The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  She was still pregnant.

  TWO

  Coach Cochran came by the office today to increase his life insurance policy,” Bob Lincoln said as they sat around the supper table. “Did you know his wife is pregnant again?”

  “No,” Julie replied.

  Sandy kept her eyes focused on the lasagna on her plate. She’d nibbled around the edges but wasn’t hungry. Her mother often prepared meals from scratch, but this supper had gone directly from the freezer into the oven and then to the table.

  “He’s not going to give up till he gets a boy,” her father said. “One more girl and he’ll have enough for a basketball team. I’m going to talk to some guys in the booster club and see if we can’t scare up some extra cash for him by the end of the season. It’d be a shame to lose him to a big-city school over a few bucks. He’s doing a great job.”

  “The players like him,” Sandy offered in a soft voice.

  “And they play their hearts out for him,” her father replied. He took a quick sip of sweet tea and leaned forward. “Do you know what else Coach Cochran told me?”

  Not waiting for anyone to guess, her father clapped his hands together.

  “He believes Brad Donnelly is a bona fide Division I prospect at wide receiver! Cochran has been getting calls from coaches at a few SEC schools.” Sandy’s father raised his hands as if signaling a touchdown. “Including Auburn. War Eagle! Sandy, if Brad gets a scholarship offer, you could go to Auburn and try out for the cheerleading squad. I’m not trying to pressure you, but wouldn’t it be a blast if Brad made the team and you were on the sidelines? Cheerleading in college is a huge commitment, and your studies would have to come first, but being part of that would be something you’d be proud of for the rest of your life.”

  “Would we get to go to the home games?” Ben asked.

  “Every single one of them,” his father answered. “And we might go to a few away games too. The whole thing got me as excited as a kid.”

  “Your lasagna is getting cold,” Julie said.

  Sandy’s father looked down as if suddenly discovering there was food on his plate. He took a big bite.

  “This is great, honey,” he said, his mouth partially full. “Better than what they serve at Mama Rosario’s.”

  After supper, Sandy helped her mother put the dishes in the dishwasher. The two women worked in silence. The males in the family went into the den to watch TV for a few minutes before the boys did their homework.

  “When are we going to tell him?” Sandy whispered as she rinsed Jack’s plate. “I sure didn’t think about college all afternoon.”

  “I did,” her mother replied. “But not, of course, like your daddy. It’s a forty-minute drive to the community college in Carteret. You could probably schedule classes two days a week or go at night after the baby is asleep.”

  Her mother’s words made Sandy’s head spin. She suddenly pictured herself in her bedroom with a crying infant in what had once been her grandmother’s yellow wicker bassinet. Sandy and her brothers had each spent the first few months of their lives in that bassinet.

  “I would stay here after the baby is born?”

  Her mother pressed her lips together tightly for a moment.

  “Sandy, this is a bad situation, but we’re not going to put you out on the street.”

  A moment later, Bob Lincoln walked into the kitchen and placed his hand on Sandy’s forehead.

  “Feels fine to me,” he said. “Ben told me you went to the doctor today, then mentioned something about getting a prescription for vitamins.”

  Sandy backed away from her father until the kitchen counter stopped her.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  Her mother looked toward the den.

  “Where are the boys?”

  “There wasn’t anything decent on TV, so I sent them upstairs to do their homework. What’s going on?”

  Julie dried her hands on a dish towel. Sandy held her breath. The queasiness she’d felt in the doctor’s office returned, only worse. Her mother wrung the towel tightly in her hands for a moment before laying it on the edge of the sink.

  “Sandy’s pregnant,” she said.

  No preamble. No buildup. No effort at damage control before dropping the bombshell. Sandy had watched her mother handle her father for years. Sometimes she could change his mind and make him think it was his own idea. This was a radically different approach. It was her daddy’s turn to step back. Sandy and her father faced each other across the kitchen with her mother standing in the middle.

  “How?” he managed after a few seconds passed.

  “I think you know the answer to that,” Julie replied matter-of-factly. “She’s about eight weeks along. It explains why she hasn’t been feeling well when she first gets up in the morning.”

  “You’ve had morning sickness?” Sandy’s father asked with a bewildered look on his face.

  “I threw up today, but you’d already left for the office.”

  Her father’s face suddenly turned red. His mood could shift in seconds. Sandy braced herself.

  “Who did this to you?” he sputtered.

  “Brad Donnelly,” Sandy replied. “It happened toward the end of summer. Do you remember when we went to the lake—”

  Sandy’s father swore and slammed his fist against the countertop.

  “I’ll get him kicked off the team and expelled from school! He rides in here from Houston and takes advantage of you.” Sandy’s father looked wild-eyed at her mother. “Do the Donnellys know about this?”

  “No,” Sandy responded. “I didn’t want to tell Brad until I saw the doctor and talked with you.”

  Sandy’s father checked his watch. “Let’s go over there right now.”

  “Mr. Connelly is out of town on a business trip,” Sandy said. “I asked Brad about it this morning without telling him why I wanted to know.”

