The Abortionist's Daughter (27 page)

Frank shook his head without giving it much thought. He gave an audible sigh as he put on his coat. Then he picked up his briefcase. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“I don’t know.” She’d woken up in a good mood, and now she was in a bad mood. “Maybe I’ll bite somebody’s head off.”

“You would, too,” murmured Frank, on his way out.

—————

Diana showered and dressed, putting on a tank top and then a shirt. Layering was crucial at her age; she could go from normal to feverish within seconds and needed to be able to strip down quickly. She loaded the rest of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, found the stack of bills Frank was talking about, went into her office to find stamps, pawed through her top drawer and resolved to go through all those raspy answering machine tapes she was hanging on to because one of them had Megan’s voice saying something cute and she wanted to save it; she found the stamps in the back of the drawer, tore off a dozen, grabbed the mail, and left the house.

By the time she got to the clinic, it was snowing hard. Already picketers had gathered on the sidewalk; today being Tuesday, it was the group from the Baptist church with their posters of Baby Luke. Thursday it was the Catholics with Baby Jessica; Friday it was the mothers with Baby Mary. Today because of the snow the picketers wore heavy jackets and coarse knitted hats and held steaming cups to their mouths. They nodded to Diana, and she nodded back, grateful for the mood—today, at least—of mutual acceptance. She drove around to the rear of the building, parked the car, and turned off her windshield wipers.

The back door of the clinic was unlocked.

Usually she was the first person at the clinic in the morning, but today a set of fresh footprints led up the walkway. Diana turned off the engine. She wondered if she should call the police. Then she recalled that she’d called them just four days ago, when the electricity went out. They’ll think you’re hysterical, she told herself. Maybe you forgot to lock the door last night. Maybe the security guard had to get in for something. Maybe Dixie just came in early.

She gathered her things, locked the car, and walked up the path to the back door. She pushed it open. The hallway was dark. Warily she switched on the lights. Slushy footprints led down the hall to her office.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Hello!”

Still no answer. Involuntarily Diana touched her chest; she hadn’t worn her vest today because she’d tweaked her shoulder reaching for something, and wearing the vest aggravated the pain. She reached into her purse for her cell phone and turned it on. It beeped and went dead. Now her eyes scanned the hallway; the nearest phone was a wall unit ten feet away. She took a step forward, and the floor gave a loud creak.

Just as she was about to turn and run, the door to her office opened and a silhouette appeared in a panel of light.

It was Megan.

She noticed Diana’s face and stared back. “What’s the matter?”

“Are you
crazy,
breaking in like this?”

“I have a key!”

Diana pushed past her daughter and went into her office, where she took off her coat and dropped it onto a chair. “Honest to god, Megan—you could have gotten yourself shot! Where’s your head?? How old are you??”

“I thought we could have breakfast together,” Megan said in her soft morning voice, trailing Diana. She was puffy-eyed, and her hair was disheveled. “I brought muffins.”

Diana glanced at the oil-blotted bag sitting on her desk. Usually when Megan brought something, she wanted something in return. “Don’t you have an exam today?”

“Biology, and it’s tomorrow,” said Megan. “I’ve got all day to study. You want a muffin or not? If you’re not hungry, I’ll take it back to Natalie.”

“No, I’ll have one,” said Diana. “That’s very sweet of you, honey. You just scared the shit out of me.”

Megan opened the bag and took out two giant sugary muffins. She handed one to Diana and greedily peeled the paper off the other.

“So,” she said. “I saw the group out front.”

“The Moroni case is coming down in January,” said Diana.

“Which way do you think the court will go?”

“I’m not worrying about it right now. I’ve got six procedures this morning and Christmas shopping this afternoon.”

“Speaking of Christmas,” said Megan. Diana looked up, her mouth full of muffin. “Well, I had an idea for a present.”

“We’re giving you a new set of tires,” Diana reminded her.

“But you usually get me something fun too.”

Diana looked at her watch. “You know, honey, I’ve got a lot on my schedule this morning. If you—”

“That’s the thing,” said Megan. “We have to buy the tickets by Friday.”

“What tickets?”

“To Mexico.”

