Sarah's Choice

by Rebecca St. James

  “And being president of all of it.”

  “No. Publicity chairman. Dad got me all this software and arranged after-school time with the promotions guy at the insurance company. My father’s the one who did the research to find the best college for me to go to.”

  “Northwestern.”

  Sarah looked at her. Audrey reached for the knitting bag.

  “I looked you up when they asked for suggestions for my replacement. Your credentials are impressive. Bachelor’s from there. Master’s from Columbia.”

  “That was mostly him believing in me. There was never a doubt in my mind that I could accomplish whatever I set out to do.”

  “How ’bout your mom?”

  “My mom.”

  Sarah watched Audrey stitch for a minute. A primary-colored hat this time. “Do you believe in God, Audrey?” she said.

  Audrey didn’t appear to miss a stitch. “I know God. And when I’m not sure I know, I do what I believe. And when I’m having a hard time believing, I just pray.” She worked the needles for a few more seconds before she said, “Why do you ask?”

  Because I don’t want to offend you—because I don’t want you to kick me out of the safest place I’ve known in . . . years.

  Sarah opted for treading carefully.

  “Every time my mother overheard my dad and me talking about my plans for the future—this was when I was still in high school and then in undergrad—she would ask me whether I knew those were God’s plan for my life. She always said, ‘Have you prayed about it?’ ”

  “Had you?”

  The question had no edge of judgment, so Sarah answered.

  “I had, actually. Mostly I thanked God for all the opportunities I was getting. I mean, it seemed to be so right I assumed it was what God wanted me to do. And Dad said when you go with your God-given talents, you’re being obedient to God. He used this image of doors. When doors open, you walk through them. When they close, you knock. When you hear the deadbolt slide into place, you go find another door.”

  Sarah tried to locate another place to look besides at Audrey. She hadn’t thought about any of this for three years. Now she knew why.

  “Too painful?” Audrey said.

  “Kind of like a root canal.”

  Audrey tapped the knitting needles together.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Means it’s time to change the topic,” Audrey said. “Did he teach you about boys?”

  Sarah let herself snort. “You mean did he teach me not to sleep with them so I wouldn’t get myself into a situation like the one I’m in now?”

  “Every father teaches his daughter that. Most of us don’t listen.” She stopped knitting long enough to give Sarah a wry smile. “I was no angel in my youth.”

  “I actually was,” Sarah said. “Believe it or not.”

  “I do, but go on.”

  “I started figuring out that boys weren’t aliens when I was about thirteen. It was more like I saw they could be fun, and it felt good to have their attention.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have that attitude? That’s the relationship you had with your dad.”

  “Right. I thought that was the way relationships were supposed to be. So until I was sixteen I just hung out with mixed groups—had a couple of crushes and was sad for about thirty minutes when they didn’t work out. I don’t think I was conscious of it at the time, but I see now that I was looking for a guy—”

  “Like your dad.”

  “And I sure wasn’t finding that at fifteen. Plus, I was trying to become a stronger woman than my mother. I didn’t want a man to have to look after me the way he did my mom. During that time she was going through menopause and the hormones were wreaking havoc on her, when she was already struggling with depression to begin with. So anytime a guy started trying to make me into an adorable little baby doll, I was so out of there.”

  “So what happened when you were sixteen?” Audrey dimpled. “Let me guess—you thought you found mini-Dad.”

  “Oh, yeah. His name was Brick.”

  “You’re not serious. Who names their kid Brick?”

  “I know, right? Mom was in the hospital. Denise had already graduated from high school, and she was in community college and dating Justin. It was just Dad and me, but he really had to focus on Mom, so I was a little vulnerable.”

  “Enter Brick.”

  “Yeah. He transferred in around November, and it didn’t take him fifteen seconds to start fitting in—in our junior year, no less. He didn’t look for friend slots to open up; he created them. It didn’t hurt that he was so cute it took every girl at least three long looks to really appreciate the depth of his absolute hotness.”

  “You’re killing me again, Collins.”

  “And as hard as I tried not to be, I was right there with them. It wasn’t just his looks, although that was enough for Marilee Baltes, who went for him like a stealth bomber.”

  “I know the type.”

  “For me, it was more the way he was with people. He got respect from the teachers without acting like Eddie Haskell on Leave It to Beaver. He treated the not-so-cool kids like they were the in-crowd and the cool kids like his equals. I’d never seen anybody ignore the social castes like that, and I was impressed. Then—get this—he showed up at my church.”

  “No way.”

  “Marilee Baltes couldn’t get to him there because Marilee Baltes couldn’t have recited the Lord’s Prayer if you threatened to take away her pom-poms.”

  “If you don’t stop being hilarious, I’m going to have to take a pee break,” Audrey said.

  Sarah fell silent.

  “Forget it. Keep going.”

  “Okay, so he joined the youth group and he did the same thing there. And that was saying something. We were really tight. We’d been together since the church nursery. There is actually a photograph somewhere of Candace Fogelberg and me sitting next to each other on matching potty chairs.”

  “Seriously, I do have to pee now. No—I don’t. Continue.”