  “Carl Donnelly is a salesman,” Julie added. “Most weeks he leaves on Monday and doesn’t come back till Friday. Sometimes he comes to the games with a suit on.”

  “He should have spent more time at home telling his son how to treat innocent young girls!”

  Even though her father was wrong about both her innocence and age, Sandy wasn’t about to disagree with him. She was relieved that, so far, his anger had been focused outward. There would be time later to rehabilitate his attitude toward Brad. She relaxed a little bit. Then her father’s gaze turned to her. Sandy felt her face flush. Her heart started pounding.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she began, fighting back tears. “I never wanted to do anything to embarrass you and Mama. I wish—”

  Before Sandy could continue, her father opened wide his arms.

  “Come here, sweetie,” he said.

  Sandy flew across the kitchen and into his embrace. Her father held her close as tears soaked his shirt. When they separated, Sandy felt both drained and strengthened.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” her mother said. “There are some things your father and I have to discuss first.”

  Sandy nodded. She’d received what she needed—assurance that she would have the support of her family as she faced the future.

  The following morning Sandy spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom unsuccessfully battling nausea. Her face remained pale when she checked herself in the mirror. Her father was waiting for her in the foyer when she came downstairs. The house was quiet. In the light of a new day he looked serious, not angry. Sandy checked her watch. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d be tardy for homeroom.

  “Where are Mama and the boys?” she asked.

  “She took them to school this morning so you and I could be alone. Are you going to talk to Brad today?”

  “Yes, sir. I thought I’d wait until sixth-period study hall. That way he won’t have to think about it all day during classes.”

  “But he won’t go straight home after school. He’ll have football practice.”

  “I know.”

  The grandfather c
lock in the foyer chimed the quarter hour.

  “Your mama and I stayed up late talking last night. We believe we should meet with the Donnellys as soon as possible, even if Carl is out of town. That means Brad needs to talk to his mother as soon as he gets home. We’d like to do it tonight.”

  The thought of a larger group that included Brad, his mother, and both her parents didn’t help Sandy’s nausea. The meeting was inevitable, but that didn’t make it easier. Bracing herself, she asked the question that had been uppermost in her mind as she lay in bed the previous night unable to fall asleep: “What are you going to say to Brad?”

  “That he has to take responsibility for his actions. What that means at this point is one of the things we’ll discuss.”

  “Like Brad and me getting married?”

  “Sandy,” her father said in a tone that instantly put an end to any debate. “If you want our help, you’re going to have to let us guide you through this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get going,” he said, opening the front door for her. “I’ll be home early from work.”

  It was one of the longest days of Sandy’s school career. The first time she saw Brad, the lanky young man with reddish-brown hair and green eyes was standing in front of his locker. He had on the same shirt and pants he’d worn the night the baby was conceived. Sandy shuddered and ducked into the girls’ bathroom so she could avoid him. She tried to act normally at lunch. Brad pressed his leg against hers beneath the table while he joked with his buddies. Sandy wanted to pull away but forced herself to remain still.

  During fifth-period chemistry, Jessica tapped Sandy on the shoulder when Mr. Cook stepped out of the room for a minute.

  “What’s wrong?” the tall, dark-haired girl whispered. “You don’t look so well. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

  Sandy touched her right cheek. She’d applied the usual amount of makeup before leaving the house.

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t say a word at lunch. Did you and Brad have a fight?”

  Sandy and Jessica had known each other so long that they were as sensitive to each other’s feelings as natural sisters. Unwelcome tears suddenly came to Sandy’s eyes. She looked straight ahead so Jessica wouldn’t see and shook her head.

  Mr. Cook returned to the room, and Sandy tried to focus on the day’s lecture about complex carbon compounds. But all she could think about was what lay ahead in sixth-period study hall. She wanted to come across to Brad as mature, not whiny, but doubted she’d have much control at all.

  “Let’s hang out in study hall,” Jessica said as they gathered up their books. “I’ll cheer you up.”

  “No, I need to talk to Brad.”

  “What’s going on?” Jessica demanded.

  Sandy knew the truth would devastate her friend. She started toward the door with Jessica right beside her.

  “You’re going to tell me eventually,” Jessica said. “Open up and get it over with.”

  They jostled their way down the crowded hallway.

  “Not until after study hall,” Sandy said. “I’ll give you a ride home. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Are you forgetting that you have cheerleading practice, and I have to work on my solo routine?”

  Jessica, with her long, graceful arms, was head majorette and could juggle three flaming batons at once.

  “I’m skipping practice,” Sandy said. “I’m not sick, just tired.”

  Jessica grabbed Sandy and spun her around. Several people bumped into them. Sandy tried to pull away, but Jessica forced her into a gap between two banks of lockers.

  “You look sick and feel tired, and it’s Brad’s fault?”

  Sandy blinked her eyes and didn’t answer. Suddenly, the blood rushed from Jessica’s face.

  “You’re not—?” Jessica stopped.

  “Please,” Sandy pleaded. “I need to get to study hall and make sure I can get alone with Brad.”

