandy was left alone in an examination room. She continued to read the article about the twin boys who had distinct differences as well as close similarities. Dr. Berman entered the room.

  The ob-gyn was a short Jewish woman with curly dark hair. She sat down, crossed her legs, and started talking while reviewing Sandy’s chart.

  “No more morning sickness?”

  “Not for several weeks.”

  “Taking your vitamins?”

  “Yes.”

  “All your vitals and blood work from your previous visit are good.” The doctor flipped back a page, then returned to Sandy’s current status. “Let’s talk about your diet.”

  Sandy answered all the doctor’s questions about her caloric intake.

  “The baby’s father is a football player,” Sandy offered at one point. “He plays wide receiver.”

  “That might make your baby fast but not necessarily large.” The doctor stood up. “Normally, I don’t do a physical exam on this visit, but let’s take a look.”

  Sandy watched the doctor’s face as she measured and examined. Nothing about the physician’s expression revealed any concern.

  “You’re a small-framed woman carrying a fast-developing baby,” Dr. Berman said when she finished.

  Sandy sat up on the edge of the examination table.

  “I was reading an article about twins. Is there a chance I might be carrying two babies?”

  “Any history of twins in your family?”

  “No, but I’m not sure about the father’s family.”

  “It would depend on your genetic disposition, not his.”

  “It was just a thought—”

  “And a real possibility,” the doctor interrupted, “based on your development. You’re at twenty-one weeks but measure more like twenty-six.”

  “You’re serious?” Sandy’s mouth dropped open.

  “The thought of multiples crossed my mind while examining you. If you’re carrying twins or triplets, you’ll likely deliver the babies around thirty-six or thirty-seven weeks.”

  “Triplets?”

  “Are very, very rare. But twins are enough of a possibility that you might want to mention it to the adoption agency. Who’s your caseworker?”

  “Mrs. Longwell.”

  “She should know so they can have contingency plans.”

  “Is there any way you can check and make sure?”

  “X-rays aren’t recommended. There are experimental machines that rely on sound waves to create an image of what’s in the
uterus, but nothing that’s been approved for use with patients. Would the presence of twins affect your decision to place the babies for adoption?”

  Hearing the doctor say “babies” made it seem much more real than the words spoken by a strange old woman at a gas store.

  “I don’t think so. I’m less able to raise two babies than I am one.”

  Dr. Berman nodded. “We’ll see how you’ve progressed at your next visit.”

  Leaving the doctor’s office, Sandy took the elevator to the third floor.

  “I don’t have an appointment,” she told the receptionist, “but if Mrs. Longwell has a few minutes, I’d like to see her.”

  While she waited, Sandy felt that her baby or babies were growing larger by the second. The skin across her stomach was tight. She couldn’t imagine what she would look and feel like in seventeen more weeks. The door opened. It was Mrs. Longwell.

  “Hello, Sandy,” she said.

  They went to the caseworker’s office. Since her initial visit, Sandy had completed a battery of tests and filled out two long questionnaires. She’d learned that prospective parents had to complete even more paperwork.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” she said when they sat down. “I had an appointment with Dr. Berman, and she told me there’s a chance I might be carrying twins.”

  “You mentioned that at our first meeting,” Mrs. Longwell said, raising her eyebrows. “A woman’s intuition about those types of things can be uncanny.”

  “It’s nothing definite, of course, but the doctor said I should tell you.”

  “Right. Better to be prepared for the possibility than scrambling around trying to find a family willing to take twins at the last minute.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want them to be placed with the same family,” Sandy said.

  “Why not? Our preference is to keep siblings together.”

  Sandy shifted in her chair. “But it’s not a requirement?”

  “No,” the caseworker responded slowly. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  Sandy started to tell Mrs. Longwell about meeting the old woman but couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was a bizarre encounter, and to base a decision on it would make Sandy sound silly.

  “I’d rather not say,” she replied.

  Mrs. Longwell studied her for a moment.

  “If you insist on separate families, it’s a huge decision that will affect the lives not only of your babies but of a lot of other people.”

  “I know. Could it be like the intuition thing you mentioned?” Sandy asked hopefully.

  Mrs. Longwell tapped her pen against a pad on her desk.

  “We have a psychologist who is available to meet with prospective mothers. Maybe you should see her. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you; it’s a way to gather information that will help you make the best decisions. Would you be willing to talk to Dr. Bondy? She’s very insightful.”

  Sandy was feeling trapped and regretted bringing up the subject of twins with Mrs. Longwell.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it,” Mrs. Longwell said in her kind voice. “There’s no need to cross that bridge today.”

  The caseworker swiveled in her chair and reached for a thick folder.

  “I’m glad you stopped by. The results of your tests are in and have been collated with the answers on your questionnaires. I was going to discuss this with you when we met later this month, but it’s not too early to begin thinking about placement options. You checked that you’d prefer a closed adoption without ongoing contact with the baby, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I talked to my parents, and we think it’s the best way to go. That way, I can go on with my life, and the baby’s family doesn’t have to worry about me trying to meddle. Also, I went to high school in Rutland with twin girls who were adopted. They didn’t know their birth mother and told me they didn’t want to have any contact with her because it would make them feel confused, like they had to pick which mother to love. I don’t want to cause that type of problem.”

