The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  “I have to go and tell them. Will you take me? Rosalita is at work.”

  Sandy hesitated. She could ask Carol Ramsey to transport Maria to the jail. Another possibility would be to find a teacher who didn’t have to teach first period to cover for Sandy.

  “Let’s see if Ms. Ramsey can take you,” Sandy suggested.

  “No, I want you to go with me,” Maria said, shaking her head.

  “I have to teach my classes,” Sandy said patiently. “This is something Ms. Ramsey can do for you. It’s her job.”

  “What if they don’t let my father go?”

  “Then I’ll find a lawyer to represent him.”

  Maria seemed to relax a little bit. They went to the counseling offices.

  “Wait here,” Sandy said.

  She left Maria in the hallway and went to Carol’s office. It was empty. Sandy turned away and almost ran into Carol. Sandy quickly explained what had happened.

  “Are you behind the arrests?” Sandy asked when she finished.

  “I reported what I thought necessary, but I didn’t tell the police what to do. I thought an officer was going to interview Maria later this week.”

  “She wants to try to get her father released immediately.”

  “Then I’ll take her to the jail,” Carol responded without hesitation. “And if the arrests are related to my report, maybe I can find out what happened.”

  Sandy thought about the lawyer Ben had contacted. It might not be necessary to see him.

  “Okay.”

  She and Carol walked to the entrance of the school together.

  “Ms. Ramsey is going to take you to the jail to find out about your father,” Sandy said to Maria.

  “I’m glad to help,” Carol said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “And I have to teach my class,” Sandy said. She glanced over her shoulder as Carol moved out of earshot. “Come see me later,” she whispered to Maria.

  Sandy returned to her classroom. A few minutes later, she saw Maria and Carol leave the campus. They didn’t return until shortly before lunchtime. When Sandy entered the cafeteria, she noticed that Carol was sitting alone. Sandy hurriedly went over to her.

  “Can we eat together?” Sandy asked.

  Carol seemed irritated by the request.

  “Yeah, but I’ll be here for only a few more minutes.”

  Sandy quickly selected her food and returned to the table.

  “What happened at the jail?” she asked. “Did the police release Maria’s father?”

  “For now. It turns out they went to the trailer looking for the man named Bernardo. When he wasn’t there, they arrested everyone to see if they could get information about his whereabouts.”

  “Why were they looking for Bernardo?”

  “I don’t know. The detective said it was part of an ‘ongoing investigation.’ It didn’t have anything to with Maria.”

  “Did she meet with an officer?”

  “Yes.” Carol looked at Sandy. “And after this morning, I have serious doubts that Maria is competent.”

  “Competent?”

  “To make decisions in her own best interests. We tried to communicate with her in English and Spanish. Neither worked, so I’m going to have her evaluated.”

  “You think she may be mentally incompetent?” Sandy asked, trying to digest Carol’s statement.

  “It’s something I have to consider, given my observations.” Carol took a bite of her salad. “And you’re not helping me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Talking to her behind my back. Maria needs to open up with me, but she won’t as long as you’re manipulating her.”

  Sandy felt like she’d been slapped in the face. It took her a moment to regain her composure.

  “I brought her to your office this morning,” she said. “Was that manipulation?”

  “You came in accusing me of causing the arrest of her father. It was an obvious attempt to turn her against me.”

  Sandy felt her face flush. She started to challenge Carol but realized if she did, the conversation could quickly deteriorate even further. At that moment three other teachers sat down at the table, and Carol left. Sandy continued to pick at her food for a few minutes, then took her tray to the dirty-dishes window.

  Turning away from the window, Sandy made a decision. Maria deserved help beyond what was available through Carol Ramsey. Taking out her cell phone, she offered up a quick prayer, then dialed the phone number for attorney Jeremy Lane.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Lane Law Offices,” a woman answered the phone.

  “This is Sandy Lincoln. My brother Ben is an insurance agent with an office in Tryon. He contacted Mr. Lane yesterday about a situation involving a pregnant high school student.”

  “Yes,” the woman replied. “Mr. Lane mentioned you to me before he left for court. Would you like to schedule an appointment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you make it around five-thirty? I assume it will need to be late in the afternoon.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes.”

  Sandy hesitated. Maria’s issues weren’t going to wait. A five-thirty appointment would give Sandy time to finish cheerleading practice and drive from Rutland to Tryon.

  “Let me check with the student and get back to you.”

  “Fine. I’ll mark it tentative. Do you need directions to the office?”

  “What’s the street address?”

  Sandy was familiar with the street. She wrote the number on a pad she kept in the car.

  The call ended. To transport Maria to Tryon for a meeting with a lawyer would be considered a declaration of war by Carol Ramsey; however, the counselor had fired the first shot over a bowl of lettuce with Italian dressing.

  Her jaw set, Sandy returned to her classroom. She logged on to the school system and found out where Maria would be during fifth period. No one was in the room, so Sandy left the teacher a note asking her to send Maria to see Sandy as soon as her class ended.

  At the end of fifth period, Sandy’s students filed out of the room.

