He nodded in understanding. “Exactly the reason I love being a trucker.”
Funny how we don’t realize things. I’d been under so much stress, suffered so many restless nights, that I slept for the better part of the next two days. Luke didn’t mind, as he said he made better road time. But after I caught up on my sleep, and the tension drifted away, I found the passing sights fascinating. My morning sickness abated, though I continued to eat like a horse. This was a constant source of amusement for my traveling partner.
But as always, his jokes were lightly aimed, more silly than judgmental. And despite the unorthodox trappings of the semi’s constraints, I felt at home—safe, secure, and pampered. I had originally presumed that Luke viewed me as just another stray creature, a needy case. Yet, as the miles whizzed by, he genuinely seemed to enjoy my company.
Luke showed me off at truck stops with a proud demeanor and a boastful smile. Although my pregnancy was still a secret to the outside world, for all intents and purposes, Luke acted as if the baby developing deep inside my body was his, a growing symbol of his love and devotion. Luke catered to my every whim, and looked out for my well-being as no one ever had before. We were inseparable, and oddly content to be so.
It was a peculiar scene, but again, I didn’t question his deeds too profoundly. I just accepted his kindness with a thankful heart and prized my momentary respite.
By the time we’d reached Luke’s home base in Detroit, we still had not discussed my future. Luke had not divulged any new options, nor suggested any further propositions. Furthermore, I still had not figured out what to do. Yet, I felt calmer, more capable, and finally in control. It was my life, my choice, and I alone who should determine my destiny. Thanks to Luke, that much was assured.
To my additional astonishment, Luke took me home to meet his family. Naturally, he didn’t mention my being with child—nor did he mention my dropping out of school, or how I’d ran away from home. They didn’t even seem to notice the difference in our ages.
His siblings were a curious array of blondes, brunettes, and one little redhead. Luke and one brother were well over six feet tall, while the rest of the boys looked dwarfish beside them. It struck me as curious, but of course, it would have been impolite to actually speak about it.
Regardless of their physical disassociation, however, they, up to and including Luke’s parents, shared a uniquely streamlined philosophy: Any friend of Luke’s was a friend of theirs. They welcomed me with open arms. In fact, they treated me like some long-lost cousin—or the girl who had stolen Luke’s heart.
Three days later, when we headed back for the return trip, I sincerely regretted having to leave. But, I knew that I had to go home and face the music. Once more, the dilemma loomed in front of me. Yet, this time, I was backed by Luke’s steady regard and his family’s easygoing manner. I was ready to meet the challenges squarely and logically.
“Did you notice anything remarkable about my brothers and sisters?” Luke asked conversationally after lunch one day.
“Well,” I hedged diplomatically, “they were a great bunch, so friendly, and they genuinely seemed to like each other.”
“Anything else?” He glanced at me, a huge grin 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,
