Antonia's Choice

by Nancy Rue

  “There they are!” Stephanie said to the two children who were clinging to her like appendages. “I told you they’d be here! Go give hugs!”

  Both Emil and Techla looked as if they would rather give their left arms, their nose hairs, and the security blankets they were clutching than touch either of us.

  “That’s okay,” I said as I walked slowly toward them. “You don’t have to give hugs if you don’t want to. You get to decide.”

  That didn’t unpeel them from Stephanie’s legs, but at least they looked at us. Techla even smiled. Emil was solemn as a judge. His similarity to Ben when we had first moved to Nashville, before we’d found Doc Opie and Reggie and Yancy and Daddy and God, went through me like a broadsword.

  Thank You for making all my choices about Ben nonchoices, I thought, or my child could still be right where they are.

  “Stephanie has to bring them to Nashville,” I told Chris when our short, awkward meeting was over and we were on our way to the courthouse. “We have to help them.”

  “That’s if she gets custody—and that’s only if Bobbi is convicted.”

  “She has to be. She just has to be.”

  So I was even more of a bundle of knots than I’d expected to be as we listened to closing arguments. Actually, I only listened to Lance Andrews’s speech as he put Bobbi’s actions into their stark, wretched perspective. I couldn’t stand to hear the defense attorney’s pathetic attempt to invalidate the testimonies of my niece and my son, so while he rambled on, I busied myself with watching my mother.

  She had declined even more drastically in the few weeks since I’d last seen her. The eyes that watched counsel’s every move were hollow and ringed in black. Her face was striped with age, her shoulders curved over as if she bore the weight of Bobbi’s world on them. Her crowning glory of white hair was straight and flat and tucked severely behind her ears. I couldn’t imagine those thin, brittle arms holding the twins in the middle of the night when they woke up with nightmares, as they undoubtedly did. Try as I might, I could not conjure up a picture of her creating the safest, most secure environment possible for them to heal in. As her eyes followed the attorney who paced and lied about her daughter, I could see in them a hope for which there was no alternative.

  If Bobbi is convicted, I thought, she’s going to collapse like a folding chair. God—help her.

  When I could no longer look at her without crying for the mother I had once known, I shifted to Bobbi. Just as she had been the last time I was in court, she was sitting stiff as an ironing board with no expression on her face. No fear. No remorse. No emotion. It chilled me to the bone marrow.

  “I think I’ve seen evil now,” I whispered to Chris.

  He followed my gaze to Bobbi and then looked back at me, brow furrowed.

  “No feeling whatsoever in the face of what she’s done to her children and mine,” I whispered. “That is pure evil.”

  When the defense attorney finally took his seat, patting Bobbi’s hand as if her immediate release were a fait accompli, the judge turned to the jury and gave them their instructions. My mind was going numb, but Chris was leaning forward and taking in every word as if he were about to be foreman. One more example of how well we were discovering we worked together. Whatever I couldn’t do, he could, and vice versa. Dominica had told me that was all part of our finding our true selves and becoming interdependent at the same time. Still, I wasn’t completely sure. I was waiting for my decision about us to be one I couldn’t help but make.

  Chris suddenly stood up beside me, pulling me up by the arm. The judge was leaving. Before I could sit down again, Lance Andrews was standing in front of us.

  “This could take hours, maybe even days,” he said. “You two have a cell phone? I can call you when the jury comes back in.”

  “I wasn’t planning on leaving the courthouse,” I said.

  “I’m taking you to lunch,” Chris said. “I promised Reggie I would make you eat.”

  Chris pulled out one of his business cards and scribbled the cell number on the back. My eye caught an opportunity I was sure I wasn’t going to get again. My mother was caught in the throng trying to make its way out of the courtroom.

  “I’ll be back,” I said to Chris, and then climbed over several people to get to the doorway. I reached between two others who stood between me and my mother and squeezed her arm.

  “Mama?” I said.

  She whirled her head, and her face floundered. I didn’t give her a chance to land on a response. I just held onto her arm and guided her through the traffic and off to a bench just behind a column in the hall.

  “Let go of me, Antonia,” she said under her breath. For all her decline, she still wasn’t one to make a scene in public. Thank heaven for West End Richmond propriety.

  Mine, on the other hand, had gone completely down the tubes. I held onto her until I had her sitting on the bench, and I didn’t let go even though she stared stonily at my fingers.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll talk.” I leaned into her, the way Dominica did with me whenever she wanted to make sure my own stuff didn’t block what she needed for me to understand. “Mama, no matter what you say, you are still my mother and I am still your daughter. We disagree on something huge, but we have both done what we thought was right. I don’t want this rift between us to last forever. We are all going to need each other when—”

  “When what?” Mama bored steely eyes into mine. “When your sister is finally set free from the lies you have told about her, the lies you have poisoned Wyndham and Ben with?” She gave a sniff. “You may need me again, but I will never need you, Antonia. You have betrayed us all with your deceit. You’ve blamed your inadequacies as a wife and mother on your sister, who is the best mother I have ever known.”

