The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  “If you could see Jeremy and his family, you’d believe it worked out for good.”

  Jessica pointed to the photo.

  “Do you have any more pictures? I’d love to see them.”

  Sandy brightened up. “Wait here.”

  Sharing the photos with Jessica was more fun than Sandy could have imagined. They pored over every detail. Sandy told her about Zach’s fall and the trip to the hospital emergency room.

  “Ouch,” Jessica said. “I bet he broke his collarbone. There’s not much they can do about that except put the arm in a sling and send him home. The good news is that he’ll heal in no time.”

  “How can I find out the details?” Sandy asked. “I was surprised the hospital told me anything at all.”

  Jessica thought for a moment.

  “Does Melissa Henry still teach kindergarten in Tryon?”

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe she could tell you.”

  “But how would I ask her? I mean, she would want to know how I know Zach and why I’m interested.”

  “Yeah.” Jessica nodded. “That wouldn’t work.”

  The women continued to look at photographs and speculate about life in the Lane household. Jessica checked her watch.

  “I’d better get going. Rick is going to think I’ve taken up weaving with Mrs. Jackson. I’m sorry I barged in like this, but to be able to share this with you is”—Jessica paused as tears returned to her eyes—“beyond words.”

  Sandy leaned forward and gave her friend a hug.

  “It’s made it more special for me to bring you into my new little world. It would be lonesome to look at the pictures by myself.”

  Jessica touched her purse.

  “You’ve always been willing to look at every new batch of photos of my grandchildren without complaining.”

  The two women walked to the door together. Jessica put her hand on the doorknob and turned around.

  “Sandy, you deserve something good like this to happen to you. And I’ll do anything I can to help. Anything.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  As usual, Sandy went to church on Sunday. Although she was surrounded by the other members of the congregation, she had a private worship service of thanksgiving to God for bringing Jeremy into her life. After the benediction, she went to lunch at a local restaurant with three women from her Sunday school class. Sandy was the youngest member of the group, two of whom were widows. The third was married to a man who often went fishing or hunting on Sunday.

  “Sandy, you sure are quiet today,” one woman said when there was a lull in the conversation at the table. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I’m just listening.”

  “No you weren’t,” another said. “You’ve been sitting there daydreaming about a new beau.”

  “That would be worth hearing about,” the third woman said.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Sandy said, “but nothing’s changed in that part of my life.”

  “Well, something exciting is going on with you,” the second woman insisted. “I can feel it.”

  Alarmed that she was so transparent, Sandy laughed nervously.

  “I promise, if I pick up a boyfriend on the side of the road, this group will be among the first to know about it.”

  “That will be a lucky boy,” the first woman said.

  “Oh, did you hear about Bess Gibbs?” the third woman asked, perking up. “She met a fellow. They’ve gone out to eat four times in the past three weeks.”

  The conversation veered away from Sandy. As soon as she could politely do so, she excused herself.

  Monday morning Sandy’s normal routine was hectic enough that she didn’t have time to daydream. After her third-period students left the classroom, Carol Ramsey entered.

  “Sandy, please come with me,” the counselor said.

  “Can’t do it right now. I have an honors composition class that is going to be here in the next ten minutes. I have a planning period immediately after lunch. Maybe we can—”

  “Dr. Vale is sending someone to take your next class for you.”

  Sandy’s mouth went dry.

  “Does this have to do with Maria Alverez?”

  “Should it?” Carol answered coldly.

  “Who’s going to be my sub?” Sandy asked, trying to regain her composure.

  Coach Bestwick appeared at Carol’s shoulder.

  “Hello, Ms. Lincoln,” the basketball coach said cheerily. “Dr. Vale ordered me to help a group of functionally illiterate kids learn about the finer points of English composition.”

  Sandy didn’t smile. She handed John a folder.

  “Here’s an in-class writing assignment. There are four topics based on their outside reading assignments. Tell each student to choose one and then write a three-hundred-word essay with at least five paragraphs.”

  “Do I have to read these things?”

  “No, that’s my job.”

  Sandy and Carol left the room. The counselor stared straight ahead as they walked side by side. Instead of going to Carol’s office, they went into the administrative suite. Dr. Vale’s secretary looked up.

  “Go in. He’s waiting for you,” she said.

  Everything was happening so fast. As she followed Carol into the principal’s office, anger boiled up in Sandy. She clenched her teeth.

  Russell Vale was a former history teacher who preferred staff meetings to the classroom. The thin, balding man was a few years younger than Sandy and had been recruited to Rutland High by the chairman of the local school board. He never addressed a teacher by his or her first name.

  “Ms. Lincoln,” Dr. Vale said, rising from his chair behind a glass-topped desk. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice. Have a seat.”

  Sandy nodded and sat down. Carol scooted her chair a few inches away from Sandy before she sat.

  “Ms. Ramsey has been keeping me abreast of the situation with Maria Alverez,” Dr. Vale began. “It’s a serious matter.”

  Sandy didn’t say anything, and the administrator cleared his throat.