  Sandy left Jessica and reentered the sea of high school humanity flowing down the hallway. Sixth period was in the library. Flushed after her encounter with Jessica, Sandy walked rapidly. Brad, his back to the door, was seated at a table in the rear of the room with three other members of the football team. Sandy marched up to them. One of the other boys, a hulking offensive lineman named Larry Babineaux, saw her coming.

  “Look out, Donnelly,” he said. “You’re in big trouble.”

  Brad glanced over his shoulder, saw Sandy, and smiled. Brad’s smile exuded unlimited charm. Normally, when he directed it toward Sandy, it made her feel like the sun had burst from behind the clouds. Today it had lost its power.

  “No, I’m not,” Brad said, pulling back a chair so Sandy could sit down. “We’re talking football, but Sandy knows more about how to run an offense than you do.”

  “Brad, I need to talk to you,” Sandy said. “Alone.”

  “See,” Babineaux replied in triumph. “I can read a girl’s body language better than you can.”

  “If that’s true, why don’t you have a girlfriend?” one of the other boys asked.

  “Can it wait a few minutes?” Brad asked Sandy. “We’re in the middle of something.”

  “No.”

  Brad hesitated for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and got up from his seat.

  “See that?” Babineaux observed in a voice loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear. “Sandy is small but tough. Notice what happened, guys. She took down Donnelly harder than the cornerback from Barnwell on that busted play across the middle last week.”

  Sandy walked away from the table. She took a couple of steps and glanced back to see if Brad was following. He made a parting comment that made the other boys laugh, then joined her.

  “Don’t do that to me, baby,” he said in a low voice. “It was embarrassing.”

  Sandy didn’t respond. There was a small, unoccupied table near the biography section. She led the way and sat down. Brad, a puzzled expression on his face, sat across from her and leaned forward.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Looking into Brad’s eyes, Sandy’s carefully researched speech flew out of her head. Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Her life was about to change forever.

  “I went to the doctor yesterday. I’m pregnant.”

  Brad sat up straight in his chair with a shocked expression on his face. Then, almost immediately, a smile creased his lips.

  “That’s a rough way to get back at me for joking around with you in front of the guys.”

  “It’s not a joke. Dr. Braselton gave me a pregnancy test, and it came back positive.”

  Brad stared at Sandy. She watched as reality hit him. He gripped the edge of the table with his large hands.

  “That’s impossible. Take another test.”

  “I can do that, but there’s no doubt in my mind. Everything about my body says I’m pregnant. I’ve been throwing up most mornings for the past two weeks.”

  “And you’re sure I’m the father?”

  Before she knew what she was doing, Sandy reached out and slapped Brad across the face. He stared at her in stunned shock.

  “What? Why?”

  “How dare you ask me that?” she whispered intensely.

  One of the study-hall proctors, a student teacher named Mr. Phillips, came up to the table.

  “What’s going on over here?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Brad answered. “We’re talking.”

  “I thought I saw her hit you.”

  “No, she just patted me on the cheek.”

  “Keep it under control, or I’m going to have to separate you. No physical contact is allowed in here.”

  “No problem,” Brad answered.

  Phillips gave them a skeptical look and turned away. Brad’s cheek was turning red where Sandy had hit him. She tried to feel sorry for striking out but didn’t. Her eyes blazed.

  “Who else do you think might be the father
?” she asked.

  “No one. You caught me off guard with this, and I didn’t have time to think.” Brad looked past Sandy for a few moments. “How unlucky can we be? One time, and you’re pregnant.”

  “The first and only time,” Sandy reminded him.

  “Yeah, the girls in Houston knew how to avoid stuff like this.”

  Sandy had suspected Brad was more experienced than she, but he’d never blatantly admitted it.

  “Oh, you’re blaming me?”

  “No, no. It’s on both of us. But you’re the one who’s going to have the rougher time. I hate that.”

  At the hint of sympathy, Sandy relaxed slightly.

  “I talked with my parents, and they want to get together with you and your mom tonight. I know your dad is out of town.”

  “No way.” Brad shook his head. “Your father isn’t going to come over to my house and chew me out in front of my mom. She’s going to have a nervous breakdown when she finds out anyway, and it will take a week and two-fifths of vodka to calm her down.”

  Brad had used vodka stolen from the family liquor cabinet to concoct a fruity drink that lowered Sandy’s inhibitions the night she conceived.

  “Whether you want to get together or not, she’s going to find out today,” Sandy replied. “My parents are going to call her this afternoon. She can hear the news from you after football practice or from them on the phone. And I can’t control what my father is going to do. Last night he was super mad, but he seemed calmer about it this morning.”

  “Man, I can’t believe this happened.”

  “Do you still love me?” Sandy asked in a subdued voice.

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t help that you hit me.”

  Sandy didn’t want to apologize but forced the words from her lips.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Just don’t ever do that again. I’d never hit you, no matter how mad I got.”

  “I know.”

  Brad tapped his finger on the history book in front of him.

  “Will they make you drop out of school?” he asked.