Sarah's Choice

by Rebecca St. James

  Sarah grabbed onto Denise’s hand and didn’t let go of it as she followed the rest of his instructions. She was sure her sister’s fingers must be turning purple.

  The nurse, who Sarah had barely looked at, stood at the end of the table next to the doctor. She had freckles that folded as she smiled—as if this wasn’t a matter of life and death.

  The silence that fell then was louder than the sound of her heart banging in her ears. Why was it taking so long? Why didn’t he say something—

  “Good news so far. No active bleeding. No dilation. Let’s have you sit up.”

  “So I’m not having a miscarriage?”

  Denise pulled Sarah to a sitting position and adjusted the hospital gown that slid off of her shoulder.

  “Not as far as I can tell.” The doctor peeled off his gloves and glanced at the chart. “You’re—what—almost nine weeks?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you want we can do an early ultrasound just to make sure. You want to do that?”

  For the first time Sarah focused on his face. His mouth was ripe for humor, and his long eyebrows said more than that mouth allowed.

  “Let me think about it,” Sarah said. “Yes.”

  “I like a woman who knows her mind.” He turned to the freckled nurse. “Let’s get her down to Imaging.” He patted Sarah’s leg. “It should just be a few minutes.”

  He and Freckles left, and Denise put her arms around Sarah.

  “It sounds like it’s going to be all right.”

  “He’s going to look to see if my baby is still alive. That’s what’s happening, right?”

  Denise let her go and tilted her head, swinging the ponytail she’d obviously pushed her hair into as she flew out her front door, probably calling out warnings over her shoulder to a hapless babysitter.

  “Leave it to you to get it right down to the core. Let’s think of it as he’s going to validate what he’s already seen: your baby is still in there making you want to lose your lunch.” Her eyes danced. “You look a little green. You okay?”

  “I’m trying to be.”

  “Who tries to be okay? Who does that?” Denise put up a finger. “Wait, we’re talking about you.”

  “You know what I told you in the car, about what happened right before I saw I was bleeding.”

  Denise nodded.

  “I was starting to feel like God was really there . . . and then this happened . . . but I still want to believe he’s, you know, in this with me.”

  Denise’s arms folded her in again. “Sarah, I promise you—”

  “Please don’t tell me God won’t let her die because we prayed.”

  Slowly Denise pulled back, mouth shaping an a-ha moment. “That’s when you turned away: when Mom said Dad wouldn’t die . . . and he did.” She rubbed Sarah’s cheek with her thumb. “The only thing I can promise you is that if you cling to God through this, you’ll get through it no matter what.” Her eyes misted. “That’s how I survived Dad’s death.”

  Sarah covered the hand still on her cheek. “Denise, I’m sorry. I was so—”

  “That’s for another time.” Denise stood up, ponytail swinging like a pendulum. “Listen, a few minutes in hospital time equals at least a half hour. I’m going to go grab a drink and call Mom. I need to make sure the boys haven’t tied her up or something. You be okay alone?”

  “I’m not alone, right?”

  Another hug and Denise was gone. Sarah lay back on the table and closed her eyes. The self-assurance that she could handle everything, that there was a logical way to fix anything, that if she kept her emotions under control she would see her way clear—none of the things she would normally do at a time like this even showed up.

  And she thanked God for that.

  The door swished opened, and the anxiety pricked at her again. “You’re going with me to the ultrasound, right?” she said.

  “Just try going without me.”

  She bolted up, losing her gown down her shoulder again. Matt got to it before she could and inched it back into place. She was sure he could see her pulse throbbing in her neck. All she could see were his brown eyes, wide with the concern he was clearly trying to hide.

  “How did you find me?” she said.

  Matt fiddled with the ties on the back of the gown. “Your buddy Catfish. He gave you up like chocolate for Lent when I bribed him.” He kissed her hair. “Denise filled me in. How you doing, Sar?”