  “Would you agree that counseling a pregnant student is within the purview of Ms. Ramsey’s duties at the school?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And do you recall my comments about this during fall orientation?”

  “Yes, but if a student—” Sandy began.

  Dr. Vale held up a bony finger to silence her.

  “Don’t jump to any conclusions,” Dr. Vale said. “A student certainly has the right to talk to any teacher. It’s up to that teacher to keep the relationship within the proper boundaries. I’m here to help you know where those boundaries lie in this situation.”

  Dr. Vale opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a business card. He leaned forward and placed it on the edge of the desk in front of Sandy. It read, “Jeremy Lane, Attorney at Law.”

  Sandy swallowed.

  “Ms. Ramsey took this card from the student at a meeting earlier today. I interviewed the girl, and she informed me that you took her to see Mr. Lane at his office in Tryon on Friday. Is that true?”

  “Yes. We left after the school day.”

  “Was this meeting scheduled at the request of the student or did you initiate it?”

  “I made the appointment. Given the totality of the circumstances, it seemed appropriate for the student to have access to independent legal advice.”

  “Why did you think that was necessary?”

  Sandy looked at Carol. “Ms. Ramsey mentioned that she may try to have Maria declared legally incompetent. That’s a drastic step.”

  Dr. Vale pursed his lips together for a moment before he spoke.

  “Did Mr. Lane tell you and the student that a judge would make that determination after reviewing the facts and evidence?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that a guardian ad litem would be appointed by the judge to advocate for the student’s best interest?”

  “No. He mentioned a guardian would be ap
pointed if she were found incompetent.”

  Dr. Vale tapped his desk with a writing pen several times.

  “Did you also take the student to see Mr. Lane because of your opposition to a woman’s right to terminate an unplanned and unwanted pregnancy?”

  Sandy felt her face flush. “My ideas and beliefs didn’t come up.”

  “Have you been trying to influence the student’s decision?”

  Sandy tried to remember every conversation with Maria. They’d talked about options, and Sandy had encouraged her to think about the unborn baby as a person.

  “I’m not forcing myself or my beliefs on Maria, but I share openly with her when she seeks me out.”

  “And you’re perfectly free to be supportive of her during this difficult time.” Dr. Vale’s eyes became steely. “But when it comes to providing counseling and specific advice, you are to defer to Ms. Ramsey. We have a responsibility to furnish professional help, and I’m going to make sure that’s what the student receives.”

  “I will maintain a proper professional relationship with Maria,” Sandy said testily. “After thirty years of teaching, I have a good grasp of my role.”

  “Would you agree that part of that role is following the policies of the administration of this school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Dr. Vale nodded and turned to Carol. “I think we’re on the same page here.”

  “I don’t,” Carol replied. “I’m concerned that Ms. Lincoln will continue to undermine my work with the student.”

  “That’s not what I’m hearing,” Dr. Vale said.

  Carol looked stone-faced but kept her mouth shut.

  “Thanks to both of you,” Dr. Vale said, standing to his feet. “I’d rather have tension between staff members because they care about students than deal with apathy among those who don’t. Please return to your duties.”

  As they left the office, Sandy could tell Carol was upset. The meeting had gone better than Sandy expected.

  Carol stopped and spoke, her words clipped. “I’m going to be watching your involvement in this situation closely, and I won’t hesitate to bring Dr. Vale back into it if you get out of line.”

  Sandy put her hands on her hips. “Carol, I’m not looking for a fight, but I’m not a stranger to schoolhouse power plays either. Hopefully both of us will act in the student’s best interests, and there won’t be any other problems between us.”

  Sandy knew her words were both conciliatory and threating. In dealing with people like Carol Ramsey, it was often best to make things ambiguous. Carol spun around and walked toward her office. Sandy returned to the classroom.

  The students were leaning over their desks, dutifully writing. John Bestwick was doodling on a sheet of paper.

  “Thanks,” Sandy said softly. “I can take over from here.”

  John wrote something on the sheet of paper and slid it toward her: Are you in trouble?

  “At the edge of it,” Sandy whispered. “My heart wants to overrule my head.”

  John wrote again: You have a good heart.

  “Thank you.” Sandy smiled gratefully.

  Toward the end of the school day, Sandy looked out the window and saw Carol and Maria walking across the parking lot. Sandy was in the middle of her lecture and stopped in midsentence to watch. Several students saw her and turned in their seats.

  “Uh, and the painting on the wall in the living room in the story is one example of symbolism,” Sandy continued. “Who can tell me another?”

  Maria got into Carol’s car.

  “I know,” a girl in the front of the class said.

  Sandy turned toward the girl.

  “Yes, Chrissie.”

  “The dog represents the boy escaping from the family farm and venturing into the wider world. The dog’s death on the road shows how dangerous that world can be.”

  “Excellent.”

  Carol’s car left the parking lot. Sandy worried that the counselor was taking Maria to the women’s clinic in Atlanta.

  “The world is a dangerous place,” Sandy added. “Very dangerous.”

