“Please help me, God,” she prayed. “Help me to be brave and strong. Show me how to do it . . . and where to begin.” She took in one last, deep breath of cold night air, said, “Amen,” then hurried back to the warmth of her car.
As she drove toward home, she had no idea how she would begin to untangle the web of deceit she had woven, but she believed that with God’s help, she could do it. Once she’d truly owned up to her mistake, once she’d laid it at his feet, he’d forgiven her, just like he’d promised. She could feel it inside of her, like the horrible weight of it had been lifted. She knew that God still loved her and that he had fully forgiven her.
Now the big question was, would anyone else?
16
Maybe it was due to the town meeting and the subsequent media coverage. Or maybe it had to do with the Christmas season and a general feeling of goodwill toward men (and pregnant teens) among the community. In any case, not only did the attack against the pregnancy center mostly disintegrate, but people began volunteering to help out with it. Including, Sophie discovered a few days before Christmas break, her best friend’s mother.
“What are you doing here, Sophie?” Mrs. Vincent asked as they entered the center simultaneously.
Sophie took in a quick stabilizing breath and waited while Mrs. Vincent signed in on the visitors’ list. It had been almost a week since Sophie had made things right with God. Since that night, she had prayed to him many times a day and asked him to lead her on a daily basis. But so far she had confessed nothing to anyone. She had started to a couple of times, like once with Carrie Anne and another time with her mom, but for one reason or another, the timing seemed all wrong. Or maybe Sophie was just a big chicken.
Now, standing there in the pregnancy center with Carrie Anne’s mom looking at her with a questioning expression, Sophie felt not only uneasy but also desperate. What if Mrs. Vincent knew somehow? What if she was about to guess the real reason Sophie was there? “Uh, I was about to ask you the same thing, Mrs. Vincent.” Sophie took the pen from her. “Why are you here?”
“Carrie Anne may have told you that I used to be an RN.”
Sophie just nodded, turning away to sign herself in. Earlier in the week she’d made an appointment with Mrs. Manchester. She’d hoped to have been further along in her confession plan by now. She’d thought that Mrs. Manchester could give her some advice, perhaps even enlist her in the pregnancy program after the holidays—because Sophie doubted that she’d want to show her face in her regular classes by then. But how was she going to spill the beans with her best friend’s mother in the next room?
“Before we had kids,” Mrs. Vincent continued, “I worked in the maternity ward and taught birthing classes at the hospital, and since I have some spare time, I volunteered to teach the birthing class here next semester. I came today just to look around.”
“Really?” Sophie felt the blood rush to her face as she set down the pen. “You’ll be teaching here too?”
Mrs. Vincent smiled. “Yes. I thought you might appreciate hearing that. Now tell me, Sophie, what are you doing here?”
Despite Sophie’s recent resolve to come clean with family and friends and to stop the lies, she couldn’t blow her cover just now. Not like this. “I thought I’d do a follow-up story,” she said quickly. “For the last newspaper of the year.”
“Oh, that’s a nice idea.”
“Yeah. Kind of a happy Christmas piece. After all the recent controversy, I wanted to write something positive about the center and the girls.” Sophie brightened. “And now I can include a bit about how more volunteers are stepping in to help—like you.”
“Just for the record, I haven’t changed all my views on this issue, but I suppose I’ve changed my strategy.” She reached over and squeezed Sophie’s hands. “You were right, Sophie, these girls do need our love and support. Thanks for helping me to see that.”
Sophie nodded. But the irony was inescapable. Not long ago, she had faced off with Mrs. Vincent over the teen pregnancy controversy. Now it was likely that, before long, Sophie would be a student in her childbirth class. But she wasn’t going to think about that today.
“Sophie,” Mrs. Manchester said. “So good to see you again. What can I do for you today?”
With Mrs. Vincent still listening, Sophie quickly retold her most recent fib. “I wanted to write something upbeat and positive for the Christmas edition of the paper,” she said. “If I could do another interview with the same girls, it’d be helpful.”
“That’s a lovely idea.” Mrs. Manchester actually hugged Sophie. “So thoughtful of you.”
Sophie bit her lip. Why couldn’t she just tell the truth? Once and for all she should just spew it out—tell the truth and take the consequences!
“Sophie is always thinking of others,” Mrs. Vincent gushed. “Such a fine role model.”
Sophie felt like gagging. She hated herself, hated her lies— she was such a pathetic hypocrite! And yet she just stood there accepting this praise like she deserved it.
Mrs. Manchester nodded with enthusiasm. “You are a treasure, Sophie. Why don’t you go set your interview things up in my office, and I’ll go find the girls. By the way, I think Serena has someone she’d like you to meet.”
Sophie went to the office and got out her notebook. She hadn’t brought the mini recorder, but she could at least take notes and put on the pretense of an interview. Besides, now she had to write that article, hopefully in time to make the final edition of the year. Not only that, but this would give her a chance to talk to Natasha. Her story was so similar to Sophie’s that it gave Sophie hope. Natasha, although a year younger, had somehow managed to face up to the truth— somehow she was dealing with it. Maybe Natasha could help—
“Hey, Sophie,” Serena said as she entered the office with a chubby-cheeked infant in her arms, “this is my little man, Gilbert.”