  Possible answers shuffled in her mind, a blur of everything from I’m terrified out of my skull to Fine, now that you’re here . . . to If you’re doing this out of duty, you can forget about it.

  She couldn’t choose any of them, and she didn’t have a chance. The door opened yet again and Nurse Freckles pushed a wheelchair in.

  “I can walk,” Sarah said.

  “Hospital policy.” Freckles looked at Matt. “Are you staying here with her stuff?”

  “Uh, no,” Matt said. “I’m going with.”

  Sarah searched his face. “You don’t have to do this, Matt.”

  “Yes, I do.” His smile wobbled, but the brown eyes looked straight into hers. “I’m the daddy.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nothing on the screen looked like anything human to Matt, even though the technician was pointing out tiny features in a hushed, excited voice. Sort of like Jane Goodall describing the behaviors of baby gorillas from behind a bush. Matt squeezed Sarah’s icy hand, as much to keep himself from saying, So our child is an alien? as to reassure her.

  “Now if I can catch the little bugger being still for a second . . .”

  There was more clicking and zooming, none of which made any sense to Matt. He focused on Sarah, whose eyes were riveted to the screen. One thing was clear. She wanted this baby.

  As much as he did.

  The technician made a sound like she’d been poked. “Gotcha, little one. And there it is, Mom and Dad.”

  “What am I looking at?” Matt said.

  Sarah raised her head. “Is that her heartbeat?”

  “Yep. Pumpin’ strong.”

  Matt leaned across Sarah and felt his chin drop. “That pulsing thing there—that’s a little heart?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Sarah’s hand went all the way up his arm. “She’s okay. Daisy, you’re okay!”

  The cry in her voice went straight through him. “She is, Sar. Look at that. She’s a little athlete. What do you think? Marathon runner? Basketball player? No, wait: prima ballerina.”

  Sarah wrapped his sleeve in her fingers. “Can I finish gestating the child first?”

  The technician looked up from her clicking. “You know, we won’t be able to tell the gender until about eighteen weeks.”

  “She’s a girl,” Sarah said.

  Matt kissed the back of her other hand. “How do you know, Sar?”

  “I just know,” she said.

  She didn’t let go of his sleeve. It was okay again. More than okay. It was, very possibly, the great stuff.

  Matt told her to go straight to the bed and lie down while he made her some tea. Sarah, of course, didn’t. Who could rest in the middle of an apartment that looked like it had been ransacked?

  She made the bed, opened the blinds to the first of the stars, and gathered all the dirty clothes into the laundry basket. No wonder she could never find anything to wear. She was headed toward the kitchenette with it when she saw the piece of paper halfway under the door.

  “That’s not lying down,” Matt called to her, sounding like he had his head in the refrigerator. “That’s scampering, is what that is, which is the total opposite of lying down.”

  Sarah felt less dread than usual as she stooped to pick up Catfish’s latest rent-due creation. Knowing she was going to be here for a while longer would make it easier to write the check. She didn’t need to be pregnant and homeless.

  “You know what you sound like?” Matt said, head still buried in some large household appliance. “You sound like a squirrel,
building a nest.”

  Sarah unfolded the paper and stared at it.

  “Not that I’ve ever watched a squirrel build a nest, come to think of it. I did have a hamster named Princess Leia once that made a nest out of newspapers in her cage.”

  NOVEMBER, PAID IN FULL

  DECEMBER, BALANCE DUE . . . $150

  JANUARY, DUE DECEMBER 31

  “I was thirteen before it occurred to me to ask how Princess Leia had babies when there was no Han Solo.”

  Matt appeared in the kitchen doorway, cup and saucer in hand. Steam curled from it, hot as the butter that melted on the triangles of toast on the saucer.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just weird. Actually, I think it is wrong.”

  “You’re making zero sense, Sar. Didn’t I say you should be horizontal?”

  “This says my rent for November’s paid and most of December. Catfish is flakier than I thought.”

