NINE

Twins?” Linda blurted out.

“Is there a history of twins in your family?” Mrs. Longwell asked.

Sandy looked at Linda.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Linda said. “Why in the world would you bring that up?”

“She told me I could ask any questions I wanted to.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Longwell replied soothingly. “There are no wrong questions in this office. What about the birth father’s family? Any twins in his background?”

“I don’t know.”

Thirty minutes later Sandy left with a stack of information to read and questionnaires to fill out. They stopped by the office of the ob-gyn doctor on the first floor and scheduled an initial appointment.

“I liked Mrs. Longwell,” Sandy said to Linda when they were in the car.

“I knew you would. And I thought it was a good meeting, except when you threw in that off-the-wall question about twins. Where in the world did that come from?”

“Uh, I thought about it during the drive from Rutland.” Sandy paused. “Is there someone famous named Rebekah who had twin boys?”

Linda thought for a moment. “There was a woman named Rebekah in the Bible. She was the mother of Jacob and Esau, who were fraternal twins. Why bring that up?”

“Just wondering.”

They turned out of the parking lot onto Roswell Road.

“I’m more worried about Brad Donnelly refusing to consent to the adoption than finding a home for two babies,” Linda said. “Contrary to what people claim, men can be much less logical than women.”

Sandy thought about her last conversation with Brad and what he’d done since them.

“I think he’ll do it.”

“And you also thought you knew him pretty well before this happened, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Sandy admitted. “And I was one hundred percent wrong.”

Over the next two months, Sandy settled into her new life in Atlanta. Her morning sickness subsided, and she started cooking her own breakfast. The absence of extracurricular activities at school or a social life in the evenings opened up hours and hours of free time. Linda filled some of that space with reading material that she required Sandy to study and discuss. They covered such topics as Greek mythology, the Vietnam War, and the themes of sin and guilt in The Scarlet Letter, a book that Sandy now read more as fact than fiction. Because of their discussions, Sandy realized she’d spent most of her school career memorizing facts, not learning how to think.

She slipped into a routine at school. Sandy took the time to get to know her teachers, worked hard in her classes, and maintained a straight-A average. Her friendship with Angelica was the highlight of her school day. Once the predatory males realized Sandy wasn’t going to respond to their lame come-ons, they left her alone. Her rapidly expanding abdomen also proved to be an effective deterrent.

Every other weekend Sandy returned to Rutland; however, she didn’t go to high school football games and, except for Jessica, avoided contact with anyone outside her family. She didn’t want to run into someone in the maternity section of a local store, so she shopped for clothes in Atlanta. And she didn’t attend church. It was easier to withdraw from society than deal with the stares and silent judgments, a reaction Sandy shared with Hawthorne’s Hester Prynne. She made no effort to get in touch with Brad. Jessica reported that he and Crystal went through a stormy and very public breakup after going steady for six weeks. Following that, no girls at Rutland High would go out with Brad, and he ended up dating a girl from a neighboring high school. Sandy didn’t try to find out the details.

“You’re different,” Ben said one Sunday as Sandy packed her suitcase before leaving for Atlanta.

“Yeah, about fifteen pounds heavier,” Sandy said and patted her midsection.

“No, you seem more grown up.”

“Like Mama?”

“Nah, you’re still you, only different.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like you know what to do without having to ask Mama or Daddy.”

“I still listen to what they say, and so should you.”

“Yeah, that makes you sound like a grown-up too.”

Sandy laughed and gave her brother a hug.

On her trips to and from Atlanta, Sandy continued to stop at the gas store where she’d encountered the old woman who told her about the twins. Each time she entered the store, Sandy’s heart beat a little faster. Part of her wanted to see the woman so she could ask her questions. Another part was scared that more knowledge would create more confusion. One day Sandy came out of the restroom and an old woman with white hair and wearing a print dress was standing in front of the drink cooler. Sandy cautiously crept closer and cleared her throat.

“Do you remember me?” she asked the woman.

The old woman turned and faced her. Instead of startling blue eyes, the woman’s eyes were dark brown.

“No,” she replied, revealing a mouth missing several teeth. “Do I know you?”

“Sorry,” Sandy replied, stepping back. “I thought you were someone else.”

The woman glanced down at Sandy’s stomach.

“I have a granddaughter about your age who is about to have a baby. Her name is Lori Jefferson. Did you go to Caldwell County High?”

“No, ma’am. I’m from Rutland.”

