4

Decisions

Vera woke up five hours later to the smell of chicken soup, causing her eyelids to flutter open. She saw her mother walking in with a tray that had a bowl of steaming chicken soup.

Chicken soup! Why, it had been ages since she last had a nice bowl of chicken soup! She could taste the carrots in her mouth now as she sat up in bed.

"I had a hunch you'd want chicken soup for supper," said Mrs. Claythorne, placing the tray down on the bed. "Wait a bit, first. It's still hot."

"It looks delicious, mother," remarked Vera.

"Why thank you, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne, beaming. Then, "Evelyn called. She said she'd like to come over a bit later just to chat. Would that be okay with you?"

"You know I always enjoy talking to Evelyn, mother," said Vera. "In fact, while I'm waiting for this to cool, why don't you call her over right now?"

"I will, baby," said Mrs. Claythorne, getting up. "Just give me one minute."

Vera sat there and waited for her mother to call Evelyn. Ever since she and Evelyn were very small, the two sisters had been close. They shared everything together (or almost everything on Vera's part); they would talk of their laughter, of their tears, and of their shared interests. Vera did not feel entirely comfortable talking with Evelyn about what had happened, but she enjoyed taking advantage of the opportunity to temporarily take her mind off what she was going through. The two would talk for hours before Evelyn had to leave. Once she left, Vera would be pulled back to reality and begin to cry.

The last time they had talked, they had not discussed the actual event itself, but Evelyn did promise she would get the information Vera wanted: Names of safe and affordable abortionists (even if Vera did not care if they were safe or not, Evelyn did), and adoption agencies that would provide the baby with a good home and as much disclosure as possible. Vera was still uncertain as to what she wanted; as far as she was concerned, she may find the information useless and keep the baby after all and somehow—though she didn't know how—make it all work. She just needed assurance that she wasn't trapped, that she still had open options.

Her mother knew nothing of this, of course; even though she claimed she wanted Vera to make the decision that would make her happy, she knew her mother secretly wanted her to keep the baby. She never said so outright, but would drop various hints such as asking if Cecil was a good name for a boy, or stopping to point out various stores for baby clothes. Vera knew that if she were to abort the baby, or give it up for adoption, it would break her mother's heart, which was why she and Evelyn agreed to never let such conversations go past the room.

"Evelyn will be over in a few minutes," said Mrs. Claythorne, coming back into Vera's room. "She just needs to put Derek down for a nap."

Derek was the one-year-old son Evelyn had with her husband of four years, Richard Barclay. The two were very much in love, which would occasionally spark a twinge of jealousy from Vera, reminding her of what could have been for herself and Hugo.

"Derek's getting to be quite a handful now that he's old enough to start running around," remarked Mrs. Claythorne. "But I'm sure Evelyn will find time to come over."

Vera then said, "Mother...when Evelyn comes over, would you mind going out shopping for oranges? I'd really like some. Oh, and some chocolate cake, too."

This was not just an excuse to get her mother out of the house; Vera could practically taste the tangy, sweet fruit combined with the delightfully rich chocolate sensation.

"Having a craving, now are we?" said Mrs. Claythorne with a twinkle in her eye. "I understand perfectly, dear. When I was pregnant with you, all I could eat for the first four months was watermelon and apples. Anything else made me sick."

Vera picked up her spoon and very lightly dipped it into the broth.

Finally, Evelyn was over and Mrs. Claythorne was out shopping. The two sisters shared a resemblance, though it wasn't completely strong. Evelyn's hair was more of a mousy-brown and while her sister had the green eyes of their father, Evelyn had the dark, kind eyes of their mother. Evelyn was a very strong-willed woman who was willing to go any lengths for her family. Needless to say, she was not happy to learn about what had happened to her sister, and vowed to be there when Vera needed her.

"So, did you get the information?" asked Vera once she was sure it was safe to talk.

"I did indeed," said Evelyn, pulling a strip of paper out of her pocket. She preferred not to think of the strange looks she got from her various 'sources'. "On the front side are the names of two abortionists I looked up. The first one, who goes under the false name of 'Joanna Jones', charges at a fairly reasonable price, but I don't approve of her methods. The second one also goes under a pseudonym, Miss K. Her rate is a bit high, but her methods are fairly safe; you wouldn't suffer too many complications from her. And anyway, I'd pay for it.

"The other side contains the list of two adoption agencies and the people to contact. Both usually place the children in good homes, and have full disclosure for both mother and child, and the adoptive family. Trying to see the baby afterwards, however, may be a tad bit difficult."

"Don't remind me," muttered Vera. "It's hard enough as it is, with mother trying to show me the 'miracle' of having a baby and all."

"I know," said Evelyn quietly. "But your situation...isn't exactly the cheeriest one in the world. I'm sure mother would understand if she knew. She'd have a harder time accepting it, but she would understand."

"Why have to make this decision at all?" asked Vera, her eyes watering. "Why did this have to happen to me?"

"Oh, Vera," said Evelyn sympathetically, giving her sister some tissues. She understood Vera had no desire to be hugged; she had seen her reaction whenever their mother tried to get close to her. She just sat there and let her sister cry it out and held her hand.

Seeing her sister like this filled Evelyn with an unspeakable rage towards the bastard who did this to her sister. What right did he have to violate her like this? Who gave him permission to ruin her sister's body and leave a mark on her? She still remembered when she had first been told where babies come from—the idea of any of that man's bodily fluids being inside her sister, even for a few hours, made her stomach churn.

She sincerely hoped the lawyer she had recommended would be competent enough to make the judge see this man—if he truly could be called a man, a term that would associate the likes of him with a human being—for who he truly was: a heatless bastard who cared little for the emotional scars he inflicted onto his victims. If not...then she would just have to take care of it herself. She did not care if it would risk her going to prison; if he was found not guilty, if the justice system would not deliver swift retribution, she would make him pay.

Oh, how she would make him pay.