The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  “Are you helping her?”

  “Not much. Since she was placed by an adoption agency in Virginia, I checked the Virginia open-records statute and gave her the number of an outfit that helps connect adoptees with their birth parents. I’m not sure if she’s called them, but I think she will.”

  Bishop ate a bite of pastry and took a sip of coffee.

  “Have you thought about trying to find your mother?”

  “No.” Jeremy shook his head. “I think it’s more of a girl thing. I’m not curious about facts that don’t have any current relevance.”

  “You sound like a lawyer.”

  Jeremy smiled. “When I look at Chloe’s blond hair and blue eyes, I know where they came from. She’s exhibit A from my gene pool. Where I got the genes in the first place doesn’t really interest me.”

  The two men stayed in the coffee shop chatting for another thirty minutes. After Jeremy checked his watch a second time, Bishop stood up.

  “I get the message. I’m retired, but you’re just getting started and need to get back to work.” He leaned forward and pointed to the owner of the shop. “Work on Bobby. If we can franchise this place, there will be an equity stake for you as a finder’s fee. We’ll start with three locations, double that every year for five years, then sell out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for stopping by. It means a lot.”

  Bishop shook Jeremy’s hand and patted him on the back.

  “Your dad would be proud of you.”

  “Mom says he is.”

  “Oh yeah,” Bishop said with a wave of his hand. “She talks about heaven like it’s in the next room. That’s one area I leave to her and Kip. They huddle together and discuss the Bible and pray. Sometimes I think they’re praying for me.”

  Jeremy smiled. “That makes three of us.”

  TWENTY

  Sandy stood near the front entrance to the school waiting for Maria. It was 7:40 a.m., and Maria was ten minutes late. A puff of black smoke announced the arrival of Rosalita’s car. She pulled to the curb, and Maria got out. The girl looked to the right and left as she walked toward Sandy.

  “Are you okay?” Sandy asked.

  “No. I had a fight with my father. He did not want me to come to school, so I ran to Rosalita’s house. She brought me.”

  “Why didn’t he want you to come to school?” Sandy asked as she held the door open.

  “The baby,” Maria replied cryptically.

  Sandy didn’t ask a follow-up question. The story, as bad as it might be, would come out soon enough. It shouldn’t happen in a school hallway.

  Carol Ramsey’s office was in a suite close to the school’s main office. The Rutland school system employed three counselors: two at the high school and a third who split time between the high school and the local middle school. Carol’s door was cracked open, and the dark-haired, slightly overweight guidance counselor was sitting at her desk when Sandy tapped lightly.

  “Come in,” Carol said, glancing up.

  Carol was in her second year at the school. Unmarried, she provided students with academic advice and help with college placement issues, but her passion was supportive counseling services. Earlier in the year she’d shared in a faculty meeting that the personal problems she’d faced as a student had motivated her to help those going through similar challenges. She stood up to greet Sandy and Maria, who sat across from the counselor’s desk. Carol held a pen in her left hand and clicked it open and shut a couple of times.

  “Before we get started, I need to ask Maria a few questions,” she said. “Do you feel comfortable talking to me in English?”

  “Yes, my English is better.”

  “Good. If I say something you don’t understand, will you let me know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want Ms. Lincoln to leave the room while we talk?”

  Maria gave the counselor a startled look.

  “Do you want Ms. Lincoln to leave?” Carol repeated.

  “Why would I want her to leave?”

  “You have a right to keep our conversation private from anybody else. Do you know what I mean by private conversation?”

  “Private conversation?”

  Sandy translated the phrase into Spanish. Maria nodded.

  “I understand. I want Ms. Lincoln to stay. She has been very nice to me.”

  “Okay. Let me ask some background questions.”

  Sandy listened while Carol obtained basic information from Maria. The young girl was two months past her sixteenth birthday.

  “Who do you live with?”

  “It used to be my father, me, my stepmother, and my two little brothers, Desi and Felipe. My stepmother took Desi and Felipe back to Mexico six months ago. When they tried to come back to the United States, they were stopped at the border, so my father is trying to get enough money to get them here. He started letting other men stay with us. They pay him money for a place to sleep.”

  “Where is your real mother?”

  “She died when I was six years old. She was killed by the drug men in our town. They shot guns at a man who was walking in the road. My mother was standing in front of our house and a bullet hit her. She died that day.”

  “Did you see this happen?” Carol asked, her eyes wide.

  “Yes. I ran over to her.” Maria held up her right hand. “Her blood was on this hand. After that I did not talk for a long time and would not leave the house to go to school.”

  Sandy didn’t know this personal information. It helped her understand why Maria was so behind educationally when she first arrived in Rutland.

  “How many men are staying in the house with you and your father?”

  Maria shrugged. “It changes. Sometimes four, sometimes six to eight.”

  “Why does it change?”

  “People, they come and they go. They ask my father about it and he says yes or no.”

  “Does Rosalita stay in your trailer?” Sandy asked.

  “No, she lives near us. She has three children.”