  I pulled my hand away from her arm and shook my head. “Oh, Mama, you are so wrong, and I’m sorry for you. Call me whenever you find out you need love, and I’ll be there—and so will Ben and so will Chris.”

  Her eyebrows sprang up. “Chris? You’re back together?”

  “We’re getting there.”

  “At least you’ve gotten one thing right,” she said coldly.

  “Oh, I’ve gotten a lot more than that right—thank God.”

  She sniffed again. “Let’s see what God does for Bobbi. Then I’ll thank Him.”

  I could almost hear Dominica cutting that reasoning apart, but I kept my mental scissors tucked away. This was no longer someone I could reason with. I had to relinquish control.

  Mama left briskly for the restroom, visibly trying to pull off a smooth escape and failing miserably with a halting gait and her purse gaping sloppily open. Chris met me in the hall and took my arm.

  “How did it go?” he said.

  “It didn’t. She’s going to have a total breakdown if Bobbi’s convicted. What are we—”

  “We’ll be there for her. What else can we do?”

  Chris’s parents joined us for lunch with Ben in tow, and for an hour we put the trial aside and watched our son’s grandparents indulge him. I was grateful for at least one set who worshiped the ground he walked on, as grandparents are supposed to do. We were in the restaurant lobby, waiting for Chris to pay the bill and watching Ben fish gumballs out of a machine with the endless supply of quarters his Grandfather Wells was giving him, when the cell phone chirped in my purse.

  “The jury’s come to a verdict,” Lance said. “How soon can you get here?”

  Chris’s parents whisked Ben away, and Chris and I broke every traffic law in Richmond getting ourselves back to the courthouse and finding a parking place. Chris finally pulled an outdated parking tag out of his wallet and hung it from the rearview mirror as I got a head start up the courthouse steps. We were both hyperventilating when we arrived, just as the bailiff was closing the doors, and the only seat left was right behind Mama. I could feel the stiffness in her neck as we sl
id across the bench.

  “What does this mean, their coming back so fast?” I whispered to Chris.

  He shook his head, but his mouth was in a long thin line. I had a feeling he knew, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell me. The man on the other side of me was more forthcoming.

  “Usually means a unanimous vote to acquit,” he said. “Must be a bunch of child molesters themselves, this jury.”

  “Thanks.” The inside of my mouth turned to sawdust.

  The jury filed in then, none of them looking at Bobbi, who was surveying every one of them with those same unfeeling eyes. If she was aware of anyone else in the courtroom, she had us all fooled.

  The judge asked if the jury had reached a verdict, which the foreman said they had.

  “At least they ain’t a hung jury,” the man next to me said. “That woulda meant a whole new trial.”

  I slanted my body away from him and wished somebody would hang him. The suspense was not as delicious as it was when I watched Law and Order. It was driving into my heart like a stake.

  The judge silently read the slip of paper that was handed to him, which he then gave back to the clerk and instructed Bobbi to rise. Her attorney helped her up as if she were the crown princess. It was the first time I’d seen her standing. Normally as tall and meaty as Stephanie, she was lost in the orange coveralls. Reggie would have said she was worse than “tragic.”

  “On all counts of child neglect and endangerment,” the clerk read, “the jury finds the defendant, Roberta Vyne—guilty.”

  I grabbed for Chris’s hand. It was right there, smothering mine in cold, frightened flesh.

  “On all counts of child molestation,” the clerk went on, “the jury finds the defendant, Roberta Vyne—guilty.”

  An approving murmur went through the courtroom, greeted with a pound of the gavel from the bench. I was surprisingly numb, until from the seat in front of me, a scream went up that rent the air and brought the room to silence.

  “No! No, that’s my baby. She couldn’t have. She couldn’t have!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bailiff heading toward her, face grim.

  “Chris,” I said.

  He was way ahead of me. With my mother still shrieking and plucking hysterically at her silk suit, Chris put both arms around her and held her from behind, over the seat, and spoke to her in even tones.

  “Eileen—it’s okay. Calm down. You have to calm down.”

  The shrieking stopped as she burst into silent, wrenching sobs and lay her head back against Chris’s chest. He half-carried her out of the courtroom.

  I stayed, and I looked at Bobbi. Who was going to calm her down, now that she had seen her last stalwart going to pieces?

  There was no need for anyone. Bobbi did look in the direction of Mama’s seat, and at last her eyes met mine. But there was nothing, not even a trace of concern for her mother, and certainly no shame as she looked at me.

  Dear God, she still doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong.

  Dominica had been right. A person could choose not to take the choice that lay so clearly before her—but the results were disastrous. Bobbi had had that choice a long time ago, when she knew her husband was exploiting and abusing innocent children, and she had turned her back on it. Now there was nothing in her eyes as she looked away from me, because there was no longer anyone there.

