“Here’s one,” Sandy said, picking up a piece of paper. “This couple lives in Virginia. The woman has had four miscarriages. After the last one, her doctor told her it would be dangerous for her to conceive another child. She’s a third-grade teacher but wants to stay home and raise a child. Her husband is a salesman with a big corporation.”
“Does he travel a lot?”
“Uh, he’s over national accounts, whatever that means.”
“He’d be gone a lot. An absent father is a missing influence.”
Sandy thought about Brad’s father and reluctantly slipped the packet into the reject pile. She felt bad doing so but couldn’t take a chance. This would be her only opportunity to influence her baby’s life for good.
“I wish I could see pictures,” she said. “I can tell more by a person’s face than I can by what they’ve written on a piece of paper.”
“You have to trust the screening process at the agency. It’s the most scientific way to go about it. Did Mrs. Longwell have any recommendations?”
Sandy reached for two folders, each with a note paper-clipped to the cover.
“Yes. One of them is on the East Coast and one on the West Coast.”
“Still daydreaming about twins?”
Sandy rested her hand on her swollen abdomen.
“Dr. Berman doesn’t say it’s a daydream. Every measurement she’s taken indicates I’m way ahead of schedule for a single birth.”
“There’s no doubt your body is working hard.”
Sandy opened another folder.
“This couple lives in California. The woman is a speech therapist, and the husband does something with computers.”
“We have a new computer at work,” Linda said. “They installed it in a special climate-controlled room on my floor. My boss says computers are changing so fast it will be obsolete in a couple of years.”
“Would the man in California have to travel a lot in that kind of work?”
“Not necessarily. It depends on whether he’s an engineer who designs the machines or a salesman trying to market them. All I know is that it’s a good field to get into. You might want to think about it when you go to college.”
“Don’t you have to be good in math? Math is my least favorite subject.”
“Or good with languages. The computer has its own language.”
“What? It talks?”
“Not now,” Linda said. “You and I should learn about computers together.”
Sandy shrugged. She wasn’t interested in obscure scientific information that would never be relevant to day-to-day life.
“So you think I should consider the California couple?” she asked.
“Yes. I’ve been to California several times for seminars. It’s a big state, but every place I’ve been is beautiful in its own way. The weather is wonderful; the schools are excellent. I think it’s a great place to raise a family.”
“Okay,” Sandy said, “but only if I actually have twins. I feel in my heart there’s another couple that has to be the number one family. The family in the other flagged folder lives in Georgia. They’ve already adopted one baby, and I think a childless couple should get a chance before someone else receives a second child. Also, I don’t like the idea of the baby being so close to me. If that happened, I’d be staring into every stroller I saw on the sidewalk and wondering if the baby inside was mine.”
“You’ll do that anyway. There’ll always be that question in your mind.”
Sandy knew Linda was right. It was an unsettling thought.
Several days later she was sitting in Mrs. Longwell’s office.
“I’ve talked it over with Linda and called my parents,” Sandy said. “The couple in California you suggested is my number two choice.”
“Number two?”
“In case I have twins.”
“Who’s number one?”
“I haven’t decided.”
The phone on Mrs. Longwell’s desk buzzed, and she picked up the receiver. She listened for a few moments.
“I’m on my way,” she said, then hung up the phone.
Sandy stood up to leave.
“I have to go to our conference room for a few minutes. A question has come up that I need to answer in person. I’ll be right back.”
Sandy sat back down in her chair across from Mrs. Longwell’s desk. She’d been in the office many times and everything was familiar to her. She looked again at the picture of Agnes, the caseworker’s pet schnauzer. Agnes was lying on a reddish rug with a green chew toy in her mouth. Sandy leaned forward and picked up the photo. She could see the glitter of the rhinestone collar around the dog’s neck. When Sandy returned the picture to its place, she saw another photo peeking out the edge of a folder. Glancing over her shoulder, she slipped it out with her index finger.
It was a woman.
The woman had short blond hair and looked to be about thirty years old. She was standing in front of a two-story brick house beside a large palmetto tree. She had a happy smile on her face and eyes that seemed to look beyond the camera. Sandy devoured every detail of the picture. The woman was tanned and wearing a yellow blouse and light green skirt. A cream-colored Chevrolet convertible with a South Carolina license plate was parked in the driveway in front of a large two-car garage. Everything about the exterior of the house, yard, and car seemed perfect. Sandy turned the photo over. It was dated the day Sandy went to see Dr. Braselton and found out she was pregnant. There wasn’t a name on the picture. After taking one last look at the woman, Sandy slid the photo back into the folder. A few seconds later, Mrs. Longwell returned to the room.
“Sorry for the interruption,” the caseworker said. “Where were we?”
“Talking about my number one choice.”
“Right.”
Mrs. Longwell picked up a stack of four or five folders from the credenza behind her desk.
“Here are some other couples for you to review.”