  Sixth period would start shortly. Several early arriving students dragged themselves into the room and slumped down in chairs.

  Sixth-period grammar and composition was Sandy’s most challenging class. The students were tired at the end of the day and considered the subject matter a form of waterboarding torture.

  Maria appeared in the doorway. Sandy quickly ushered her into the hallway.

  “I know your father got out of jail,” she said quickly in Spanish.

  “But I still think it would be a good idea for you to talk to a lawyer yourself. I’d like to take you to meet with one this afternoon.

  We’d leave the school about five o’clock. I’m not sure when we’d be back.”

  “How will I get home? Rosalita won’t be able to pick me up.”

  “That’s not a problem. I’ll take you.”

  “And I do not have any money to pay a lawyer.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Maria, her eyes big, looked at Sandy.

  “Ms. Lincoln, why are you doing this for me?”

  “Because you’re worth every minute of time and every dollar of money. Come to the gym where the cheerleaders practice around four-thirty.”

  “Is Ms. Ramsey going with us?”

  “No,” Sandy replied. “And don’t mention it to her if you see her before then.”

  Even as she listened to her words, Sandy felt herself cringe on the inside. It was the sort of statement that made sense in context but if repeated later would sound horrible.

  “Now, get to class,” Sandy said.

  Maria disappeared into a large group of students moving down the hall. Sandy went into her classroom. Two football players were teasing a skinny boy with a pointed nose. One of the football players had made a fake nose out of paper and put it on his own face.

  “Lonny,” Sandy said to the boy with the paper nose on his f
ace. “Give me examples of sentences illustrating the difference between a gerund and a present participle using the verb fake.”

  “I don’t know any,” the boy replied, snatching the nose from his face.

  “That’s going to earn you an F for this class period and a note from me to Coach Hampton about running extra wind sprints this afternoon.”

  “How about you, Bruce?” Sandy pointed to the other player. “Are you up to date on the distinction between a gerund and a present participle?”

  “A gerund is a verb ending in ‘ing’ that’s used as a noun,” Bruce replied. “A present participle is a verb ending in ‘ing’ that’s used as either a main verb or an adjective. ‘Faking wears at a teacher’s patience.’ In that sentence, faking is a gerund. ‘The football player is faking if he claims it wasn’t a stupid move to make a paper nose in English class.’ In that sentence, faking is a present participle used as the main verb in conjunction with is.”

  Bruce Lowell had a shot at receiving a college scholarship to play football at an Ivy League school. He was on track to be one of the valedictorians for the senior class.

  “That’s right,” Sandy said.

  “And I’d be faking if I didn’t admit that I made the paper nose,” Bruce continued. “If Lonny is going to be punished, I should be too.”

  “Okay,” Sandy said. “You got it. Anything else you want to say?”

  Bruce leaned forward to the skinny student and whispered in his ear. The boy nodded without turning around.

  “Did that correct the problem?” Sandy asked the boy, who gave her a look that pleaded for her to move on. “Open your composition books to page 124.”

  Sandy confirmed the appointment with Jeremy Lane’s assistant.

  Several times during cheerleading practice, she thought about Maria and grew nervous. She tried to push the jittery feeling down inside and focus on the girls on the practice mats. Time dragged by. At 4:30 p.m. sharp, Sandy blew her whistle.

  “That’s it for today,” she said. “We’re in good shape for tomorrow night’s game.”

  As the cheerleaders left, Sandy saw Maria slip into the gym.

  Sandy waved to her.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  After Sandy went to the coaching office to hang up her whistle, she and Maria walked out of the building together.

  “Is Tryon far away?” Maria asked as they got in the car.

  “About twenty minutes if traffic isn’t bad.”

  Sandy turned out of the school parking lot and onto the two-lane highway that connected Rutland with Tryon. Maria sat with her hands folded in her lap.

  “Have you had any morning sickness?” Sandy asked.

  “A little.”

  “And how is your heart feeling?” Sandy touched her chest.

  “My heart?”

  “Your emotions. Your feelings.”

  “My heart does not know what to feel. My mind does not know what to think.”

  Sandy nodded. Maria’s English was rudimentary, but her thought processes gave no indication that she was mentally incompetent. Carol Ramsey’s allegation about incompetency had no chance for success.

  They left Rutland. The rolling countryside was dotted with cattle farms and soybean fields.

  “Maria, let me tell you one reason why I want to help you,” Sandy said.

  Maria shifted in the seat and listened as Sandy told about her own pregnancy. The Hispanic girl’s eyes widened as the story unfolded.

  “Where are your baby boys now?” Maria asked after Sandy told about their birth.

  “It was a closed adoption,” Sandy said in Spanish. “That means the records are locked up and can’t be opened unless everybody wants to do so. The adoption society in Atlanta would have contacted me if one of the boys ever tried to find me.” Sandy counted for a moment. “They would be thirty-three years old now.”

  Maria silently stared out the window. They reached the outskirts of Tryon.