  But I knew there was something in my eyes. I knew there was clarity. I knew what to do.

  I pushed my way through the crowd that milled at the doorway, craning my neck for my husband. We had to get Ben and we had to go home, together, the three of us, and live in one house. We had to raise our son to continue to rise above what two sick people had done to him.

  And we had to do it with the help of a God who through Christ was more real than anything else I now knew.

  And that wasn’t just a Hobson’s choice. That was Antonia’s choice.

  Resources

  If you or anyone you know is or has been the victim of pornography, incest, or any form of sexual abuse, do not assume that the effects will heal with time. Time, without benefit of treatment, often makes things worse. Get help, whether therapy, spiritual direction, or counsel, on how to proceed with prosecution. If you don’t know where to turn, the following resources can get you started:

  RAINN—Rape Abuse Incest National Network, (800) 656-HOPE.

  Abuse and Assault, (800) 962-2873.

  National Coalition Against Sexual Assault, (717) 232-7460.

  Especially helpful if you are interested in participating in legal reform.

  National Child Abuse Hotline, (800) 422-4453.

  New Life Treatment Centers, (949) 376-0707. This Christian organization will help you find Christian treatment centers in your area.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS FOR

  Antonia’s Choice

  To the Reader from the Author

  Do you remember back in high school when you’d read an assigned book for English class that was actually pretty decent, and then the teacher would ruin it by giving you a list of questions to answer? (It was even worse when the teacher made you write the questions out. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was designed to keep the class quiet for an extra fifteen minutes!)

  As the author of Antonia’s Choice, I would rather consume an entire jar of pickled eggs than think that the list of questions below is going to remind you of Mrs. Magilicutty’s sophomore English class! The questions you’ll find here are designed only to allow you to further enter the fictional world I’ve created in hopes that you’ll find even deeper meaning for yourself there. If the thought makes you want to construct spitballs, skip this part completely! In any case, there are no have-tos and right-or-wrong answers here. My hope is that you will simply enjoy journeying further with Antonia and the group, moving closer to yourself and to our God. It’s your choice!

  Some of the early readers of Antonia’s Choice have said that it takes Toni an inordinately long time to figure out what has happened to Ben, especially in light of the evidence that is right under her nose. Why do you think an otherwise very intelligent woman would be so clueless? Do you ever fall into that way of dealing (or not dealing!) with things? Is it truly cluelessness, or is God’s hand in there somehow?

  Take a look at your adult past and see if you can remember any Hobson’s choices you’ve had to make. Choose one of those take-it-or-leave-it situations and think about it: Did you “take it” or did you “leave it”? Don’t beat yourself up if you counted the cost and found it too much. Now is a good time to examine that, figure out the reason you turned away (beyond “I was just a loser”), and go back to God with it.

  As a result of the sacrifices Toni made for Ben’s healing, she actually reaped huge benefits for both of them. You might want to discuss or think back to what those were. More important, look at your own life, perhaps in two ways: One, can you now see the gifts that have come to you on various levels as a result of sacrifices you’ve had to make? And two, if you’re being called upon right now to give up some plan or dream or possession of your own, can you see how God is changing you, or how He could change you?

  Toni’s true commitment to Christ is made quietly and without fanfare. She simply understands in a moment of clarity what it means to be born again. Would you rather have seen a more dramatic conversion scene? What was your own moment of clarity like? Or hasn’t it come yet? What stands between you and what Toni discovered about Christ? Be as authentic and honest about this as you can. This isn’t a pressure question!

  Dominica is a pretty direct character. She lays things out for Toni in an almost abrupt way in their first meeting. Did that put you off? How about their later discussions? Do you agree with Dominica’s theology?

  Finally, let’s get down to the subject matter of the book. I tried to present the very real problem of child molestation in a way that was realistic and clear, without being graphic about it. Did I succeed? How did you respond on an emotional le
vel to what happened to Ben and Wyndham and the other children? Can you do anything about this wretched problem in our society? If you can, please do. If you are moved to work socially, there is an organization for abused children in or near every town in America that can help you determine what you can do to help. If your response is on a more personal level, seek professional help. I beg you not to allow any incident of molestation, no matter how small it may seem to you, to go undealt with. Most of all, I ask you to pray. If you’re in a group study, pray together right now. We must protect our young ones, one child at a time.

  THE BET: ALL OR NOTHING, GAIN OR LOSS?

  Confirmed atheist Jill McGavock faces the mental deterioration of her brilliant mother. In a quest to cope with this devastating situation, Jill seeks out philosophy professor Sam Bakalis. Savvy Sam challenges Jill to make “Pascal’s wager”—to “bet” that God exists by acting as if He does. The results not only change Jill’s mind but transform her life in ways she never could have imagined. An exciting, faith-building thriller!

  ISBN 1-57673-826-4

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ANTONIA’S CHOICE

  published by Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920

  ©2003 by Nancy Rue

  Multnomah is a trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc., and is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.