Second Time Around by Nancy Moser Page A

twenty-four hours a day. He saw Dr. Rodriguez make a notation on Lane’s chart, look up, and see Mac. He took a few steps toward the balcony, speaking softly, as if sound could disturb their sleep. “They’ll be fine, Mac. I promise. Go home.”
    Mac nodded. He could leave now. The winners didn’t need him. And they were not alone.
    Father, take care of them.
    Never alone.

SEVEN
The fear of the L ORD is the beginning of knowledge,
but fools despise wisdom and discipline.
Proverbs 1:7
    Athens, Georgia—1976
    Vanessa stood at the curb and let the swarm of college students swell around her and past her. Their spring jackets were a rainbow above the common denim of their jeans. They all had somewhere to go.
    So did she. If only she could remember where it was.
    Her mind was blank.
    She looked around the University of Georgia campus, trying to get her bearings. What day was it? She looked at her watch, but it didn’t help with anything but the time. 10:20. If it was Monday, Wednesday, or Friday she should be heading to Russian History. But if it was Tuesday or Thursday, she should be heading back to the dorm after Business Fundamentals. The trouble was, she wasn’t on the right corner for either. And her arms were empty of books.
    Suddenly queasy, she put a hand to her stomach. Then she knew. Then she remembered.
    She was pregnant. The building in the next block was the clinic where she’d take care of it, make it all go away. In the purse on her shoulder was cash from Daddy, tearfully obtained, but obtained nonetheless. “How could you do this to me, young lady? You must take care of it immediately. ”
    Which is what she was about to do. No thanks to Bruce. The creep. She’d never speak to him again. Not that she wanted to.
    A lie.
    She heard a new wave of students coming up behind her to cross the street. She’d cross with them. She’d let them sweep her up in their wave and move her toward her destiny.
    Don’t do it.
    She turned around, looking for the voice. At the edge of the sidewalk a girl argued with her boyfriend. No one was speaking to Vanessa. Yet the voice had seemed real and had been accompanied by the oddest flash.
    She let her own voice sound—and was surprised to find it amazingly strong. “I don’t have to do this.”
    Then, without permission, her legs moved. Walked. Away from the intersection. To stop would be to argue with herself, so she let her feet take her away, let them lead her to a grassy spot under a tree. There they gave out and she sat. If it wouldn’t have caused a scene, she would have tipped onto her side and pulled herself into a fetal curl.
    Fetal. Ha.
    Instead she leaned against the trunk, closed her eyes, and rubbed her abdomen, hoping the confusion would pass with the morning sickness.
    “Oh… my… goodness! Nessa!”
    Vanessa’s eyes shot open. No. It couldn’t be.
    It was.
    Her mother.
    Dorian Pruitt skipped over the grass, her granny dress dancing around her legs. In one final motion, she fell to her knees and scooped Vanessa into a hug. “My dear, dear daughter. I barely recognized you! How are you?”
    She was better when she was free of the embrace. Her mother was the one who was unrecognizable. Vanessa hadn’t seen her for five years, and that mother figure had not been the wild-and-free woman before her. Always a bit different, but never this far-out. “What are you doing here, Mother?”
    Dorian sat on the grass cross-legged, arranging her dress. “I’ve come back to get my master’s. The grade school gives me Tuesday and Thursday mornings off. My teaching assistant takes over.”
    “You’re still teaching?”
    “Of course. I don’t dare let a year of munchkins slip by without the pleasure of my company.”
    “Since when do you need a master’s degree to teach second grade?”
    “Since I want to be the best teacher I can be.” She swatted Vanessa on the knee. “Learning for the joy of learning… you should try it sometime.” She didn’t wait