“This guy,” he said, indicating the name on the pad, “is possibly the only really reliable rabbit-snatcher in the western world. Outside of Sweden, that is. In Sweden this sort of thing is all open and aboveboard, but here in this middle-age country of ours—”
“Rabbit-snatcher?”
“One of the more picturesque American colloquialisms,” he explained. “It means abortionist.”
“Abortionist?”
“Linda,” he said, “you’re going to have an abortion.”
She looked blank.
“You’re not going to have that baby, and next to a kick in the stomach the most logical way not to have a baby is to have an abortion. Isn’t that what you wanted when you came here?”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I didn’t think of it that way. Somehow an abortion never even occurred to me. I just thought you’d be able to do something to help me.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Don, isn’t it dangerous?”
He shook his head.
“You hear lots of stories—”
“Sure,” he said. “You can go to one of these old women who cut you open with a filthy butcher knife. But this guy is reliable.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. He’s a human contradiction in terms — a dedicated abortionist. He does the job because he believes certain people have a right not to have babies and certain babies are better off unborn. Take a case like yours — what chance would a kid have with nineteen-year-old unmarried mother? He’s got two strikes against him the minute he’s born, not to mention the way it ruins your life.”
She nodded, agreeing with him.
“This guy’s a regular doctor,” he went on. “A Pittsburgh surgeon with a large legitimate practice. Abortions are a sideline and he does them for very little money right in his own operating room. He doesn’t try to make a profit on it — he’s not that kind of guy. I don’t think he even makes expenses on the abortion part of his business.”
“But isn’t it illegal?”
“Of course.”
“Then—”
“Hell, he doesn’t advertise. If the cops know about him they also have the good sense to leave him alone. And the medical association takes care of its own — they’re not going to give him a hard time. It’s not as if he was taking risks. If a patient’s healthy and in the early months of pregnancy an abortion’s less risky than an appendectomy — a good deal less risky.”
“I see.”
“I’ve got his phone number right here,” he went on. “I’ll give him a ring in a few days and you can fly down and have everything taken care of. A few days bed rest afterwards and you’ll be as good as new.”
She nodded.
Then she said: “Don, I don’t know how I’ll be able to afford it. Even if he’s inexpensive and all there’s the plane trip and the time in bed and—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She started to say something but he interrupted her. “I’ve got the money,” he told her. “I’m okay financially right now and I won’t miss the dough.”
She didn’t know exactly what to say. All she could think of was how he knew exactly what to do. One conversation with her, one phone call, and everything was going to be all right again. She couldn’t believe it, and she wanted to be able to say something, something to sum up the way she felt about it all.
She said: “Why?”
He looked at her, puzzled.
“Why are you doing this, Don? Why are you doing all of this for me?”
He smiled. “I’m just philanthropic — that’s all.”
“I mean it.”
He looked away. “I suppose I feel partly responsible,” he said.
“That’s silly — it’s not your baby.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“I know. But you shouldn’t feel responsible anyway. What happened was my fault. I was too young and too mixed up to know where I was and by the time I got straightened out it was almost too late.”
“And now?”
“Now I think I’m all right. I’ve been living clean lately, Don. It’s like I’m not the same person I was a few weeks ago.”
“You’re not. You’ve changed a lot, Linda Shepard from Cleveland.”
She smiled.
“I’m not even too sorry about what happened,” she said. “I learned from it. I grew a lot older — sometimes I feel almost... well, ancient.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I wish—”
He waited.
“I wish I had known what I know now when I came here. I suppose that sounds like a line from something, but it’s true in this case.”
He nodded.
It was hard for her but she said: “I wish I had known all this when I... met you. I think things would have turned out a lot differently. I would have known how to... to love you.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I messed things up,” she said.
“It wasn’t all your fault.”
“If I hadn’t tried to smother you—”
“We were too different,” he said. “You clutched at me because you were afraid I was going to run away. I ran away because you clutched at me. And because I was afraid—”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid I wasn’t going to get away. Afraid I was going to care too much about you.”
She was puzzled. “What do you mean? You weren’t in love with me, were you?”
“Of course I was.”
She didn’t know what to say.
He saved her by changing the subject. “Any idea where you want to go to college next year?”
“I’m not sure. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to grad school. I figure I’ll go to New York and get a job of some sort.”
“On a newspaper?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had a bellyful of newspaper work with the Record. I think I’ll try to get my foot in the door either in advertising or public relations. They’re supposed to be looking for bright young men.”
“Like you?”
“Not like me — but maybe I can fake them out.”
“How about your girl?”
“What girl?”
“Aren’t you going with anybody?”
“No.”
Before she could say anything he added: “I haven’t gone with anybody since you.”
Again she didn’t know what to say.
“I didn’t want any other girl,” he went on. “I thought I did. I thought all I wanted was to get rid of you.”
He lit another cigarette, offering the pack to her. She didn’t want one.
“I messed things up with you,” he said. “We had something pretty good going and we were both too dumb to realize what was happening. All we did was louse each other up.”
She knew suddenly that she was going to cry. There was a lump in her throat and her eyes were starting to cloud over. She thought how silly it was to cry over a love that was dead and buried, and then she began to realize that it was not dead and not buried, that she loved Don more than ever, that she had never stopped loving him, that she probably never would stop loving him. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying but she knew that the tears were going to come.
He spoke with difficulty. “I kept trying to hurt you,” he said. “I’m beginning to realize why. You were the first girl I ever really loved, Linda. The only one. You had me scared silly. The only way to get out from under was to hurt you, and—”
Then she was crying. She got up from her chair and half-stumbled, half-fell across the room and into his arms. His arms went around her and he held her as she cried, her eyes overflowing with tears and her whole body shaking with the sobbing. He held her and stroked her and for a long time neither of them could say a word.
Finally she was able to get up. She sat beside him on the bed and he took her hand in his. They didn’t look at each other.