  Matt balanced the tea setup on one palm and took the receipt from her with the other. He glanced at it and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Matt, I need that.”

  “It’s taken care of. Sit, willya? This thing’s burning a hole in my hand.”

  Sarah felt her eyes pop. “You paid my rent?”

  “It was the only way I could get Catfish to tell me where you went yesterday.” Matt nudged her toward the bed with his knee. “Okay, that’s a lie, but it makes a better story, right?”

  “But how did you—”

  “Sit. Eat. Drink. Daisy’s gotta be tugging on the umbilical cord by now. ‘Mommy, send down some Daddy toast.’ ”

  Sarah gave up and sank to the bed. Matt nestled the cup and saucer into her hands and sat next to her. His hands looked trembly, and he was suddenly very still.

  She turned to the toast. “Wow, Matt. You didn’t burn it.”

  “I’ve been practicing. I ate the ones that didn’t work out.”

  Sarah froze with a warm triangle halfway to her mouth.

  “You okay?”

  She returned the toast to the saucer, but it sat cockeyed. When she tried to adjust it, she saw the reason. A diamond winked up at her from its tiny throne on a gold band.

  It was suddenly impossible to swallow.

  Matt picked up the ring and pressed it into her palm. “Don’t say anything yet, okay? I’ve messed up a lot of things lately, and I don’t want this to be another one, so just listen.”

  Sarah opened her mouth, but Matt put his finger to her lips. His eyes were deep—too deep for someone who was about to try to merely cheer her up—but this . . .

  “Matt, please don’t do this just because I’m having a baby.”

  “We are having a baby. That little tadpole we saw swimming around in there is ours.” He pulled Sarah’s hands together around the ring and held them under his chin. “I’ll be responsible for her and take care of her whether you marry me or not, but she needs both of us . . . all the time.”

  “But that can’t be the whole reason—”

  “It’s not. I need you. And I want a life with you.” She watched his face struggle. “If things hadn’t turned out the way they did, if she hadn’t made it, I’d be doing this anyway.”

  Sarah didn’t want to pull away, and she didn’t. But the memory of endless, pointless conversations about his dreams and schemes stiffened her hands. Matt held them tighter.

  “Sar, you’ve been trying to get me to grow up for way too long. Now I’m doing it—me. I mean financially, with solid plans for the future.” He shook his head before Sarah could protest. “I said solid, Sar.”

  Sarah pulled her head back to look at him, full in the eyes. The shine in them wasn’t the reflection of impossible riches and a short way to get them. It was the sheen of tears.

  “Look, however I support us, what you need is for me to be the man I am. I’m not perfect. But I will do my very best to become the best that I can.” His hands tightened. “I can’t promise you I won’t make mistakes. I can’t promise you I won’t be human. But what I can promise you is that I will never leave you.”

  It was hard to swallow again. Maybe that was how a person felt when she was about to let go of her last wisp of control.

  “I’m going to say one more thing, and that’s this,” he said. “You’re taking a chance on being a mother. Won’t you take a chance on being my wife too?”

  He let go of her hands, but Sarah grabbed one back and held it to her cheek.

  “I didn’t make my choice by myself,” she said. “And you need to know this: I went to God.”

  Matt’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Who’d a thought, Sar? So did I.”

  “You’re not just saying that.”

  It was a statement, not a question. The sense of someone else there filled what spaces were left in the tiny studio. And it didn’t feel crowded with four.

  “Yes,” Sarah said.

  The grin raised the bar on all grins forever after. So did the kiss.

  “Are you going to put this on my finger or what?” Sarah said finally.

  Matt pulled it from the nest of her hand and slid it onto the fourth finger.

  It fit.

  From the chair where he’d sat all night, Matt watched Sarah wake up, hair all tousled, eyes blinking, face soft and mushy as a three-year-old’s. She squinted at him as if she were looking through fog and smiled. Then she held up her left hand and gazed at it.