“Who’s going to Mexico?”

“Me! I mean, I want to,” said Megan. “I was thinking you guys could give me a ticket for Christmas.”

Diana peered closely at her daughter to make sure she wasn’t joking. “Are you joking?”

“A lot of people are going.”

“Always such a strong argument.”

“I’d really really like to go,” said Megan.

“So would I. God, I haven’t been to Mexico in twenty years. We already talked about your big present, Megan,” said Diana. “Good tires cost a fortune.”

Megan murmured something.

“Or not,” said Diana. “You could show a little gratitude, you know. You weren’t even going to have a car this year until your father found that car for sale.”

“A nineteen-seventy-five Bug with a heater that doesn’t work?”

“So sell it,” Diana said. “Take the bus. Walk.”

“I never ask for anything,” said Megan.

“Oh please.”

“What have I asked for lately?”

“Try a college education? A new laptop? Brand-new bedding for your dorm room? Books? Room and board?”

“I saved you so much money by going in-state,” Megan said. “It’s all I want for Christmas! I need to get away from here! I need to have something to look forward to!”

“So do I,” said Diana. “Maybe we’ll all go to Mexico.”

Megan shifted tactics. “You have no clue why I’m asking you to do this,” she said haughtily, and Diana forced herself not to laugh, for her daughter now sounded like an old biddy wanting to be begged.

“Okay: why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“So how can I have any kind of a clue at all?”

“You just have to trust me. It’s a big deal.”

“I’m sorry, Megan, but you’ve got to be a little more open with me.”

“Okay,” said Megan, and she took a deep breath. “It’s Bill.”

Diana felt the hair on her neck rise.

“He keeps calling me. E-mailing me. Telling me he wants to do stuff to me.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Bad stuff.”

Diana brushed muffin crumbs from her lap. She thought about Bill’s repeated phone calls to her, his pleas for advice over the past year and especially this fall. Threatening to kill himself. Or asking if she’d seen the movie
Cape Fear,
because that’s what he felt like, Robert De Niro with a bone to pick. She wondered if he’d gotten the help she’d advised him to get. Probably not.

“He’s a talker,” she told Megan. “Best to ignore him.”

“How do I know?”

“I know his type. Plus you can’t do much legally, unless he actually does something to you.”

“But I
could
go to Mexico.”

“You want to explain the connection?”

“Oh, you are
so selfish
!” Megan shouted. “Never mind. I’ll go stand on a street corner and earn the money.” She glared at Diana sullenly. Diana realized her daughter had run out of steam, and with the pressure suddenly off, she began to wonder why she’d vetoed the idea so vehemently.

Megan buttoned up her jacket. “I’m sorry I even came.”

“We’ll talk about it tonight,” said Diana. “Have dinner with me. Your father’s going out.”

“No, Mother, I have to
study
tonight,” said Megan, roping her scarf around her long thin neck. “I’m in
college,
remember? I have
exams.
Forget I asked. Forget I said anything. In fact, forget I exist.”

“Megan—”

Megan turned, hoisting her backpack. Then she glanced back. “Have fun killing babies today,” she remarked. And without another word she flounced out, slamming the door behind her.

Through her window Diana watched Megan trudge off through the snow. Again she regretted having said no right off like that. The ticket probably wasn’t more than three or four hundred dollars. They had the money. And it could have been that frivolous gift she’d been planning to buy. But no, she’d had to go and veto the idea without thinking. Like Frank, she thought. What’s wrong with me?

And what about Bill? The guy did need some professional attention. She decided that she had to talk to Frank about this. Tonight, when he got home. He had a right to know, even if he got upset. Maybe it was time to call Bill’s parents, too, or even go to the police. Frank would know what to do.

—————

Her morning was a hectic one, as usual. Depending on how far along they were, Diana’s patients came in one or two days ahead of the actual abortion, at which time she inserted a thin stick of seaweed into the woman’s cervix, which would start the dilation process. The woman then went home and returned the next day, either for another laminaria insertion or the extraction itself. Inserting the laminaria took only seconds, but the extraction process took more time, depending, again, on how far along the woman was. On a good day Diana usually saw six to eight women throughout the course of the morning.