The Sunday that Ben told her she seemed more grown up, Sandy arrived in Atlanta to an empty house. Linda was in Chicago at a work-related seminar and wouldn’t be home until Monday afternoon. Sandy’s mother had been reluctant to let Sandy leave Rutland and spend the night alone, but her father stepped in and insisted she not miss school. Missing a day of classes wasn’t a big deal, but Sandy was looking forward to seeing how it would feel to be on her own. Perhaps it was another sign of the adulthood Ben picked up on.

After taking care of the cats, Sandy curled up in a comfortable chair in the living room to read from a collection of short stories by Flannery O’Connor. She settled on “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” because the title seemed to be an accurate description of her life so far. But the story took a turn she didn’t expect. When she reached the climax—the murder of the main character and her family on a deserted road—every creak and pop in the house was amplified. Sandy’s left hand slipped from the arm of the chair, and Lillo brushed against it. Sandy jerked her arm away. Leaving the book in the chair, she doubled-checked all the exterior doors to make sure they were locked, then drank a glass of water in an attempt to calm her nerves.

The phone rang. Glad for the chance of a few seconds of human contact to help her escape from O’Connor’s fictional world, Sandy answered it.

“Sandy?” a soft voice asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s Angelica.”

“How are you?” Sandy switched to Spanish.

Angelica began to cry. In between sobs, Sandy was able to make out that her friend wanted her to come see her.

“Where are you?” Sandy asked.

“On the sidewalk.”

“Sidewalk?”

“Yes, Ricardo left me here. I don’t know if the buses run on Sunday night or which one would take me home.”

“Do you have any money for a taxi?”

“I only have a few dollars, and I’m not sure how much it will cost.”

“What about Capitola?”

“She’s out of town.”

Sandy twirled the phone cord between her fingers. Going out alone at night to try to find Angelina at an unknown location in Atlanta was more maturity than Sandy was ready for.

“Are there any street signs near you?”

“I’m in a phone booth near a corner. Just a minute.”

The phone was silent for a few seconds. Sandy heard a car horn in the background followed by male voices. Angelica returned and named two streets, neither familiar to Sandy. Sandy opened the kitchen drawer where Linda kept a map of the city.

“Tell me again,” she said.

Running her finger down the list of streets, Sandy found one of the street names and turned over the map.

“Are you still on the phone?” Angelica asked.

“Yes, I’m trying to find you.”

Sandy followed the street toward the downtown area until she spotted the connecting side street Angelica mentioned.

“Got it,” Sandy said. “Why did you and Ricardo go there?”

Angelica started crying again.

“Will you please help me?” she begged.

Sandy set her jaw.

“I’m on my way,” she said. “It’ll take me a few minutes to figure out how to get to you from here. Stay close to the phone booth. Is there a streetlight nearby?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t wander off.”

After she hung up the phone, Sandy wrote down directions to the intersection. Angelica was in a completely unfamiliar part of the city. It could be an avenue of mansions or a row of tenements. Taking a flashlight, the map, the directions, and her purse, Sandy carefully locked the outside door of the house and then got in her car. Before starting the engine, she stopped for a moment and prayed that she wouldn’t encounter a “good man” who turned out to be a murderer. Then she locked the doors of the car.

There weren’t many vehicles on the road. Every time she had to stop for a red light, Sandy avoided looking at the driver of the car that pulled up beside her. The image of the killer from O’Connor’s story kept fighting its way to the surface of her mind. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her hands began to ache. The streets seemed to conspire against her as traffic light after traffic light turned yellow then red as she approached. She drove through a mixture of commercial and residential areas. She passed countless liquor stores, check-cashing outlets, and convenience stores. The houses got older and more run-down as she got closer to Angelica’s location. Serious doubts that Angelica was safe rose up in Sandy’s mind.

Then the neighborhoods began to transition. The homes were larger and included older houses that looked like they’d been restored. These were followed by several chic restaurants. She passed a major hospital, went down a hill, and noticed the connecting street as she passed by it, but she didn’t see Angelica. She turned around. As she approached the intersection the second time, she saw Angelica standing next to a phone booth, hugging herself. Sandy pulled to the curb as a couple of young men approached. Sandy reached over and unlocked the passenger door.

“Get in,” she said.

As Angelica stepped off the curb, one of the young men yelled something that Sandy couldn’t make out. As soon as Angelica shut the door, Sandy stepped on the gas pedal so hard that the car lurched forward and died. In the rearview mirror she could see the young men laughing. Sandy started the engine and drove away more slowly. Angelica leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

“How do I get to your apartment from here?” Sandy asked in Spanish.