  “Who is Rosalita?” Carol asked Sandy.

  “Her older cousin who works at one of the chicken plants.”

  “I sleep at her trailer a lot,” Maria added.

  “Why?” Carol asked.

  Maria shook her head.

  “Please, it’s important,” Carol said.

  Maria looked at Sandy.

  “Tell her,” Sandy said.

  “No,” Maria said, to Sandy’s surprise.

  Carol didn’t seem upset.

  “Do you have your own room at Rosalita’s trailer?”

  “No, I stay with Carla. She is the oldest girl.”

  “Do you have your own room at your father’s trailer?”

  “Not now; I sleep on a cot in the kitchen.”

  “The kitchen?”

  “Yes. I put a sheet up.” Maria paused. “But it’s not so good.”

  “What are the names of the men who pay money to your father to stay at your trailer?”

  “Julio, Emilio, Juan, Carlos. Bernardo, he moved out last week.”

  “Do they drink alcohol?”

  Maria looked at Sandy, who translated.

  “Yes,” Maria said. “Beer. And tequila.”

  “When do they drink beer and tequila?”

  Maria touched her fingers as she spoke. “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.”

  “Every day of the week?”

  “Sometimes, but always on Friday and Saturday. That is when they have money.”

  “Do they use drugs?”

  “I don’t know. I do not see that.”

  “Do they ever get in fights?”

  “Yes. I run to Rosalita’s house.”

  “Has anyone ever hit you?”

  Maria hesitated again. “No.”

  “Where does your father work?”

  “Pet Home. He works at night.”

  Pet Home was a local factory that made ornate houses for cats and dogs. />
  “It is better when he is at home,” Maria continued.

  “Why is it better?”

  “Because he makes the men act better.”

  “When he is not there, they act bad?”

  Maria nodded.

  Carol then asked Maria a series of questions about her classes at school and social interaction with other students. The girl kept to herself and had few close friends. Carol paused and made a few notes.

  “Maria, why did you come to see me today?” she asked.

  “Ms. Lincoln talked to me yesterday and told me to come.”

  “After you told her you were pregnant?”

  Tears welled up in Maria’s eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know you are pregnant?”

  “Rosalita told me.” Maria wiped her eyes.

  “How did she know?”

  “The little paper turned blue. That means there is a baby.”

  “You took a home pregnancy test?”

  Maria looked at Sandy, who translated the question.

  “Yes,” Maria said. “Rosalita bought the test at the store.”

  “I think you should go to the county health department for a second test,” Carol said.

  “What?” Maria responded.

  Sandy explained, and Maria nodded.

  “Yes, second test, okay,” she said.

  “Can she do that without her father’s permission?” Sandy asked.

  “If she wants to.”

  Carol glanced at the screen of the computer on her desk.

  “How about eleven o’clock this morning? Come here after your third-period class, and I’ll take you to see a nurse. Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Carol made another note on her form.

  “How did you get pregnant?” she asked.

  Maria looked puzzled. “Don’t you know?”

  “Yes,” Carol replied patiently. “Did you want to get pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “Who is the man who made you pregnant?”

  Maria shook her head.

  “You don’t want to tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Maria didn’t answer.

  “Is it a boy who goes to the school?”

  “No.”

  “Did the man make you be with him?”

  Maria didn’t respond.

  “Is it someone who lives at the house?”

  Maria didn’t answer. Carol glanced down at her notes.

  “Was it Emilio?”

  Maria didn’t answer.

  “Was it Carlos?”

  No response.

  “Was it Bernardo, who moved out? Did your father make him leave?”

  “Please,” Maria said as she turned to Sandy. “Do I have to tell?”

  Before Sandy could respond, Carol spoke.

  “Would you be willing to talk to the police?”

  “The police?” Maria said in alarm. “What have I done wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Sandy and Carol said simultaneously.

  “But the man who made you pregnant did something wrong,” Carol said. “And he should be punished.”

  A look of panic crossed Maria’s face. Sandy wanted to ask Carol to not push too hard but kept her mouth shut.

  “We’ll talk more when we go to the nurse.” Carol looked at her watch. “It’s almost time for first period.”

  “Will you go with me to see the doctor?” Maria asked Sandy.

  “No, I have to teach a class. Ms. Ramsey will take care of you. But come see me before you leave school this afternoon.”

  Sandy held the door open for Maria so she could leave.

  “Ms. Lincoln, could you stay for a minute?” Carol asked.

  “Sure.”

  Carol straightened her glasses.

  “There’s obviously something bad going on at that trailer, and I have a legal duty to inquire,” she said as soon as Maria was gone. “I’m concerned she might be exposed to ongoing abuse. What do you know about the situation?”

  “Nothing much. I didn’t know about her mother’s murder until this morning, and I wasn’t aware she was in an all-male household. She’s never talked to me about personal matters until now.”

  “Why did she seek you out?”

  “I tutored her in English when she first came to the school, and I think she feels safe with me.”

  “Does she know what you went through when you were a high school student?”