“Nice to meet you, Gilbert.” Sophie grinned down at the baby. Dressed in a red and white Christmas outfit and matching stocking hat, he looked ready to pose for a Christmas card. “Interesting name.”
“It was my grandpa’s. Now he was a good man.”
“So, how is life going for you and Gilbert?”
Serena let out a sigh. “Let me tell you, it is so not easy.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I mean, I thought I was tired before I had my little rug rat. But now it seems like I’m barely keeping one foot in front of the other. He eats all night long. And diaper duty—ew! I think he takes after his daddy in the stinky-pants department.”
Sophie chuckled. “Has his daddy seen him?”
“Oh yeah. He came to the hospital and everything.”
“So you guys are back together?”
“No way.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t even want him in my life anymore. Well, to see his son. That’s okay. But I’m like so over him now. My mama tried to tell me that Reggie was a selfish jerk a long time ago, but I just never listened.” She shook her head. “Lots of stuff I never listened about.”
“But you’re listening now?”
She laughed. “Not according to my mama.”
Sophie asked her a few more questions, but it wasn’t long before Gilbert was fussing. “He wants to eat again.” Serena pushed the pacifier back in his mouth, but he wasn’t interested.
Soon he was screaming. “And then he’s gonna need a change. Are you done?”
“Yeah. Thanks for helping.” Sophie watched as Serena juggled the howling baby, shoved the pacifier into the diaper bag, then finally stood. “You and Gilbert have a good Christmas,” Sophie told her.
Serena bounced him. “We will,” she shouted to be heard over the wailing baby. “You should see all the ‘baby’s first Christmas’ stuff I got for him. He’s gonna be the life of the party.”
“I’ll bet.” Sophie actually thought Gilbert could shut down a party.
“Want me to tell Natasha to come?”
Sophie nodd
ed. She was eager to see Natasha. She wanted to hear more about the college boyfriend and his parents. How had Natasha broken the news to them? Who did she tell first? Sophie knew these were self-serving questions and probably had little or nothing to do with a follow-up article, but she wanted to know.
Unfortunately Natasha wasn’t feeling chatty. The most Sophie learned was that Natasha initially told her mom, then her mom took over.
“So your mom told Terrence and his family for you?”
“Pretty much.” Natasha frowned at Sophie. “But I can’t imagine how that’s anything you’d print in the newspaper. What’s up anyway?”
“Oh, you know . . . just trying to let readers walk a mile in your moccasins.”
“Tell them to get pregnant then.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that would make an interesting article.”
With her hands resting on top of her tummy, Natasha leaned forward. “What’s your game, newsgirl?” Her eyes narrowed. “Huh?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“For an article on—”
“I don’t believe you.” Natasha stood. “I think you came here to gawk at us like we’re a bunch of sideshow freaks, and it somehow makes you feel better to—”
“That’s not it at all.”
But it was too late. Natasha was already storming out of the room. Sophie considered chasing after her, apologizing, maybe even explaining. But now Leah was coming in, and she seemed troubled too. Sophie wondered if Natasha had said something to tip her off.
“Are you feeling okay?” Sophie asked as Leah eased herself down into the chair across from Sophie.
Leah sighed. “It’s been a rough week.”
“How so?” Sophie picked up her pen and notepad, determined to keep this official. Although she was starting to have doubts about her article.
“You’re still not going to use my name in the newspaper, right?”
“Right.”
Leah had tears in her eyes. “We broke up.”
“You and your boyfriend broke up?”
Leah nodded as she pulled out a tissue from the box on Mrs. Manchester’s desk.
“I’m so sorry, Leah.” Sophie set down her pen.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Do you think it might be for the best?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I really thought we were getting married, you know, like I told you, right after Christmas. I got a dress and everything.”
“That must be hard.”
“Yeah . . . last weekend, like straight out of the blue, he told me he’s too young to be a dad. He thinks he needs to go to college. Just community college, but he says he needs to go so he can get a better job.”
“That sounds smart.”
“Smart? To leave me like that?”
“No, I mean smart to get an education.”
Leah stared with red-rimmed eyes. “But what about me? What about the baby? What will we do? Why is it okay for me to deal with this on my own?”
Sophie had no answer to that.
“I mean, it takes two to have a baby, right? Shouldn’t he have to stick around and help out?”
“I think the father should take some responsibility.” Sophie swallowed hard. Words were cheap.
“He promised to marry me.” Leah was sobbing again.
Sophie grabbed her a couple more tissues and waited.
“What am I going to do?” Leah said finally.
Like Sophie had answers. “What do you want to do?” Sophie knew that Leah was due in late January. Not all that far off.
“I don’t know.” Leah twisted the tissue into a snake shape. “My parents are pushing me to give it up . . . you know, for adoption.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Confused.”
Sophie nodded. “Yeah, I can imagine.”