“I’m not sure,” Angelica replied, opening her eyes.

Sandy turned the steering wheel of the car sharply and entered the parking lot for the hospital. The lot was well lit by multiple lights on metal poles.

“I have a map—” Sandy began.

“No, not here,” Angelica interrupted in a frantic voice. “This is where Ricardo took me when I started to bleed after—”

“After what?” Sandy asked in alarm.

Angelica looked at Sandy with dark eyes that were filled with sorrow. Before Angelica could answer, Sandy looked down at her friend’s abdomen.

“You lost your baby?” she asked.

“No,” Angelica answered as tears started to run down her face. “I let the doctor take it out.”

Sandy’s mouth dropped open in shock. Angelica had never mentioned any possibilities other than marrying Ricardo or adoption.

“Why?” Sandy asked numbly.

Angelica wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Ricardo told me that he loved me and wanted to marry me, but he wasn’t ready to raise a baby. He said once we were married we could have as many children as we wanted. He showed me the ring he’d bought me.”

Sandy’s face was grim. She’d heard that line before. She glanced at Angelica’s finger. It was still bare.

“Yesterday he made me go to a place where the doctor took out my baby. The doctor had a machine that made a sucking sound and then it was over.” Angelica paused and looked past Sandy as she seemed to relive the moment. The Hispanic girl shook her head. “I knew it was wrong and started to cry. Ricardo got mad and took me home, but he came back today and showed me the ring. We were sitting on the couch talking about the wedding when suddenly I started to bleed. I got scared, and he brought me here. I was here for hours and hours, but finally the doctor did something to make the bleeding stop. When Ricardo and I got in the car to leave, he said he’d had time to think about everything, and he didn’t want to marry me. He was going to quit working for my father and move away where no one could find him. I begged him not to do it, but he got mad and made me get out of the car. That’s when I called you on the telephone.”

Sandy didn’t know what to say. She wanted to hate Ricardo, but all she felt in her heart at that moment was compassion for her friend. She reached over and squeezed Angelica’s hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“What am I going to tell my papa and mama?” she wailed.

Sandy squeezed Angelica’s hand again. Silent reassurance of her love was the best thing she could communicate to Angelica, who continued to cry.

“I want to go home,” she said when she’d calmed down a little bit. “To Monterrey.”

Sandy nodded. She understood.

“But first I have to get you to your apartment.”

“Capitola isn’t there,” Angelica said. “She’s visiting her sister in Birmingham, and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Then spend the night with me,” Sandy offered immediately. “My aunt is out of town too.”

Angelica sighed and seemed to relax.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The return trip to Linda’s house seemed much quicker. Angelica was quiet and spent most of the time staring out the window. When they arrived at the house, the cats greeted them. Angelica knelt down to stroke them. When she stood up, she winced.

“Do you want to change out of your clothes?” Sandy asked. “You can wear some of my pajamas.”

“Could I take a shower?” Angelica asked. “I haven’t felt clean since yesterday.”

While Angelica showered, Sandy made up a bed on the couch in the living room and put on water for tea. Several minutes later, Angelica, her long, dark hair still damp, came out of the bathroom. Sandy’s pajamas fit perfectly. Sandy had put on a blue nightgown. Angelica stared at Sandy’s swollen abdomen for a moment. Sandy touched her stomach.

“I don’t want to make it worse for you,” Sandy said.

“Part of me feels pain,” Angelica said, her face emotionless. “Part of me feels dead. Neither one is your fault.”

The girls sat at the table and drank tea in silence.

“Are you hungry?” Sandy asked.

“A little bit.”

“Would you like some popcorn?”

Angelica nodded her head.

“I love popcorn.”

The popcorn made a happy sound as it tapped against the lid of a large pot on the stove. In a separate saucepan, Sandy melted butter. Angelica sat at the kitchen table and watched. When the popcorn was ready, Sandy divided it equally between two bowls and sprinkled it with butter and salt. Angelica took a bite and closed her eyes.

“This is good,” she said.

Later, when Sandy lay in bed, she thought about Ricardo’s betrayal. The same thing so easily could have happened to her. The baby inside her moved, and Sandy tried to shift into a more comfortable position.

As she lay on her side, Sandy prayed that someday Angelica would meet a good man who would treat her with the love and kindness she deserved—and that her sweet, dark-haired friend would have as many healthy, happy babies as she wanted.