  Sandy had trouble focusing during cheerleading practice. Fortunately, she’d prepared the routine months earlier and at the beginning of practice handed out diagrams and descriptions that explained each member’s role. During the second run-through, Candace took a scary spill after a series of backward flips.

  “Are you okay?” Sandy rushed over as Candace slowly got to her feet.

  “I twisted my ankle,” she replied, rubbing the side of her left foot.

  “Take it easy the rest of the day, and if it’s sore tomorrow, tape it up before practice.”

  When Sandy left the gym at the end of practice, Maria was sitting on the floor in the hallway. She looked up when Sandy approached.

  “What happened today?” Sandy asked. “I saw you leave the school with Ms. Ramsey during sixth period.”

  “She wanted to see my father. She took a paper for him to sign.”

  “What kind of paper?”

  “I’m not sure. She asked me to leave the room while she talked to him.”

  “You went with her to your trailer?”

  “Yes.”

  “How good is your father’s English?”

  “He can speak some, but he can’t read much at all.”

  Sandy thought for a moment. “Was it a parental consent or notification form for you to have an abortion?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Sandy repeated the question in Spanish.

  “I don’t know,” Maria replied.

  “Did you hear her say anything to him about you not being able to make your own decisions?”

  “No.”

  “Did she leave a copy of the paper with your father?”

  “No.”

  Several options raced through Sandy’s mind.

  “And she told me that I am going to see the doctor in Atlanta on Wednesday,” Maria said. “We’re going to meet at the school at seven-thirty in the morning.”

  “Is she going to take you to the women’s clinic where you went the other day?”

  “I think so. She called the doctor’s office and said we would be there at eleven o’clock.”

  “Do you know the reason for the appointment?” Sandy asked, her heart sinking.

  “Ms. Ramsey told me the doctor would talk to me.”

  “Do you want me to ask the lawyer to help you?” Sandy asked. “He could talk to Ms. Ramsey for you.”

  “What would he say?”

  “He would find out what she is trying to get you to do and explain it to you in a way you can understand.”

  “Can you talk to her for me?” Maria asked, her eyes pleading. “And you can tell me what she says in Spanish.”

  “No,” Sandy replied. “My job is to teach, not be a counselor.”

  Maria looked confused. Sandy felt frustrated.

  “I’ll get in touch with the lawyer and see what he thinks,” Sandy said.

  It was too late in the day to call, but early the next morning Sandy phoned Jeremy Lane’s office. Deb put her on hold for so long that Sandy thought she may have forgotten about her.

  “Sorry for the wait,” Deb said. “Mr. Lane was on a conference call and had to finish. He can meet with you briefly if you can be here at 4:45 p.m.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes.”

  Sandy would have to cut cheerleading practice short.

  “I’ll take it,” she said.

  When the call ended, Sandy felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement—apprehension for the serious decisions facing Maria, but excitement at the opportunity to be in the same room with Jeremy Lane. Sandy went to Maria’s second-period class and summoned her into the hallway to tell her.

  To avoid shortchanging the cheerleading squad, Sandy asked Meredith’s mother to chaperone practice after Sandy left. She was a former cheerleader and popular with the other girls.

  “They’ve rehearsed
the routine,” Sandy said when it was time for Maria and her to leave. “Let them practice basic cheers. The girls have several new ones they’ve come up with.”

  During the drive to Tryon, Sandy felt she was on a mission to save a baby’s life and a teenage girl’s conscience. They arrived at Jeremy’s office a couple of minutes early. As they approached the entrance to the building, the door opened and a woman and a young boy came out.

  It was Leanne and Zach.

  Zach had his right arm in a sling decorated with superhero action figures. Leanne was wearing jeans, a lightweight tan sweater, and running shoes. They walked slowly toward Sandy and Maria. Zach had a cute nose and a surprising number of freckles. Up close, Sandy could see that the freckles came from Leanne.

  “Your daddy is right,” Sandy heard Leanne say to the little boy, who was pouting. “You can’t play flag football until we’re sure your bone is better.”

  They came face-to-face. Zach opened his mouth, and Sandy saw a missing tooth on the bottom.

  “Will it be okay next week?” the little boy asked.

  “No,” Leanne said as they passed by Sandy and Maria.

  Sandy turned and watched them continue down the sidewalk. Perhaps sensing her eyes on him, Zach looked over his shoulder and their eyes met. He gave her a puzzled look and pulled on his mother’s sleeve. Sandy spun around and walked quickly toward the front door of office. She and Maria went inside.

  “Hi,” Deb said. “Have a seat, and I’ll let Mr. Lane know you’re here.”

  Deb spoke into a phone receiver and listened for a moment.

  “It’ll be a few minutes,” she said.

  Southern Living, one of Sandy’s favorite magazines, was on a coffee table in front of the chair where she was sitting, but she didn’t touch it.

  “Was that Mr. Lane’s wife and son leaving the office?” she asked.

  “Did the little boy have his arm in a sling?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s his son, Zach.”

  “I saw his picture on the credenza when we came in the other day. What happened to him?”

  “Fell at a playground on Saturday and fractured his collarbone. It hurts, but he’ll heal quickly.”