Love in Strange Places. Anonymous
on his face. His expression was so mischievous that I wondered what he was getting at. Since we’d become so close in this tiny window of time, I shrugged and told him the truth.
“They sure are a rainbow of hair colors and heights. That seemed a bit extraordinary to me.”
“Yeah.” Luke laughed, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “They are an eclectic group! Didn’t you wonder why?”
“Quit playing games with me, Luke Jameson!” I swatted his shoulder with frisky camaraderie. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“We’re all adopted. Some of us from infancy—the younger ones were foster children.”
“That explains why you’re always rescuing homeless cats and woebegone dogs.” I paused a second and tacked on a bemused, “And pregnant teen misfits.”
“Hey,” Luke said as he turned from the wheel and tweaked my chin, “none of that ‘misfit’ stuff, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” I blushed and ducked from his earnest expression. “So, why did you want me to meet them? I mean, they were all great and I am glad I got to know them. But, why take a stranger home to meet the family?”
“Well, you are hardly a stranger to me, Kelli. We’ve known each other for months.” He hesitated as if he’d like to say more, then quickly changed his mind. “I thought if you met them, saw how well they all turned out, it might show you that other option.”
He took my hand, squeezing it gently. Although his eyes never left the road, his voice dropped to a husky, pensive rasp. “If you don’t feel comfortable having an abortion, Kelli, you could go on with your pregnancy, have the baby, then give it up for adoption.”
Slowly, his words began to sink in and my mouth hit the floorboard. Adoption. I’d never thought of it. I stared at him and blinked.
“It isn’t that I’m against abortion,” he assured me quickly.
“No, me either. In fact, in some cases, I think it’s the best for everyone involved. But, while I believe in a woman’s right, unlike everybody else in my family, I’m not sure it’s the right choice for me. And the ‘right choice’ is what it’s all about.”
“Exactly, Kelli.”
“Yes.” I shook my head sadly; tears blurred my eyes. “I’m the one who has to live with my decision—now and forever.”
An icy chill darted through me and I shivered. The baby would have to live or die with my decision, as well. Furthermore, this baby that floated around inside of me was not to blame for my mistakes. Yet, to raise it alone, to be cast out by my family—adrift, uneducated, and condemned to a life of endless poverty and deprivation was no life for it, either. But adoption. . . .
“Through adoption, Kelli,” Luke cut into my reverie, his voice far away, but crystal clear, “you could have the baby, then give it to a loving couple who can’t make a child of their own. In a sense, you could turn this tragedy into a miracle for someone.”
“But, Luke,” I began, staring hard into his face, “even if I give the baby up, and it ultimately has a wonderful life with some other worthy couple, won’t it eventually wonder about me? Question why I did what I did?”
He took a deep breath, then shrugged thoughtfully. “I can only speak for myself. But, as an adopted kid, I have often daydreamed about my biological parents. Sometimes, I study my face and body in the mirror and contemplate whether I look like them, act them, or even think like them. Sometimes, I walk down a busy street and search for them—especially when I was younger. But, I’ve come to realize that they did what they thought best. Whatever their reason was, I need to accept it.”
“Do you hate them, Luke?” I asked, my voice a hoarse, emotional whisper.
“Hate them? No. Mostly, I’m just glad to be alive. Of course, if I’d been aborted, I’d probably never know the difference.”
Again I gazed unseeing, through the wide, high-up window. The wheels of the truck hummed a lullaby-like melody while my reflection in the window stared back at me. Objective and vulnerable, my single consummate dread surfaced, and I could no longer hide from its sickening truth.
“Perhaps you wouldn’t have known the difference, Luke,” I reaffirmed, “but your birth mother would have. Just like I will.”
Unthinkingly, my hand moved to my belly, and I systematically rubbed the half-shaped bundle of cells sailing within. No matter what I did, no matter how I handled this “surprise” calamity, I would always know, would always question my decision. Therefore, I realized that in the final analysis, my only genuine choice was to pick the alternative that would trouble my heart the least.
From across the semi’s cab, Luke leaned slightly toward me. Tenderly, he, too, massaged my swollen curve. Like always, his smile was merciful and benevolent.
“Whatever you decide, Kelli, I’ll support you and do all I can to make it easier. All I ask is that you search your soul, make sure that your choice is the right one for you, Kelli. Make this decision for yourself.”
The rest of our trip passed by in a haze of silent miles and profoundly intense self-scrutiny. I worried about everything from money to my folks, from that moment to my deathbed. But mostly, I worried about the baby.
When we reached the city limits of my hometown, Luke automatically pulled off the highway and parked the rig behind the gas station where I’d worked. I looked at him. My inner turmoil was gone; my soul was at peace. I’d made my decision.
“I’ll go with adoption, Luke. Just tell me where to start and I won’t bother you again.”
A tremendous sigh of relief blew from his lungs as he took my hand and raised it to his lips. Lovingly, he kissed my knuckles, his expression warm and compassionate.
“Although it wouldn’t have changed how I feel about you, Kelli, on behalf of adopted kids everywhere, I’m grateful and thank you for making this impossible choice. But just as importantly, you are not now, nor will you ever be, a bother to me. I’m fond of you, Kelli, more fond than you know. I have been since the beginning of this incredible adventure, and even beforehand. I was sincere when I said that I would do all I can for you—”
“That is so sweet and so just like you, Luke.” My voice wobbled and my never-far-from-the-surface tears threatened to undo my fledgling maturity. “But none of this is your affair, certainly not your fault. You’ve already gone above and beyond friendship. Surpassed duty—”
“Sssh. . . .” Luke pressed a chivalrous finger to my lips, and bumped my nose with his. “Don’t say any more. Just give me a big hug and then I’ll take you home. Together, we’ll explain to your folks where we’ve been.”
“That’s unnecessary,” I said, although the prospect of seeing my parents—by myself and unprotected—filled me with unqualified panic and misgiving.
Another pseudo-serious warning and Luke gathered me close to his heart. He warmed my icy fear with his firm, self-confident embrace. The safe, homey thud of his heart soothed me. Like always when in his arms, wrapped in his gracious attention, I felt safe, sure. My baby did, too. With the pure hope of a child, I wished I could stay swathed in his sureness forever.
Wriggling nearer still, I spread my hand over his shoulder, pressed my breasts to his ribs. I looked up at him.
For a moment, I stared into his dark eyes, hoping that my heartfelt gratitude could be conveyed by this guileless gesture. My fingertips fluttered to his lips, then traced the intimate fullness of his mouth. His eyes softened and he bent his head to return my gaze. The scratchy roughness of Luke’s chin on my cheek seemed to stir my sensitivities in a brand-new way.
As if in slow motion, our lips touched. The light and airy pressure was a gossamer promise of things to come. Despite my pregnancy, in Luke’s eyes,