  “Kids before Brick had actually changed churches, I’m ashamed to say, because they couldn’t break into our Christian Closed Club. Do you really want to hear all this?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Okay, so Brick and I hung out at church, and then we hung out at school—much to Marilee’s horror. She even cornered me in the girls’ locker room one day after PE to tell me to leave her man alone.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Who’s your man?’ ”

  Audrey let go of her knitting long enough to high-five her.

  “She confronted Brick about cheating on her and he broke up with her, just as if they’d been dating seriously for weeks. He made it so that she could tell people it was mutual and that, sadly, they had religious differences.”

  “Ya think?”

  “It was pure finesse on his part, of course, but I saw it as the mark of a deeply caring individual, and I was smitten.”

  “Which was his plan all along.”

  “I loved him. He loved me. And there just wasn’t anything else.”

  “And that’s where it got complicated.”

  “That’s where everything my father had taught me about physical relationships with boys stopped making sense. I couldn’t go to my mom. And I sure wasn’t going to discuss it with Denise. She and Justin were like the poster couple for purity. Besides, I thought Brick respected me and anything beyond your basic making out wasn’t even going to be asked of me.”

  “So . . .”

  “So Brick got his license and he wanted to take me out in his dad’s car. My parents had told me I could date when I was sixteen, so I didn’t actually ask my dad if I could go. I just told him.”

  Audrey winced.

  “That was exactly the expression he got on his face.” Sarah closed her eyes. She knew the scene would be there. “I actually prefaced the whole thing by telling him I thought I’d found the man I wanted to marry someday.
His response was, ‘Define someday.’ ”

  “Did that surprise you?”

  “Yeah, it did. I thought he’d say, It’s Brick, isn’t it? He’s a nice kid. I approve. But he just sat there looking at me like he didn’t know who I was. So I told him someday wasn’t going to be any time soon and again, I thought he’d get that I’m-all-ears look and we’d talk about how perfect Brick was for me. Instead, he got all serious and he said, ‘SJ, be careful with your heart. Go slow. Don’t give it away too fast.’ ” Sarah pulled in her chin. “As far as I was concerned, that transaction had already been made. Brick had my heart, and I was sure he was taking good care of it. And even after I regaled Dad with all the reasons why Brick was husband material, he didn’t say, ‘Hey, let’s have him over for supper and we’ll shoot some baskets.’ He tried to look interested, I know, but there was something different. It was an effort and it had never been that way before. I was so disappointed.”

  “Not to mention resentful.”

  “There was that too. He was pouring his love out on Mom, and Denise could be all about Justin, but I couldn’t love who I wanted to love?”

  “I take it he said no to the date.”

  “He said he’d have to think about it, and I was stunned. And then I lashed out. I had never yelled at my father before, and I definitely had never stormed out of the room and slammed my bedroom door. It took me about five minutes to figure out I’d just acted like a two-year-old.”

  “You’re a fast learner.”

  “Well, he was my dad. I thought I’d blown our whole relationship for the rest of time. But he came in and said, ‘Let’s talk.’ ”

  “What did he say?”

  Sarah opened her mouth, but she closed it again. A sob was threatening in the wings.

  “Time for another topic?” Audrey said.

  “Time to go back to work, I think.” Sarah picked up the ginger ale she hadn’t opened.

  “Do you have any idea why I just spent forty-five minutes telling you about a boy I haven’t thought about since high school?”

  “Well, I kind of do.” Audrey tucked the bright hat, which now boasted a happy tassel, into the bag. “I just think you needed to go back to the beginning of why this decision is so hard.”

  “And I need to do that why?”

  “So you’ll have all the information.”

  “I’m not sure it’s helping yet.”

  “That’s because you’re not there yet.”

  Sarah felt her brow furrow. “How do I get there?”

  “Keep talking,” Audrey said. “I’m thinking chicken noodle tomorrow.”

  Sarah left and paused outside the restroom across the hall, but there was no reason to go in. It was the first time in ten days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Matt didn’t know what he was expecting from his talk with Clay, but spotting him at a bistro table in the dim corner of the bar section of the Grille was like seeing some kind of beacon. He sidestepped his way through the after-work crowd with their cast-off ties and jackets and sank onto the high stool across from his uncle.

  Clay took a sip from his drink and squinted as he wiped off his mustache. “You look like you’ve been on a three-day binge. But since that’s not your style, I’m thinking you’re . . .”

  “I don’t know what to do, Uncle Clay.”

  It sounded lame, but it was the truth. Clay put up a finger to Matt and then waved at the ponytailed blonde with the empty tray on her hip who was chatting it up with a gathering of clearly out-of-town businessmen at the next table, probably hoping to change her own future.

  “What are you having, Matt?” Clay said.

  “Coke, I guess.”

  “You are serious. Large Coke, Brittany, and don’t let his glass get empty.”

  Brittany flashed a practiced smile at Matt. “Party animal.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to smile back.

  “You mind if I start?” Clay said when she was gone.

  Matt shook his head. Now that he was here, all the words he’d rehearsed had gone into hiding like cowards.