Sandy took the information. She wanted to ask about the file containing the woman’s picture but knew if she mentioned it, Mrs. Longwell would know she’d snooped.
“Thanks,” she said.
The caseworker glanced down at her desk.
“Oh, and here’s one more I meant to give you.”
She picked up the folder and removed the photo before handing the information to Sandy.
“Let me know what you think. We need to identify your number one choice soon. Once that’s done, I’ll notify the couple and provide your background information to them. Then it will be up to the prospective parents to agree to the placement.”
Sandy had seen the material given to prospective parents. It felt strange reading about herself as a “seventeen-year-old, blond-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian female in excellent health with an above-average IQ, stable home environment, no history of illegal drug use, and regular prenatal care since eight weeks after gestation commenced.”
“But that won’t be a problem,” Mrs. Longwell assured her. “You’re the ideal birth mother.”
The caseworker’s choice of words made Sandy feel like a baby-making machine, but she knew Mrs. Longwell didn’t mean the phrase in that way.
“And you’re going to have two families ready in case I have twins?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Longwell nodded. “I checked out what you told me with Dr. Berman, and she confirmed it. If it’s a multiple birth, you may deliver earlier than expected.”
Sandy had tried to avoid thinking about the actual birth process. She knew the combination of physical pain and emotional upheaval would be difficult. But she suspected the inner torment at hearing the baby’s first cry and then having to face the hard reality that it would be the only sound she ever heard her child make would be worse than anything else. Birthing a second baby would multiply the pain on every level.
“I know.” Sandy sighed.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Longwell asked.
Sandy shrugged. “A lot goes through my head when I’
m lying in bed at night trying to get comfortable.”
“Is your commitment to the adoption holding up?”
“You’ve asked me that before.”
“And I will continue to do so. Remember, my job isn’t to force you to agree to an adoption. You can’t legally surrender your parental rights until after the baby, or babies, is born; however, the decision of whether or not to place a baby with another family needs to be settled before you go into the hospital and pour so much of yourself into bringing a child into the world. Weigh all the factors—”
“I’ve done that,” Sandy said. “Adoption is best for everyone.”
“All right.” Mrs. Longwell stood up. “Call me soon.”
In the parking lot, Sandy slid behind the wheel of her car. Instead of starting the VW’s engine, she picked up the folder that had contained the photo of the woman in the yellow blouse and opened it. The woman had been married for eight years. She was unable to have children following an unidentified surgery. She lived in South Carolina with her husband, who was an airline pilot. Sandy’s heart sank. Pilots would be away from home more than salesmen. But Sandy kept reading anyway. The woman had a part-time job at a flower shop. As part of a brief personal statement each prospective parent was allowed to include in the packet, the woman wrote, “I believe Jesus will send us the child he wants us to love as he loves us.”
Sandy looked out the windshield. The pilot father was a negative, but Sandy couldn’t dismiss the woman’s words. At lot of prospective parents mentioned praying for a baby. The woman’s bold statement was different. It wasn’t the way Sandy talked, but she liked the confidence it expressed. She thought again about the photograph. A shiver ran down Sandy’s spine. She placed the folder on the passenger seat of the car and started the engine.
The following week Sandy phoned Mrs. Longwell and told her the South Carolina couple was her first choice.
“What happens next?” Sandy asked.
“I’ll notify both couples that a baby may be available for them around the end of March or first of April.”
“But you’ll not mention the possibility of twins.”
“I don’t think keeping that a secret is wise,” the caseworker said slowly. “What if several years down the road one of the children has a medical need, which can only be met by a sibling? It would be especially critical if the babies are identical twins, but it could still be potentially lifesaving information even if they aren’t.”
Sandy wanted to say she was saving the babies by keeping them apart but knew that explanation wasn’t an option. She tried a different approach.
“Mrs. Longwell, have I been difficult to work with?”
“Uh, no. You’re smart and mature for your age.”
“Then please, let me do what I think is best. I’ve trusted you and the agency to find wonderful parents where my baby or babies will be loved and taken care of whether they know about a sibling or not. Don’t fight me on this.”
Sandy heard the caseworker chuckle.
“Sandy, I want you to call me in twenty years and let me know what you’re doing with your life. You’re a remarkable young woman and very persuasive in a disarming sort of way. Have you ever thought about becoming a lawyer?”
“A little.”
“You should consider it. And even though I don’t agree with you about separating twins, your request doesn’t violate our guidelines. The records here will contain the information about siblings, and you can release your restriction on communication to appropriate parties in the future if you change your mind.”
As the pregnancy progressed, Sandy started slowing down physically. She was fit, but the increasing baby load began affecting everything from her balance to her ability to breathe. There were other pregnant girls at the school at various stages of gestation, but by early March, Sandy was the most pregnant of the pregnant females. Her swollen abdomen attracted astonished stares. In her suffering she ignored them. She had to buy new shoes to accommodate her swollen feet and purchased a few maternity dresses that had as much style as the tents her father and brothers used when camping. Driving home for the weekends to Rutland was no longer possible, so her mother started coming to see her at Linda’s house. One Friday in mid-March her mother drove to Atlanta so she could go with Sandy to her doctor’s appointment. They sat together in the waiting area.