  Sandy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You mean my teenage pregnancy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I seriously doubt Maria knows about that.”

  Carol tapped her pen against the papers on her desk.

  “It doesn’t look like she’s very far along, which will give her options. I wanted to ask about that, but it may be better for the nurse at the health department to bring that up.”

  “Options? Won’t you have to involve her father in that discussion?”

  “What if he’s the reason for the problem?”

  A sick feeling hit Sandy in the pit of her stomach. She remembered Maria’s statement that she and her father had a fight that morning.

  “It’s okay that Maria comes by your classroom from time to time for a supportive chat,” Carol continued. “However, let me take over as her counselor. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Okay,” Sandy replied numbly.

  Shortly before third period began, Sandy glanced out the window of her classroom and saw Carol and Maria walking across the parking lot. Sandy’s heart ached for Maria, and she offered up a quick, silent prayer for the young girl.

  “Ms. Lincoln, I couldn’t understand what you wanted us to do for homework,” a female student said, interrupting Sandy’s thoughts.

  Sandy turned around. Daphne Boatwright, a short girl with light-brown hair and a pixie nose, was standing in front of Sandy’s desk.

  “What part?” Sandy replied. “I gave you ten vocabulary words to look up and use each one in an original sentence. Then you’re to pick one of the words and include it in a one-hundred-word paragraph about a topic you selected.”

  “Oh, we didn’t have to use all ten words in the same paragraph?”

  “No,” Sandy replied patiently. “It would be difficult to write a coherent paragraph that contained declaim, cauterize, disjunctive, and nonsectarian.”

  After the class ended, Sandy kept looking out the window. She knew it was unlikely that Carol and Maria would return within an hour, but she couldn’t stop checking. The bell rang, and the students filed out of the room. Sandy put away her teaching materials and entered the bustling hallway.

  The school cafeteria had been completely remodeled since Sandy was a student and now offered a much more diverse selection of food. A salad was no longer three or four pieces of wilted lettuce garnished with strips of shredded carrot, a barely ripe slice of tomato, and a dollop of runny ranch dressing. Now there was a self-service salad bar with more than twenty options. After getting her food, Sandy took her tray to the corner of the room reserved for faculty.

  “Join us,” said Kelli Bollinger, the dark-haired head of the foreign language department. Kelli taught Spanish and had been at the school for almost ten years.

  Sandy placed her tray on the table between Kelli and Patty Crutchfield, a biology teacher who coached the girls’ track team.

  “How is this week’s routine shaping up?” Kelli asked after Sandy sat down. “I heard Meredith talking about it after class. She seems excited about it.”

  “It has energy,” Sandy said, spearing a peach slice with her fork.

  “Push them hard,” Patty added. “Especially Tameka. I want you to get her heart rate into the training zone and stay there.”

  “She pushes herself and the other girls,” Sandy replied. “She has springs for legs.”

  “Which is why she’s going to compete for a conference title in the 400-meter intermediate hurdles.”

  While they were talk
ing, Sandy saw Carol come into the cafeteria. She tried to catch the counselor’s eye, but Carol didn’t look in her direction. Patty finished and left Sandy alone with Kelli.

  “Have you had much contact with Carol Ramsey?” Sandy asked in a low voice.

  “A little. Why?”

  “I took a student to see her for counseling this morning.”

  “She cares about the kids,” Kelli replied. “But she’s territorial, very territorial.”

  “That’s what I picked up on,” Sandy said, nodding. “The student trusts me, and I felt like Carol wanted to cut me out of the loop.”

  “Counseling is her area of expertise.” Kelli shrugged. “How would you feel if she barged into your classroom and started lecturing on Emily Dickinson’s fixation with death?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Remember, English is my native language.” Kelli smiled. “And I saw the title of the paper Meredith was writing for your class.”

  Carol emerged from the food line and joined a table of younger teachers.

  “You’re right,” Sandy said. “I can’t assume I know the best way to help a student in trouble.”

  “But you’re one of the people I’d want my daughter to talk to if she was in a mess and didn’t feel comfortable coming to me about it.”

  “You’re sweet.” Sandy smiled. “But Cathy never got within a hundred yards of serious trouble. How is she doing in college?”

  Instead of going to the faculty lounge during her free period, Sandy stayed in her classroom to grade papers. Hearing footsteps, she glanced up and saw Maria standing in the doorway. The Hispanic girl looked forlorn and alone.

  “Come in, come in,” Sandy said, putting down her red pen. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Maria sat in a student desk across from Sandy.

  “How was your visit to the health department?”

  “Okay.”

  “Did they give you another pregnancy test?”

  “It was yes. The woman who talked to me said seven or eight weeks.”

  Sandy had a sudden flashback to Dr. Braselton’s office.

  “Just getting started,” Sandy said, as much to herself as to Maria.

  “Ms. Ramsey is going to take me to see a doctor in Atlanta,” Maria continued. “We go there next Tuesday.”

  “Atlanta?” Sandy asked in surprise. “There are at least three doctors in Rutland who take care of pregnant women.”