The Choice by Robert Whitlow Page A

same way about you,” Sandy said. “I love you.”
    â€œAnd I love you.” Brad paused. “Hold on. Nate is pitching a fit. I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
    Sandy slowly lowered the phone to its cradle. That night sleep was impossible. As she tossed and turned, Sandy’s mind raced through so many possible scenarios for the future that she felt she was going crazy. At 3:00 a.m., she sat bolt upright in bed.
    â€œStop it!” she cried out.
    She listened, afraid that she’d awakened one of her brothers, but the house remained silent. She tried to command her mind to calm down, but it wouldn’t obey. She knew her mother kept an extra bottle of sleeping pills in a cupboard in the kitchen, and Sandy had to have something to knock her out. Going through four more hours of torment wasn’t an option. She walked softly down the hallway to the top of the stairs, placed her hand on the railing, then stopped in her tracks. She was pregnant, and a sleeping pill might be dangerous to the baby’s development.
    Sandy slid to the floor with her feet curled beneath her. She leaned her shoulder against the top post of the stair railing and buried her face in her hands. How could she walk into a clinic and ask a doctor to end the pregnancy when she couldn’t force herself to go downstairs to take a sleeping pill? She’d talked seriously with Brad about getting an abortion, but she actually had no idea how the procedure was performed. She lifted her head and pushed her tangled hair away from her face.
    â€œI can’t do that,” she muttered.
    She remained in a huddled mess at the top of the stairs and waited for a counterargument to surface. A couple of minutes passed. Nothing came. Pulling herself up, she shuffled back to her bedroom, where she collapsed into bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

    The following morning Sandy was nauseated again and threw up in the bathroom. As she finished, there was a light knock on the door. Bleary-eyed, she opened it to find Ben, forlorn-looking and wearing his too-small pajamas.
    â€œAre you throwing up because you’re pregnant?” he asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œI feel better now.” Sandy forced herself to smile as she ruffled Ben’s hair. “Get ready for school.”
    â€œI think Brad Donnelly is a creep. You deserve a boyfriend who is tons better than him.”
    â€œDon’t say that about Brad.”
    â€œI can if I want to.”
    Ben pushed past her into the bathroom.
    Sandy went to her room and didn’t come out until she heard the boys leave the house. Then, still in her nightgown, she went downstairs. Her mother was sitting in the breakfast nook drinking coffee.
    â€œRough morning?” her mother asked.
    â€œAnd night.”
    Sandy poured herself a glass of milk and put a piece of bread in the toaster.
    â€œWhen are you going to call Mr. Pickerel?” she asked while she waited for the toast to pop up.
    â€œThis afternoon. Or I may go by the school in person.”
    â€œWhy not call him?”
    â€œI want to ask him to check out the school Linda found in Atlanta.”
    â€œDon’t do that. Not yet. That’s not what I want to do.”
    â€œDo you have another idea?”
    â€œNo, but I feel like you’re rushing me.”
    â€œYou’ll feel more like talking later in the day,” her mother said. “Mornings were always hard for me when I was pregnant with you and the boys.”
    â€œDon’t talk about me that way!” Sandy raised her voice.
    She spun away, knocking her glass of milk onto the floor, and ran out of the kitchen. Slamming her bedroom door, she lay face-down on the bed and put her pillow over her head. After a couple of minutes, there was a knock at the door. Sandy raised her head.
    â€œLeave me alone! I’ll clean up the mess!”
    The door opened.
    â€œYou don’t have to say