Jury of One

42

Usually Saturdays fly by. This one, yesterday, slowed to a crawl, beginning with their discussion in the morning, when Shelly dropped the bomb on them. It was an hour or so before her parents could even gather themselves to provide a meaningful response-a response, that is, other than questions about the father of her child, or the rhetorical how-could-you-do-this question. Private discussions took place, phone calls (Shelly was relatively sure, presumably to her grandparents), a long walk in the evening.

The matter was postponed, finally, for the following day. Today.

She awoke this morning with the same grief and remorse, but with an indignation as well. Why hadn’t she been included in these conversations, this intricate mapping of the next step?

Her parents are already seated in the living room, with the obvious position on the sofa open to Shelly. She apologizes again, immediately, before she has even taken her seat. She realizes that she has acted irresponsibly. She realizes that her actions affect everyone, not just her. She has some ideas of her own about how this can be worked out. Above all, she is very, very sorry.

Her father, in particular, looks at Shelly as if he’s never seen her before. Or, worse, like he has known her his entire life and can’t believe the depths to which she has sunk. “Well,” he says, opening his hands. “Now we have to clean up the mess, don’t we?” He is calm. There is no trace of the anger and disappointment, of the passion from yesterday.

She looks at her hands. “If you want, I could stay with Grandma Jeannie until-”

“I’m not sure that’s the best option.” Her father crosses a leg. He avoids eye contact, swings his foot nervously. “There are some choices that we don’t like, Shelly, but that make sense. Under the circumstances.”

Shelly looks at her mother, who avoids everyone’s stare. She blinks away tears, staring off in the distance. Shelly feels her mouth open.

“I don’t think I’m ready to be a mother, Dad-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Shelly, and I think you know that.”

She recoils. She is hearing this wrong. She is looking at a man who marched with the protestors outside the Anthony Clinic. A man who has brutally criticized an activist Supreme Court for creating a “right” that doesn’t exist. A man-

“You’re a young woman, Shelly. You have your whole life ahead of you. This would change everything.”

“It already has,” she whispers.

“But it’s not too late, Shelly, to keep this from-”

“I tried, Daddy. I couldn’t.”

He freezes. He looks at Mother, who has snapped to attention as well.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

She tells them. She tried. She went to the Anthony Center and something made her stop. Yes, of course she gave her real name.

“Well.” Her father flaps his arms. “My daughter went to an abortion clinic without telling me.” He is talking to Mother. “I bet that gave them a real chuckle.”

“It’s confidential, Daddy. They won’t tell.”

“They won’t tell, she says.” Again, to Mother. “Shelly, you don’t know these people.”

“I didn’t know what to do.”

It is a moment before he speaks again. He leaves his chair and paces, into the kitchen and back, his hand over his mouth, then the back of his neck. Mother is silent but seems to be keeping watch on each of them. She is nothing more than a spectator. What does she think, Shelly wonders. Why won’t she give an opinion? Shelly feels anger herself now. A wave comes over her, something she can’t put into words. Change, is the only word she can use.

“All right. Fine.” Father washes the air with his hands. “I had a place in mind out of state, but as long as they already have your name, it’s as good a place as any.”

“As good a place as any for what?” Shelly is startled by the control in her voice.

“Shelly, it’s okay now. I’m telling you, it’s okay with me.”

She gets to her feet without realizing it, reactively. It is different. She will remember it always as the single defining moment of her life. Yet she is not overwhelmed, because the change is coming from within. “You think I stopped it for you?” She spits the words in a fury she has never known, that grows with each syllable.

She leaves the room and goes upstairs. She will apologize to them again, and again, before she leaves their home. She is so very sorry this has embarrassed the family, that she has injured Daddy’s political aspirations. But that cannot be reversed now. Nothing can be. The looks on their faces. The words. She will leave. She will leave and never return to this place, to these people she has never truly known until now.