Something in Leah seemed to change just then. Kind of like she snapped from hopelessness to anger. She glared at Sophie. “Really?” she seethed. “You think you can imagine? Get real. You’re the editor of the school paper. You’ve probably got a dozen college scholarships all lined up already. I mean, you’re free to do whatever you want with your freaking perfect little life. And you want me to believe that you can imagine what it’s like to be me? Give me a break.”
Sophie pressed her lips together and looked down at her nearly blank notepad. So much for the Christmas story. There was a long silence, finally broken by the loud blowing of Leah’s nose.
“Sorry,” Leah muttered. “I didn’t mean to lose it.”
“It’s okay.” Sophie closed her notebook.
“So . . . are we done now? I mean, I think I’ve said way more than enough.”
“Yeah, we’re done. Thanks.” They both stood, then Sophie reached out and put a hand on Leah’s arm. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Leah.”
Leah looked slightly confused, but she nodded like she got it.
“I’ll see you after Christmas, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” There was a strong note of cynicism in Leah’s voice as she turned to leave.
Sophie held on to Leah’s arm. “Wait a minute.”
“Huh?” Leah looked startled. “What’s wrong?”
“I will see you after Christmas, Leah.”
“Yeah, sure . . . whatever.”
“I mean I’ll see you here—here in the pregnancy center.”
“Another article?”
“No.” Sophie’s heart was pounding. “I’ll be coming here.”
“Oh, let me guess. You’re going to do one of those assignments where the reporter comes in and pretends to be one of us for a day or two?” Leah rolled her eyes. “Wear one of those pregnancy packs?”
“No, Leah. I mean I’ll be here as one of you.” Sophie couldn’t believe she was about to say it. “I’m pregnant.”
Leah looked skeptical. “Yeah, right.”
“I really am.” Sophie pulled up her baggy shirt, exposing her rounded tummy.
“Oh.” Leah’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m not even a full five months yet, but I’m showing.”
“Yeah.” Leah nodded. “You are.”
“And you’re the first person I’ve told.”
She blinked. “Really?”
Sophie pulled her shirt back down. “Really. So I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it quiet for now.”
“I understand.”
“I planned to tell my family this week . . . but it’s been hard finding the right moment.”
“Good luck with that.” Leah shook her head in a dismal way.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Suddenly Leah reached out and hugged Sophie. “It’ll be okay. You’ll get through it. Somehow we’ll all get through it. Right?”
Sophie had tears in her own eyes now. “I hope so.”
17
Sophie had been praying for an opportune moment to break the news to her parents. When her mom came home from work early, it seemed the time had come.
“I need to talk to you.” Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table, watching her mom put away a few groceries.
“Sure, hon.” Mom closed the fridge door, then reached for a box of Raisin Bran.
“Uh, you might want to sit down.”
Mom turned and looked at Sophie. “Something wrong?” Sophie felt the blood draining from her face as she nodded.
Mom set the cereal on the counter and came over to the table. “What is it? Something bad happen at school? You didn’t wreck the car, did you?” She shook her head. “No, I saw it on the street. It was—”
“Mom.” Sophie wanted to break the rambling flow of her mom’s words.
“What is it?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Mom’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I said, I’m pregnant.”
“Are you just jerking my chain, Sophie, because if you are, this isn’t even a tiny bit funny.”
“I’m totally serious.”
Mom reached
for a kitchen stool, slowly lowering herself onto it with her eyes locked onto Sophie. “You’re pregnant?”
Sophie just nodded, waiting for the full realization of this to sink in.
“You’re really pregnant?” Mom shook her head in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”
Sophie frowned. “I think you know all about the birds and the bees by now, Mom.”
“No, I mean, how is that possible?” Mom’s voice was louder now. “Sophie, you don’t even have a boyfriend. How can you possibly be pregnant?”
“If discussing and analyzing this could change the outcome, I’d be all for it. But the hard fact is that I am pregnant.”
“What about your purity pledge?”
“Unfortunately it’s not an inoculation against pregnancy.” “But you took it so seriously.”
“Apparently not seriously enough.”
“This just seems impossible, Sophie. How do you even know for sure that you’re really pregnant?”
“I’ve taken some pregnancy tests.”
Mom’s face paled. “And?”
“And they were positive.” Sophie felt irritated. Why was Mom being so dense about this? Did she think it made this any easier?
“But maybe they were wrong.”
“No, I have all the symptoms too.”
“But it could be something—”
“Mom!” Sophie shouted. “I am pregnant. Okay?”
“No, Sophie. It is not okay. It is not okay for you to be pregnant, do you understand?”
“What are you saying?”
“Why?” Tears ran down Mom’s face. “Why did you go and ruin your life like this? Why? You’re not that kind of girl, Sophie. You’ve never been that kind of girl. Why did you do this?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Who?” Mom demanded. “Who is the father?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. The father is 50 percent responsible too.”
“That’s a statistic, Mom, not a reality.”
“I don’t know how you let this happen, Sophie. What were you thinking?”
“Obviously I wasn’t thinking.”
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