“It’s nice having you with me,” Sandy said, her legs stretched out in front of her. “Usually I’m all by myself. Some women come in alone, but others have their moms or husbands with them.”
Sandy’s mother managed a tight-lipped smile.
A few moments later, a nurse called Sandy’s name and told her to stand on a scale. The nurse shook her head as she wrote down the number. Another nurse led Sandy and her mother to an examination room. After a short wait, Dr. Berman came into the room.
“This is my mother, Julie Lincoln,” Sandy said.
“I can see the family resemblance,” Dr. Berman said. “Your daughter has done an excellent job with this pregnancy. You should be proud of her.”
The doctor helped Sandy onto the examining table.
“Are you having any contractions?” the doctor asked.
“Should I be?” Sandy asked in surprise. “It’s almost a month to my due date.”
“Even though it’s your first pregnancy, I doubt you’re going to make it that far. In fact, you could go into labor any day.” Dr. Berman turned to Sandy’s mother. “It’s looking more and more like this might be a multiple birth.”
Her mother’s mouth dropped open.
“You mean twins?” she managed.
“Possibly. Or triplets. I’ve suspected the possibility of multiples for several weeks.”
“Sandy, why didn’t you tell us?”
“I guess I should have,” Sandy said sheepishly.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Dr. Berman said with a wave of her hand. “The main impact is on the due date. Twins usually arrive early; around thirty-seven or thirty-eight weeks is perfect. Sandy is almost ready for delivery now. Her blood pressure is stable, and my hope is that everything kicks in at the right time so we don’t have to induce labor or deliver by caesarean section.”
“I don’t want an operation and scar,” Sandy said quickly.
“And I’m not a doctor who does a caesarean at the drop of a hat. We’ll keep close tabs on you to protect your health and the health of your baby or babies. I’ll see you next week, if not sooner.”
As soon as they were out of the doctor’s office, Sandy’s mother started firing questions at her.
“Yes,” Sandy said. “Mrs. Longwell at the adoption agency is aware of the possibility of a multiple birth. I’ve selected two families in case I have twins.”
“What about triplets?” her mother asked shrilly.
“There are plenty of wonderful people who want to adopt babies.”
They got in the car. Sandy could tell her mother’s mind was churning. Sandy shifted uncomfortably back and forth in the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt out to its farthest point and around her.
“Aren’t there families that would take both babies so they could be raised together?”
“Probably,” Sandy replied testily. “But that’s not what I’ve decided to do.”
“Twins,” her mother repeated. “As far as I know, there’s no history of twins in my family. Isn’t it influenced by the maternal bloodline?”
Relieved that her mother had moved on in her thinking, Sandy nodded. “Yes, that’s one part of the pregnancy Brad didn’t have anything to do with.”
Going to school became an increasing challenge. It took all of Sandy’s energy to drag herself from class to class. Unable to use a normal desk, she sat in a regular chair near the door and rested her textbooks on her stomach. Several days after her appointment with Dr. Berman, she received a note during homeroom to report to the principal’s office. Sandy racked her brain to remember what she might have done wrong. Several times
she’d had to leave class to go to the bathroom, but she couldn’t think of anything else.
The head of the school was Dr. Walter Nichols, a former college basketball player. He came into the waiting area of the office as soon as the receptionist let him know that Sandy was there.
“Come into my office,” the administrator said.
Dr. Nichols was a tall, muscular black man who commanded the respect of the boys at the school. He had a no-nonsense approach to education and made it clear the school was the last chance of public education for the students who attended. Sandy sat down with a sigh. Dr. Nichols left the door of the office open.
“I’m not going to ask how you’re feeling,” the principal said. “That wouldn’t be a fair question.”
Sandy put her hands on the side of the chair to brace herself.
“I’m doing the best I can.”
“Which is obvious to all of your teachers and the staff. Watching the way you’ve handled yourself has been an inspiration. So many of our students don’t want to be here that to see someone who takes her schoolwork seriously encourages all of us to keep doing what we do.”
“Thank you,” Sandy said softly.
“But we’re concerned about your health. How close are you to your due date?”
“A few weeks, but I may not make it that far. There’s a chance I’m carrying twins.”
Dr. Nichols raised his eyebrows. “What does your doctor recommend about continuing with school?”
“She told me to do what I could.”
“And we want you to do that without risking your health.” The principal rested his hands on his desk. “I have a proposal for you if you’d like to hear it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your teachers are willing to prepare assignments so you can study at home and still receive credit for your classes. Mrs. Borden has offered to take the assignments to your house. Are you still living with your aunt near Emory?”
“Yes.”
The Choice Page 12