  “Were these girls adopted by the same family?”

  “Uh, yes.” Sandy gave Mrs. Longwell a sheepish look. “But the Bergeson girls are identical twins.”

  “Is there something about their relationship that makes you want to avoid a single placement for twins?”

  “No.”

  Mrs. Longwell waited, but Sandy wasn’t going to explain.

  “Okay,” the caseworker said. “Deciding whether to have an open or closed adoption is a decision that needs to be made early in the process. More adoptive couples prefer a closed adoption than an open one. If you go with a closed adoption, it gives you a broader selection of prospective parents to choose from.”

  “That’s good, right?” Sandy asked.

  “It can be.”

  “I want to do what’s best.”

  Sandy left Mrs. Longwell’s office with a timeline for future steps and an extensive questionnaire about the type of parents Sandy wanted for her baby, or babies. Getting pregnant had been so random. The adoption process was painstakingly intentional.

  ELEVEN

  Sandy finished the semester with all As and spent Christmas vacation in Rutland. When Ben saw her, his eyes got larger.

  “Wow,” he said. “You’re really getting fat.”

  “It’s not fat,” Sandy’s mother corrected him.

  “It’s okay.” Sandy laughed. “I feel as fat as Santa. His fat jiggles; mine wiggles. Do you want to feel the baby move? He’s gotten a lot more active the past few days. I think he’s practicing some wrestling moves.”

  Ben backed away as if from a dog about to attack.

  “No.”

  “Don’t tease him,” Sandy’s mother said.

  “How do you know it’s a boy?” Ben asked.

  “I have a fifty-fifty chance of being right,” Sandy answered lightly.

  Later that afternoon Sandy helped her mother fix supper in the kitchen. While they worked, Sandy filled her mother in on the book she and Linda had been discussing earlier in the week. While she talked, Sandy expertly diced onions with a sharp knife.

  “You’ve learned a lot living with Linda, haven’t you?” her mother asked.

  “Yes,” Sandy said, continuing to chop the onions. “And I think I did a lot better on the SAT than I did when I took it last spring. My body is making a baby, and my brain is getting smarter.”

  “That’s unusual. Most women suffer ‘pregnancy brain.’ ”

  “What’s that?”

  “Getting really absentminded.”

  “That’s not happened to me. At least not yet. I guess it helps that I don’t have a bunch of extracurricular activities at school.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  “Yes.” Sandy put the onions in a small skillet. “But there’s no use thinking about it.”

  “When you go to college, you can get back into circulation.”

  Sandy knew that was her mother’s way of talking about dating. None of Sandy’s current daydreams were about meeting the right boy.

  “Linda told me about the advice she gave you before you married Daddy.”

  Her mother was rinsing carrots in the sink. Turning off the water, she turned around and handed the carrots to Sandy.

  “She shouldn’t have done that, but Linda never has had a proper filter on her mouth. Don’t believe everything she tells you. Just because an opinion is strongly held doesn’t make it true.”

  “I listen to her and don’t argue.”

  “Which is what I’ve done since we were girls. Eventually, she moved past her opinion about your father, but he’s never liked her.”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “Until now,” her mother said. “When Linda offered to help you through this crisis by letting you live with her free of charge, your daddy was shocked. He’d always thought Linda was selfish and wouldn’t believe me when I told him otherwise. One goo
d thing that might come out of this is less tension between them. He even told me to invite her to spend Christmas Eve and morning with us.”

  Sandy rapidly removed the skin from the carrots, then began slicing off thin pieces to cook in brown sugar and butter.

  “Do you have any regrets about giving up the possibility of a career and moving to Rutland?” Sandy asked.

  Sandy’s mother gave a rare laugh. Sandy waited for a fuller explanation but none came. She put the carrots in a saucepan.

  “I’m sure that I’m doing the right thing placing the baby for adoption,” Sandy continued. “If I’m ever going to be a mother, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. Even though you moved to Atlanta, I haven’t been one hundred percent certain how your heart felt. I’ve had my struggles about adoption.”

  “How?”

  Her mother kept her back to Sandy.

  “I believe it’s the best decision too, but the thought that my first grandchild will be raised by strangers is enough to break my heart.”

  It was Sandy’s turn not to respond. Instead, she stirred the onions a bit more vigorously than necessary.

  The only friend who came to see Sandy during the Christmas break was Jessica. They huddled up in Sandy’s room, and Jessica bombarded her with an inexhaustible supply of questions about being pregnant.

  “You’ll find out someday when you’re married to a wonderful husband and have thousands of dollars to decorate a gorgeous nursery,” Sandy said at one point.

  “You’re the one who’s going to marry a handsome guy and have a picture-perfect family. After all you’ve been through, I believe God has someone special waiting in the future.”

  Sandy thought about Brad’s comment that she would be “used up.” She rested her hand on her swollen abdomen.