  Clay set his drink aside and leaned both forearms on the table. “The other day in the parking garage, after the stroller . . . thing . . . I was going to say something to you, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Matt said.

  “It wasn’t all you. But that’s beside the point. Now that you’re obviously struggling with the future, I think I can say this.”

  “You’re firing me.”

  Clay leaned back and smeared a hand across his forehead. “Will you shut up and listen. Please.”

  “Sorry.” Matt said again. He’d already apologized more times in this conversation than he had in the last three years.

  “I’ve seen you studying for your Series Sixty-Five exam and, hey, I’m all for that if that’s what you want to do. But are you sure investment management is for you?”

  “Am I that bad at it?”

  “No. In those rare moments when you actually focus, you’re not bad at it. For Pete’s sake, Matt, you’re not stupid. But you’re also not happy, are you?”

  This wasn’t the direction he had in mind, but Matt shook his head. Going with this was better than pacing the cage like he’d done all weekend. He took the Coke from Brittany and motioned for Clay to go on.

  “So what kind of work would make you happy?” Clay shrugged. “If you could do anything you wanted for a living, what would it be?”

  “Are my parents in this equation or not?”

  “Not.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’d either work with kids or work on cars.” It was his turn to shrug. “Or teach kids how to work on cars.”

  “So why can’t you?”

  Matt poked at the ice in his drink. “Number one—and I know you said my parents aren’t a factor—but my father would probably disown me.”

  Clay sniffed. “I don’t think you’re too far from that anyway. Your mother called me and said your father is livid, I think was the word she used, because you aren’t going there for Christmas. So forget them for the moment. Come on, what else is holding you back?”

  “I can’t afford to quit my job and go back to school to get a teaching degree or my mechanic’s certification.”

  “You can’t work and go to night school? Take online courses?”

  “Right now I can’t even focus enough to brush my teeth.”

  Clay pushed his glass to the side again and folded his hands on the tabletop. “So you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Yeah.” Matt lowered his voice, almost afraid to hear the words himself. “Sarah’s pregnant. We’re pregnant.”

  “Ah,” Clay said. And then he was quiet, face smooth, eyes still.

  “You’re not going to tell me what an idiot I am?”

  “Me?” Clay gave him a wry smile. “Nah. Where does it stand right now?”

  “I love her. I don’t want her to have an abortion.” Matt stared glumly into the Coke. “That’s all I actually know.”

  “What does Sarah want?”

  “I don’t know that, either. She’s not talking to me. She won’t even see me.”

  “And that’s why you’re talking to me.”

  “Yeah. I mean, like I said, I know I love her. She knows that, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for her.”

  He’d punctuated the thing with so many sighs, Matt had to close his eyes and take a breath.

  Clay looked up briefly at the knock-off Tiffany lamp hanging over their table. “Matt, Matt, Matt . . . do you think your Aunt Jerri and I love each other?”

  “Yeah. Are you saying you don’t?”

  “Sure we do. We don’t always like each other, though. Most of the time, yeah, but it takes work. Love isn’t this . . . thing that just sticks to certain people. It’s the result of fighting to keep a commitment you made.” His face had come alive; his eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “It’s living for somebody else. Do you want to do tha
t with Sarah?”

  “Yeah. I do.” Matt felt hot color rising on his neck. “Right after she told me, I went out and bought her a ring.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is then she shut me out so . . . I guess I’ll pawn it?”

  Clay pulled in his chin. “You afraid to go bang on her door until she opens it and then ask her?”

  Matt bent his head, fingers latched behind his neck. “If I had asked her before this and she’d said yes, I would have known it was because she loved me. Now if I ask her, it might just be because she needs me. For the baby.” He knew his face was helpless as he looked up at Clay. “The night she told me, she said, ‘A ring or a ride to the clinic.’ ”

  Clay put up a palm. “Let’s back up so I can get this straight. You want her to love you but you don’t want her to need you.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “So ask yourself this: do you need her?”

  Clay waited again. Matt floundered. Right now, yeah, he needed to hold her. He needed to know she was okay. He needed her to say, “Oh, come on, Matt. Grow. Up.”

  “I do need her,” he said. “But I can’t see how a marriage that starts like this can work. Right now I want to be with her and help her, but won’t I feel resentment over time?” Matt latched his fingers again. “What am I saying? I know you can’t really tell me that.”

  Clay reached across the table and tapped him on the forehead. “Okay, think: when is Katie’s birthday?”

  “Huh?”

  “Trust me—I’m going somewhere with this. Katie’s birthday.”

  Matt flipped through a mental calendar. He always bought his cousin some kind of girly heart thing for her birthday, so it had to be close to Valentine’s Day. “February tenth?”

  “Close enough. It’s the eighth. When’s our anniversary?”

  “I remember sweating like a pig at your wedding, so it’s sometime in the summer.”

  “July twenty-ninth.”

  “I don’t get—”

  “Do the math, Einstein.”

  “Math.”

  “Maybe you are an idiot. Count the months.”

  Matt did. Seven.

  He felt a slow smile spread. “You’re not serious.”