Today she managed to stay on schedule, so that by late morning she had started four women on their dilation and taken care of three who were back for the second-day extraction. By keeping busy, by staying on schedule, she managed to keep her mind off the argument with Megan. When Frank called around eleven-thirty, she decided not to mention it to him.

“Sorry if I was a little testy this morning,” he began.

Diana squelched a sigh. Again, as with Megan, there was probably an ulterior motive here; usually if her husband called during the workday, it meant something was wrong. Was it? she asked.

“No! I just wanted to apologize. And see if you wanted to have lunch with me. We never do that anymore. We said we would when Megan went off to college, and now we don’t.”

“I’m way too busy,” she said, thinking of the Christmas shopping she wanted to do.

“Oh, come on, Di,” said Frank. “Take a little time off. We need to do things together again.”

Diana rearranged the trio of Ben’s ashtrays on her desk. Hadn’t she herself pledged to make more time for their marriage? It wasn’t often that either of them reached out to the other for something as ordinary as having lunch together. There was still a week until Christmas; there was plenty of time for shopping.

“Fine. Where?”

“How about Walt’s? One o’clock?”

It sounded so much like a date that she hung up slightly amused. And hopeful too, she had to admit. She and Frank had issues, but who didn’t after twenty years of marriage? They’d lost a son. A lot of marriages fell apart over something like that. A lot of marriages fell apart over
nothing.

She was about to scrub up for her last extraction when Dixie buzzed her. Steven O’Connell was out in reception and wanted to see her.

“No way,” said Diana.

“He looks pretty upset,” ventured Dixie.

“Too bad. If he doesn’t leave, call the police.” She hung up and went out into the hallway and reviewed the patient’s chart as she headed toward the procedure room. The woman was fourteen weeks pregnant, a mother with three children, thirty-five years old, and under suicide watch in connection with a serious depression. She had been in the last two days for successive laminaria insertions; today Diana would administer light sedation and scrape out the fetal tissue.

She was about to enter the procedure room when she heard a scuffle out in the reception area: raised voices, a bump against the wall—and then suddenly Steven O’Connell came barging down the hall toward her, followed by Dixie, who was trying without success to grab his arm as he kept wresting it away.

“Get your hands off me!” he exclaimed. “Diana—thank God—I need you—”

“Get out of here, Steven,” Diana said calmly.

“Hear me out, Diana!”

She caught Dixie’s eye and nodded at the alarm.

“Wait!” Steven cried. “It’s about Rose!”

Disgusted with the man’s assumption that his needs took precedence over all others, nevertheless Diana motioned for Dixie to hold off.

“I have a patient in this room who’s had to endure a lot of waiting at this point,” she told Steven. “You can wait half an hour.”

“Not Rose!”

“What do you mean?”

Steven dropped to his knees and began banging his fists on the floor. Honestly. “Cut the theatrics, Steven, and just tell me what’s going on.”

Steven clutched at his face and breathed in deeply, then raised his head and clasped his hands in a pose that so resembled a Renaissance painting that Diana fought the impulse to make a joke.

After a few seconds, he slumped. “Rose did something to herself. She’s over in the hospital. I need your help.”

Calmly, Diana asked, “What did she do, Steven?”

“I don’t know!” he cried. “There was blood, a lot of blood! She’s over at the hospital now. Please, please come and help,” he begged.

Diana glanced at Dixie, who was looking on incredulously: Steven O’Connell asking Diana Duprey for
help
? Diana turned back to Steven. “I will take care of my patient,” she told him in a steady voice, “and then I will go over to the hospital with you and see what I can do. Go back to the reception area and sit down and wait. Don’t leave. Don’t make a scene. Just go and wait.”

“How long?”

“If all goes well,” said Diana, “half an hour.”

For the next thirty minutes she worked under the bright lights, seated on a stool between the woman’s legs. Her name was Julia, and she cried when Diana injected the anesthetic into her cervix, but as Diana scraped out the raw bloody tissue, Julia lay still. Finally Diana rolled her chair back, snapped off her gloves, and stood up. She smoothed Julia’s hair back, then rested her hand upon the woman’s dampened forehead.