  “It won’t be long now,” Sandy said. “Remember, everything you tell the lawyer is secret, so you can be honest with him.”

  “Will he tell my father?”

  “Not if you don’t want him to.”

  Sandy parked on the street in front of the building. It was 5:35 p.m. A neatly lettered white sign with dark-blue letters over the door read Jeremy Lane, Trial Lawyer.

  Sandy and Maria entered a compact but nicely furnished reception area.

  “Ms. Lincoln?” a middle-aged woman with half-frame glasses on her nose asked.

  “Yes,” Sandy answered.

  “I’m Deb Bridges. I’ll let Mr. Lane know you’re here.”

  Sandy had been to see a lawyer only a couple of times: once when she bought her house in Rutland and a second time when she made a will splitting her property between Ben and Jack upon her death. Maria sat on a short leather sofa and ran her finger over the pliable material.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Sandy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Lincoln?”

  Sandy stood up and faced a handsome man in his thirties with blond hair and blue eyes. She suspected Jeremy Lane would have an immediate edge with the female members of a jury.

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “And this is Maria Alverez.”

  “Hello, Maria.” Jeremy looked the girl directly in the eyes.

  “Thanks for coming to see me.”

  Maria smiled shyly.

  “Let’s talk in my office.”

  They entered a well-furnished office with diplomas and certificates on one wall and paintings of rural scenes on the others.

  “Please sit down,” Jeremy said.

  Sandy and Maria sat beside each other across from the lawyer.

  “How can I help you?” he asked.

  Sandy provided a brief background of what had happened so far. Jeremy listened and made notes using the keyboard of his computer.

  “Before we go any further, I’d like a bit of background information from Maria,” he said. “Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And if I ask any questions you don’t understand, please let me know, and I’ll try to do better.”

  Maria nodded. Sandy already liked the gentle approach the lawyer was taking with Maria. Using simple questions, he began drawing out information about Maria and her family. While Maria talked, Sandy’s eyes wandered around the office. Several of the paintings looked like original watercolors, and there was a row of family photographs on a credenza. The lawyer had a nice-looking wife and two children. His daughter resembled him, and his son had reddish-brown hair.

  “How have you been feeling?” Jeremy asked Maria.

  “Scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.”

  Jeremy nodded. “And physically?”

  “Okay.” Maria shrugged. “I feel a little bit sick when I wake up in the morning. But it goes away after I eat.”

  Jeremy began asking Maria more specific questions about the circumstances of her pregnancy.

  “Is one of the men who lives in the trailer the father of your baby?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes.”

  Sandy sat up straight in her chair.

  “Which one?” Jeremy asked in a soft voice.

  “Emilio.”

  Sandy held her breath.

  “Are you sure it’s Emilio?”

  Maria nodded. “It happened while my father was at work.”

  “Does your father know?”

  “Yes. He told me not to tell anyone.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  Maria looked at Sandy. “Ms. Lincoln told me I could tell you anything and you would keep it secret.”

  “Why was Emilio living with your family?”

  “My father knows his father in Mexico. They are from the same village.”

  “How old is Emilio?”

  “About thirty years old.”

  “Okay, and did he force you to be with him?”

  “Yes. The men had been
drinking beer and needed to buy more beer. They went to the store and left Emilio with me. That is when it happened. Emilio said if I told anyone, he would kill me.”

  Sandy felt her skin crawl.

  “Does your father know this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Emilio still living at your house?”

  “Not every day. If he is there, I stay with Rosalita. My father is afraid of Emilio. Everyone is afraid of him.”

  “Have you talked to your father about the baby?”

  “Yes. He thinks I should have a doctor take it out while it is little, and it won’t hurt me very much. If the baby is gone, Emilio will not be mad.”

  “What do you want to do?” Jeremy asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “Maria, what Emilio did to you was very, very wrong,”

  Jeremy said in a calm voice. “Some people believe that makes it okay to end the pregnancy. Other people think it’s better to let the baby live because it’s not the baby’s fault that it’s inside you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I think about this too,” Maria said, keeping her head bowed.

  Sandy’s already high level of compassion for Maria increased.

  The girl’s decision was even more difficult than her own.

  “Can you translate for me now?” Jeremy asked Sandy. “I want to explain her rights, and it might be clearer that way.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Jeremy turned to Maria. “The decision of what to do about your pregnancy is up to you. No one can make you keep the baby, end the pregnancy, or allow the baby to be adopted. It doesn’t matter that you’re barely sixteen years old and unmarried. You will make that choice, not your father, not Emilio, not Ms. Ramsey, not Ms. Lincoln.”

  Sandy explained and Maria nodded.

  “The law requires proof of parental notification before a minor can have an abortion and a twenty-four-hour waiting period between scheduling the procedure and performing it.”

  “Notice, not consent?” Sandy asked.

  “Right. The parent can’t stop the child but has a right to be told. Tell her that.”

  Sandy translated.

  “Emilio could get in trouble with the police because he forced you to be with him. It’s up to you to decide if you want to tell the police what happened. If you do, Emilio will be arrested and may be sent to jail.”