  “So it really wasn’t a dream,” she said.

  “If it was, I was in it with you. Especially the part where you kissed me. That was a really good part.”

  He leaned over to kiss her again, but she drew back.

  “I don’t want you to have a complete personality transplant. You can go ahead and say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That the price you paid for this ring was no dream.”

  Matt dropped next to her. “Actually, this one didn’t cost as much as the first one I bought you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You want full disclosure?”

  “Ya think?”

  He waggled his head back and forth. “Okay, so I went out and bought you one with a big diamond. And then I realized that was probably not responsible, so I pawned it so I’d have money for whatever you needed. And then I bought it back and returned it for this one so I’d have both a ring and some cash for us—”

  “And that’s how you paid my rent.”

  “Yeah. When do I ever have that much cash on me? Freaky-weird, huh?”

  “Nothing seems freaky-weird to me anymore.” Sarah put her arms around him. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

  “What? No. It’s us now. You got that?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Yeah, I got that.”

  Man, he loved this woman.

  Matt stood up. “Okay, so you’re gonna veg here today while I pamper you with French toast and—”

  Sarah put her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

  “I forgot. Do you need to go do that morning sickness thing?”

  “Not yet.” She moved her hand. “And as much as I would love to have you wait on me all day, I have a couple of things I need to do. It is Christmas Eve.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  She got to her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll meet up with you at lunchtime and we’ll go shopping, okay? But I need to do this part by myself.”

  Matt pulled her closer. “You sure? I’m here for you.”

  “You know what? I believe you.” She licked her lips. “Now I need to . . .”

  Matt let her go and cringed as the bathroom closed and the coughing started. How did she handle this? He’d be crying like a little girl.

  Okay, so if she was headed out, he could finish the tidying job they’d started last night. He straightened the covers on her bed and pulled the chair back to the desk. That was the one thing they hadn’t tackled: the piles. Matt grinned and opened the drawer. She was r
ight, it was Christmas Eve. They could always deal with reality later.

  And . . . where was that in the promises he made to her last night? I’ll be the man you need after the holidays?

  He took a seat in the chair and picked up the first stack.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Her mother’s house didn’t have its Christmas Eve feel when Sarah slipped into the front hallway. The stair rail was wrapped in a fresh-greens garland, and a clump of mistletoe hung by a ribbon from the ceiling, but the joy was missing. The sadness that replaced it clung to her as if she’d walked through its cobweb on the way in. The only sound was a utensil clanking the sides of a bowl.

  “Mom?” Sarah said.

  The clanking stopped and metal clanged to the floor. Agnes appeared in the hallway, and even in the windowless light Sarah could see her eyes were red and swollen. Even her nose bore the raw signs of serious crying. Sarah couldn’t see her mouth. It was covered with her hands.

  “Hi,” Sarah said. “Merry Christmas.”

  Agnes didn’t move, and for a cold moment Sarah was afraid she was about to be ordered from the house. It was, after all, Denise she called when she was in trouble, not her mother. And she hadn’t talked to her personally when she and Matt left the hospital. There were probably ten more reasons why Mom just stared at her through the crimson slits her eyes had become, and Sarah was searching for them when Agnes took a stumbling step forward and held out her arms.

  The figure Sarah folded into hers felt frail, as if her bones might crumble the way her spirit obviously had.

  “Mom, are you okay?” she said.

  “Of course I’m okay. You’re here.” Agnes pulled away enough to hold Sarah’s face in her hands. “And you’re all right? No more bleeding?”

  “Nope. Still pregnant.”

  Agnes put her hands on her own face and smiled through the next round of tears, the happy ones. Amazing how the same salt water could come out of the same tiny ducts and mean entirely different things. While her mother dug in her apron pocket for the tissue that was sure to be there, Sarah looked around the darkish hallway again. The last time the two of them had stood here together, Sarah had brought on a different kind of tears. That seemed like another lifetime. Actually, it was.