“Is there something I need to know, Dean? Something like . . . is someone in our company in the same situation as Donna?”
I gulped, hoping Major Thomas didn’t notice. “Not that I know of, sir. That’s not why I’m here. I was just . . .” I wriggled in the chair. “Sir, do you know . . . what happened to Donna? Where is she now?”
The major studied me. “Those are some odd questions. If I didn’t know better, Lassiter, I’d wonder if you were the father of Donna’s baby.”
My face must have blanched because the TAC shook his head, a smile ghosting over his expression.
“Don’t worry, Dean. I know you aren’t. The father of Donna’s son graduated the year before Donna left. After she was expelled, they got married. They were stationed in Germany when the baby was born, but I think they’re at Sill now.” He shrugged. “I hear from her now and then. A Christmas card, sent to my family.” He wagged his head. “The baby’s cute. They’re expecting their second one . . . well, hell, it’s probably already been born, I guess.”
“Oh. Well—that’s good. I mean, I’m glad to hear she’s doing okay.” I was. Donna had been a sort-of friend, a nice person, and an excellent cadet. She’d been at the top of our class, and she was a star on our women’s basketball team. At the time, I’d been too shocked about her pregnancy to react to her sudden absence, but now that I thought about her, I missed her keenly.
“Right.” Major Thomas cocked his head. “So you want to tell me what’s really going, Dean? I know you. You didn’t come in here to ask a few random questions about a cadet who got pregnant and left two years ago.”
“Well, sir,” I began. “I remember that Donna was given a choice. If she had given up the baby, she could have come back. Right?”
“Ah, well . . .” The major lifted a hand and see-sawed it back and forth. “Yes. In theory. Her choices were to give up the baby for adoption, or to sign over her parental rights to the baby’s father or to another family member. If Donna had agreed to that, she’d have been given a year to have the baby and recover, and when she came back, she would have graduated a year behind her original class.”
He made it sound so easy, such a simple matter. But as much as I hated what had happened to Donna, her situation was really just my way in to ask the question that nagged at me.
“Could I ask a hypothetical question about this rule, sir?”
Major Thomas pursed his lips. “Go ahead.”
“What if I had been the father of Donna’s baby?” When his eyebrows rose, I rushed to explain. “I mean, what if it had been someone who was currently a cadet, not a graduate? Would he have been given the same choice as Donna?”
“Ahhhh . . .” He rested his head on the back of the chair. “Technically, if he had admitted it and/or if he’d been identified by a paternity test, he would have been required to leave or to give up his parental rights.”
“If he admitted it.” I pounced on the words. “But if they both kept quiet about it?”
“You’ve just discovered one of the great injustices of life, Lassiter. If neither Donna nor the father acknowledged his paternity, no one could be any the wiser, and the father would have cruised through his last two years without any issues.”
“That’s really . . .” I shook my head. “That’s grossly unfair, sir.”
“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “Want to know something else? Because Donna had the misfortune to conceive after yearling year, she had to pay back the government for the cost of the first two years of her education at West Point, while the hypothetical father doesn’t owe a cent.”
I felt a little sick. “That’s . . . why hasn’t anyone tried to change this?”
He rolled one shoulder. “A couple of lawmakers are working on it, or so I hear. But you know, Lassiter, that’s not what concerns me right now. What concerns me is why are you suddenly so interested in this question? Do I need to ask you if one of your classmates is pregnant . . . and if you’re responsible for her condition?”
I straightened in my seat. “Sir, to the best of my knowledge, none of my female classmates—at least in this company—are currently pregnant. Nor have I done anything with any of them that would result in . . . that.”
“Okay. Okay.” He regarded me steadily, and I had a feeling that my carefully worded denial hadn’t escaped his notice. “Is there anything else you want to ask me? Or tell me?”
I hesitated. “Sir, do you think there are many male cadets who have conceived children during their time here but haven’t had to deal with repercussions because the mothers of those children kept their mouths shut?”
His gaze was level on mine. “At least ten in my graduating class. And more than that in my father’s class, which was before women were admitted to West Point. I don’t know about recent numbers because I don’t ask, and no one tells me.”
“Is such a thing an honor violation, sir?” This was the crux of it to me in one way, at least. Honor was one of the hallmarks of being a cadet, of West Point itself: Duty, Honor, Country. Telling a lie, misrepresenting the truth, or knowing that another cadet was doing it violated our honor code. I believed strongly in that code.
This time, Major Thomas was silent for a longer stretch. I knew he wasn’t stupid; he had to have a clue about why I was asking all of these questions. But I trusted that he wouldn’t push me; he wouldn’t dig deeper to see if he could discover what was going on.
“If you or any other cadet fathered a child and was going to be financially responsible for that child, yes. It would be an honor violation not to admit it and deal with the repercussions.” He exhaled. “If you are not going to be involved in that child’s life and will not financially support it, then I think a case can be made that you are not honor-bound to do anything at all.”
“All right.” I stood up, suddenly desperate to leave the office. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your time and your input.”
“Any time, Lassiter.” Major Thomas gripped the edge of his desk with both hands. “And you’re certain that there’s nothing you’d like to share with me?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “No, sir. Thank you.”
